Every Which Way But Dead

Peace sat warm in me as I sprinkled the yellow sugar on the iced cookie shaped like the sun. Okay, so it was a circle, but with the sparkling sugar it could be the sun. I was tired of the long nights, and the physical affirmation of the turning seasons had always filled me with a quiet strength. Especially the winter solstice.



I set the finished cookie aside on the paper towel and took another. It was quiet but for music filtering in from the living room. Takata had released "Red Ribbons" to WVMP, and the station was playing it into the ground. I didn't care. The refrain was the one I had told him fitted with the theme of the song, and it pleased me I had played some small part in its creation.



All the pixies were sleeping in my desk for at least two more hours. Ivy probably wouldn't be up stumbling about in search of coffee for even longer. She had come in before sunrise looking calm and relaxed, self-consciously seeking my approval for having slacked her blood lust on some poor sap before falling into bed like a Brimstone addict. I had the church to myself, and I was going to squeeze every drop of solitude out of it that I could.



Swaying to the heavy beat of drums in a way I wouldn't if anyone were watching, I smiled. It was nice to be alone once in a while.



Jenks had made his kids do more than apologize to me, and I had woken this afternoon to a hot pot of coffee in a sparkling clean kitchen. Everything shone, everything was polished. They had even scoured the accumulated dirt out of the circle I had etched into the linoleum around the center island counter. Not a breath of dust or cobweb marred the walls or ceiling, and as I dipped my knife into the green icing, I vowed to try to keep it this clean all the time.



Yeah, right, I thought as I layered frosting on the wreath. I'd put it off until I was back to the same level of chaos that the pixies had dragged me out of. I'd give it two weeks, tops.



Timing my movements with the beat of the music, I placed three little hot candies to look like berries. A sigh shifted my shoulders, and I set it aside and took up the candle cookie, trying to decide whether to make it purple for aged wisdom or green for change.



I was reaching for the purple when the phone rang from the living room. I froze for an instant, then set the butter tub of frosting down and hustled after it before it could wake the pixies. They were worse than having a baby in the house. Snatching the remote from the couch, I pointed it at the disc player to mute it. "Vampiric Charms," I said as I picked up the phone and hoped I wasn't breathing hard. "This is Rachel."



"How much for an escort on the twenty-third?" a young voice asked, cracking.



"That depends on the situation." I frantically looked for the calendar and a pen. They weren't where I'd left them, and I finally dug through my bag for my datebook. I thought the twenty-third was a Saturday. "Is there a death threat involved or is it general protection?"



"Death threat!" the voice exclaimed. "All I want is a good-looking girl so my friends won't think I'm a dweeb."



My eyes closed as I gathered my strength. Too late, I thought, clicking the pen closed. "This is an independent runner service," I said tiredly, "not a bloodhouse. And kid? Do yourself a favor and take the shy girl. She's cooler than you think, and she won't own your soul in the morning."



The phone clicked off, and I frowned. This was the third such call this month. Maybe I should take a look at the yellow pages ad that Ivy bought.



I wiped my hands free of the last sugar and shuffled in the narrow cabinet that the message machine sat on, pulling out the phone book and dropping it on the coffee table. The red message light was blinking, and I tapped it, leafing through the heavy book to Private Investigators. I froze when Nick's voice came rolling out, guilty and awkward, telling me he had stopped by about six this morning and picked up Jax and that he would call me in a few days.



"Coward," I breathed, thinking it was one more crucifix tied to the coffin. He knew no one but the pixies would be up then. I vowed to enjoy myself on my date with Kisten, whether Ivy would have to kill him afterward or not. I jabbed the button to clear his message, then went back to the phone book.



We were one of the last listings, and as I found Vampiric Charms in a friendly font, my eyebrows rose. It was a nice ad, more attractive than the full-page ads around it, with a line drawing of a mysterious-looking woman in a hat and duster ghosted into the background.



"'Fast. Discreet. No questions asked,'" I said, reading it. "'Sliding scale. Payment options. Insured. Week, day, and hourly rates.'" Under it all were our three names, address, and phone number. I didn't get it. There was nothing here that would lead anyone to think bloodhouse or even a dating service. Then I saw the tiny print at the bottom saying to see the secondary entries.



I flipped through the thin sheets to the first one listed, finding the same ad. Then I looked closer; not at our ad, but the ones around it. Holy crap, that woman was hardly clothed, having the perky body of an animȦ cartoon. My eyes flicked to the heading. "Escort Service?" I said, flushing at the steamy, suggestive ads.



My gaze jerked to our advertisement again, the words taking on an entirely new meaning. No questions asked? Week, day, or hourly rates? Payment options? Lips pressed together, I shut the book, leaving it out to talk to Ivy about. No wonder we were getting calls.



More than a little irate, I unmuted the stereo and headed back into the kitchen, Steppenwolf's "Magic Carpet Ride" trying its best to lighten my mood.



It was the hint of a draft, the barest scent of wet pavement, that made my step hesitate and the palm streaking out at me past the archway to the kitchen miss my jaw.



"God bless it!" I swore as I dove past it into the kitchen instead of falling back into the cramped hall. Remembering Jenks's kids, I tapped the ley line out back but did nothing else as I fell into a defensive crouch between the sink and the island counter. I almost choked when I saw whom it was standing by the archway.



"Quen?" I stammered, not getting out of my stance as the lightly wrinkled, athletic man stared at me with no expression. The head of Trent's security was dressed entirely in black, his tight-fitting body stocking looking vaguely like a uniform. "What in hell are you doing?" I said. "I ought to call the I.S., you know that? And have them haul your ass out of my kitchen for illegal entry! If Trent wants to see me, he can come down here just like anyone else. I'll tell him he can suck dishwater, but he ought to have the decency to let me do it in person!"



Quen shook his head. "I have a problem, but I don't think you can handle it."



I made an ugly face at him. "Don't test me, Quen," I all but snarled. "You'll fail."



"We'll see."



That was all the warning I got as the man pushed off the wall, headed right for me.



Gasping, I dove past him instead of backward the way I wanted. Quen lived and breathed security. Backing away would only get me caught. Heart pounding, I grabbed my dented copper spell pot with white frosting in it and swung.



Quen caught it, yanking me forward. Adrenaline hurt my head as I let it go, and he tossed it aside. It made a harsh bong and spun into the hallway.



I snatched the coffeemaker and threw it. The appliance jerked back at its cord, and the carafe fell to shatter on the floor. He dodged, his green eyes peeved when they met mine, as if wondering what in hell I was doing. But if he got a grip on me, I was a goner. I had a cupboard of charms in arm's reach, but no time to invoke even one.



He gathered himself to jump, and remembering how he had evaded Piscary with incredible leaps, I went for my dissolution vat. Teeth gritted in effort, I tipped it over.



Quen cried out in disgust as ten gallons of saltwater cascaded over the floor to mix with the coffee and glass shards. Arms pinwheeling, he slipped.



I levered myself onto the island counter, stepping on frosted cookies and knocking over vials of colored sugar. Crouched to avoid the hanging utensils, I jumped feet first as he rose.



My feet hit him squarely in the chest and we both went down.



Where was everyone? I thought as my hip took the fall and I grunted in pain. I was making enough noise to wake the un-dead. But as such commotion was more common than silence these days, Ivy and Jenks would probably ignore it and hope it went away.



Slipping, I skittered from Quen. Hands reaching unseeing, I scrabbled for my paint ball gun kept purposely at crawling height. I yanked it out. Nested copper pots rolled noisily.



"Enough!" I shouted, arms stiff as I sat on my butt in salt-water, aiming at him. It was loaded with water-filled splat balls for practice, but he didn't know that. "What do you want?"



Quen hesitated, water making darker smears on his black pants. His eye twitched.



Adrenaline surged. He was going to risk it.



Instinct and practice with Ivy made me squeeze the trigger as he leapt onto the table to land like a cat. I tracked him, squeezing out every last splat ball.



His expression went affronted as he pulled himself to a crouching halt, his attention jerking from me to the six new splatters on his skintight shirt. Crap. I'd missed him once. Jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed in anger. "Water?" he said. "You load your spell gun with water?"



"Ain't you just lucky for that?" I snapped. "What do you want?" He shook his head, and my breath hissed in as I felt a dropping sensation in me. He was tapping the line out back.



Panic jerked me to my feet, and I flung my hair out of my eyes. From his vantage point on the table, Quen straightened to his full height, his hands moving as he whispered Latin.



"Like hell you will!" I shouted, throwing my splat gun at him. He ducked, and I snatched up whatever I could to throw it at him, desperate to keep him from finishing the charm.



Quen dodged the butter tub of frosting. It thunked into the wall to make a green smear. Grabbing the cookie tin, I ran around the counter, swinging it like a board. He dove off the table to avoid it, cursing at me. Cookies and red-hot candies went everywhere.



I followed him, grabbing him about the knees to bring us both down in a sodden splat. He twisted in my grip until his livid green eyes met mine. Hands scrabbling, I shoved salt-water soggy cookies into his mouth so he couldn't verbally invoke a charm.



He spit them at me, his deeply tanned, pockmarked face vehement. "You little canicula - " he managed, and I jammed some more into him.



His teeth closed on my finger, and I shrieked, jerking back. "You bit me!" I shouted, incensed. My fist swung, but he rolled to his feet, crashing into the chairs.



Panting, he stood. He was soaked, covered in water and sparkles of colored sugar. Growling an unheard word, he leapt.



I lurched upright to flee. Pain lanced through my scalp as he grabbed my hair and spun me around into an embrace, my back to his chest. One arm went chokingly around my neck. The other slipped between my legs, yanking me up onto one foot.



Furious, I elbowed him in the gut with my free arm. "Get your hands..." I grunted, hopping backward on one foot, "off my hair!" I reached the wall, and smashed him into it. His breath exploded out as I jabbed his ribs, and his grip around my neck fell away.



I spun to stiff-arm his jaw, but he was gone. I was staring at the yellow wall. Shrieking, I went down, my legs pulled out from under me. His weight landed on me, pinning me to the wet floor with my arms over my head.



"I win," he panted as he straddled me, his green eyes from under his short hair wild.



I struggled to no effect, ticked that it was going to be something as stupid as body mass that decided this. "You forgot something, Quen," I snarled. "I have fifty-seven roommates."



His lightly wrinkled brow furrowed.



Taking a huge breath, I whistled. Quen's eyes widened. Grunting in effort, I jerked my right hand free and slammed the heel of my hand at his nose.



He jerked back out of the way and I pushed him off me, rolling. Still on my hands and knees, I flipped my wet stringy hair out of the way.



Quen had gained his feet, but he wasn't moving. He was standing stock-still, cookie-smeared palms raised above his head in a gesture of acquiescence. Jenks was hovering before him, the sword he kept to fight off encroaching fairies aimed at Quen's right eye. The pixy looked pissed, dust spilling from him to make a steady sunbeam from him to the floor.



"Breathe," Jenks threatened. "Blink. Just give me a reason, you bloody freak of nature."



I stumbled upright as Ivy dove into the room, moving faster than I would have believed possible. Robe loose and flowing, she grabbed Quen by the throat.



The lights flickered and the hanging utensils swung as she slammed him into the wall beside the doorway. "What are you doing here?" she snarled, her knuckles white with pressure. Jenks had moved with Quen, his sword still touching the man's eye.



"Wait!" I exclaimed, worried they might kill him. Not that I'd mind, but then there'd be I.S. personnel in my kitchen, and paperwork. Lots of paperwork. "Slow down," I soothed.



My eyes flicked to Ivy, still holding Quen. There was frosting on my hand, and I wiped it off on my damp jeans as I caught my breath. Saltwater marked me and I had cookie crumbs and sugar in my hair. The kitchen looked like the Pillsbury Doughboy had exploded. I squinted at the purple frosting on the ceiling. When had that happened?



"Ms. Morgan," Quen said, then gurgled as Ivy tightened her grip. The music from the living room softened to talk.



I felt my ribs, wincing. Angry, I paced to where he hung in Ivy's hold. "Ms. Morgan?" I shouted, six inches from his reddening face. "Ms. Morgan? I'm Ms. Morgan now? What in hell is wrong with you!" I yelled. "Coming into my house. Ruining my cookies. Do you know how long it's going to take to clean this up?"



He gurgled again, and my anger started to slow. Ivy was staring at him with a shocking intensity. The scent of his fear had tripped her past her limits. She was vamping out at noon. This wasn't good, and I took a step back, suddenly sobered. "Um, Ivy?" I said.



"I'm okay," she said huskily, her eyes saying different. "Want me to bleed him quiet?"



"No!" I exclaimed, and I felt another drop in me. Quen was tapping a line. I took an alarmed breath. Things were spiraling out of control. Someone was going to get hurt. I could set a circle, but it would be around me, not him. "Drop him!" I demanded. "Jenks, you too!" Neither of them moved. "Now!"



Shoving him up the wall, Ivy dropped him and stepped away. He hit the floor in a slump, his hand at his neck as he coughed violently. Slowly he moved his legs into a normal position. Flipping his very black hair from his eyes, he looked up, sitting cross-legged and barefoot. "Morgan," he said roughly, his hand hiding his throat, "I need your help."



I glanced at Ivy, who was tightening her black silk robe about herself again. He needed my help? Ri-i-i-i-ight. "You okay?" I asked Ivy, and she nodded. The ring of brown left to her eyes was too thin for my comfort, but the sun was high, and the tension in the room was easing. Seeing my concern, she pressed her lips together.



"I'm fine," she reiterated. "You want me to call the I.S. now or after I kill him?"



My gaze ran over the kitchen. My cookies were ruined, sitting in soggy clumps. The globs of frosting on the walls were starting to run. Saltwater was venturing out of the kitchen, threatening to reach the living room rug. Letting Ivy kill him was looking really good.



"I want to hear what he has to say," I said as I slid open a drawer and put three dish towels in the threshold as a dike. Jenks's kids were peeking around the corner at us. The angry pixy rubbed his wings together to make a piercing whistle, and they vanished in a trill of sound.



Taking a fourth towel, I wiped the frosting off my elbow and went to stand before Quen. Feet spread wide and my fists on my hips, I waited. It must have been big if he was willing to risk Jenks figuring out he was an elf. My thoughts went to Ceri across the street, and my worry grew. I wasn't going to let Trent know she existed. He would use her some way - some very ugly way.



The elf felt his ribs through his black shirt. "I think you cracked them," he said.



"Did I pass?" I said snidely.



"No. But you're the best I've got."



Ivy made a sound of disbelief, and Jenks dropped down before him, staying carefully out of his reach. "You ass," the four-inch man swore. "We could have killed you three times over."



Quen frowned at him. "We. It was her I was interested in. Not we. She failed."



"So I guess that means you'll be leaving," I said, knowing I wouldn't be that lucky. I took in his subdued attire and sighed. It was just after noon. Elves slept when the sun was high and in the middle of the night, just like pixies. Quen was here without Trent's knowledge.



Feeling more sure of myself, I pulled out a chair and sat down before Quen could see my legs trembling. "Trent doesn't know you're here," I said, and he nodded solemnly.



"It's my problem, not his," Quen said. "I'm paying you, not him."



I blinked, trying to disguise my unease. Trent didn't know. Interesting. "You have a job for me that he doesn't know about," I said. "What is it?"



Quen's gaze went to Ivy and Jenks.



Peeved, I crossed my legs and shook my head. "We're a team. I'm not asking them to leave so you can tell me of whatever piss-poor problem you've landed yourself in."



The older elf's brow wrinkled. He took an angry breath.



"Look," I said, my finger jabbing out to point at him. "I don't like you. Jenks doesn't like you. And Ivy wants to eat you. Start talking."



He went motionless. It was then I saw his desperation, shimmering behind his eyes like light on water. "I have a problem," he said, fear the thinnest ribbon in his low, controlled voice.



I glanced at Ivy. Her breath had quickened and she stood with her arms wrapped about herself, holding her robe closed. She looked upset, her pale face even more white than usual.



"Mr. Kalamack is going to a social gathering and - "



My lips pursed. "I already turned down one whoring offer today."



Quen's eyes flashed. "Shut up," he said coldly. "Someone is interfering in Mr. Kalamack's secondary business ventures. The meeting is to try to come to a mutual understanding. I want you to be there to be sure that's all it is."



Mutual understanding? It was an I'm-tougher-than-you-so-get-out-of-my-city party. "Saladan?" I guessed.



Genuine surprise washed over him. "You know him?"



Jenks was flitting over Quen, trying to figure out what he was. The pixy was getting more and more frustrated, his shifts of direction becoming jerky and accented with sharp snaps of his dragonfly wings. "I've heard of him," I said, thinking of Takata. My eyes narrowed. "Why should I care if he assumes Trent's secondary business ventures? This is about Brimstone, isn't it?" I said. "Well, you can take a leap of faith and burn in hell. Trent is killing people, not that he hasn't done it before, but now he's killing them for no reason." Outrage pulled me to my feet. "Your boss is moth crap. I ought to bring him in, not protect him. And you," I said, louder, pointing, "are lower than moth crap for doing nothing while he does it!"



Quen flushed, making me feel vastly better about myself. "Are you that stupid?" he said, and I stiffened. "The bad Brimstone isn't from Mr. Kalamack; it's from Saladan. That's what this meeting is about. Mr. Kalamack is trying to get it off the streets, and unless you want Saladan taking over the city, you'd better start trying to keep Mr. Kalamack alive like the rest of us. Are you going to take the run or not? It pays ten thousand."



From Jenks came an eyeball-hurting pulse of ultrasonic surprise.



"Cash up front," Quen added, pulling a narrow wad of bills from somewhere on his person and throwing it at my feet.



I looked at the money. It wasn't enough. A million dollars wouldn't be enough. I shifted my foot, and it slid across the wet floor to Quen. "No."



"Take the money and let him die, Rache," Jenks said from the sun-strewn windowsill.



The black-clad elf smiled. "That's not how Ms. Morgan works." His pockmarked face was confident, and I hated the self-assured look in his green eyes. "If she takes the money, she'll protect Mr. Kalamack down to her last breath. Won't you?"



"No," I said, knowing I would. But I wasn't going to take his lousy ten grand.



"And you will take the money and the job," Quen said, "because if you don't, I'm going to tell the world about your summers at that little camp of his father's. You're the only person who has a ghost's chance in hell to keep him alive."



My face went cold. "Bastard," I whispered, refusing to feel afraid. "Why don't you just leave me alone? Why me? You just smeared me into the floor."



His eyes dropped from mine. "There will be vampires there," he said softly. "Powerful ones. There's the chance - " He took a breath and met my eyes. "I don't know if - "



I shook my head, somewhat reassured. Quen wouldn't tell. Trent would be mildly ticked if I was packed up and shipped off to Antarctica; he still had hopes of luring me to his payroll himself. "If you're afraid of vampires, that's your problem," I said. "I'm not going to let you make it mine. Ivy, get him out of my kitchen."



She didn't move, and I turned, my ire evaporating at the blank look on her face. "He's been bitten," she whispered, the wistful faltering in her voice shocking me. Hunched into herself, she leaned back against the wall, closed her eyes, and took a slow breath to scent him.



My lips parted in understanding. Piscary had bitten him, right before I clubbed the undead vampire into unconsciousness. Quen was an Inderlander, and so couldn't contract the vamp virus and be turned, but he might be mentally bound to the master vampire. I found my hand covering my neck, my face cold.



Big Al had taken the form and abilities of a vampire when he had torn open my neck and tried to kill me. He had filled my veins with the same potent cocktail of neurotransmitters that now ran through Quen. It was a survival trait to help ensure that vamps had a willing blood supply, and it turned pain into pleasure when stimulated by vampire pheromones. If the vamp had enough experience, they could sensitize the response such that they, and only they, could stimulate the bite into feeling good, binding the person to them alone and preventing easy poaching of their private supply.



Algaliarept hadn't bothered to sensitize the neurotransmitters - seeing as he was trying to kill me. I was left with a scar that any vamp could play on. I didn't belong to anyone, and as long as I kept vampire teeth on the right side of my skin, I wouldn't. In the ranking of the vampire world, an unbound bitee was the lowest of the low, a party favor, a pathetic remnant that was so beneath notice that any vampire could take what they wanted. Unclaimed property didn't last long, passed from vamp to vamp, soon drained of their vitality and will, left to rot in a confused loneliness of betrayal when the ugliness of their life started to show on their face. I'd be among their ranks if it wasn't for Ivy's protection.



And Quen had either been bitten and left unclaimed like me, or bitten and claimed by Piscary. As I stared in pity at the man, I decided he had a right to be afraid.



Seeing my understanding, Quen rose smoothly to his feet. Ivy tensed, and I raised my hand to tell her it was all right. "I don't know if the bite has bound me to him or not," Quen said, the evenness of his voice failing to hide the fear in him. "I can't risk Mr. Kalamack relying on me. I might...be distracted at a sensitive moment."



Waves of bliss and promises of pleasure coming from that bite might indeed be a large distraction, even in the midst of a fight. Pity pulled me forward. Tracks of sweat marred his lightly wrinkled face. He was as old as my father would be if he were still alive, with the strength of a twenty-year-old and the sturdiness only maturity imparted.



"Has any other vamp made your scar tingle?" I asked him, thinking it was a really personal question, but he had come to me.



Never dropping my gaze, he said, "I've yet to get into a situation where it might."



"Rache?" Jenks called, and there was a clatter of wings as he dropped to hover beside me.



"Then I don't know if Piscary bound you or not," I said, then froze as I realized my scar was tingling, sending hints of deeper feelings to bring me to a wide-eyed alertness. Quen stiffened. Our eyes met, and I knew by his frightened look that he was feeling it too.



"Rache!" Jenks shouted, his wings red as he got in my face and forced me to back up. "Quen isn't the only one with a problem here!"



I followed his frightened gaze behind me to Ivy. "Oh...crap," I whispered.



Ivy had pressed herself into a corner, her robe falling open to show her black silk nightgown. Her awareness was lost, black eyes unseeing as her mouth worked. I froze, not knowing what was going on.



"Get him out of here," she whispered, a bead of saliva dropping from her teeth. "Oh, God, Rachel. He's not bound to anyone. Piscary...He's in my head." She took a gasping breath. "He wants me to take him. I don't know if I can stop. Get Quen out of here!"



I stared, not knowing what to do.



"Get him out of my head!" she moaned. "Get him out!" Horrified, I watched her slide down the wall to huddle with her hands over her ears. "Get him out!"



Heart pounding, I spun to Quen. My neck was a flaming mass of promise. I could see by his expression that his scar was alight and flaming. God help me, it felt good.



"Get the door," I said to Jenks. Grabbing Quen's arm, I pulled him into the hallway. From behind us came a frightening guttural groan. I broke into a run, dragging Quen behind me. Quen stiffened when we entered the sanctuary, breaking my hold.



"You're leaving!" I shouted, reaching for him. "Now!"



He was hunched and trembling, making the martial arts master look vulnerable. Lines from his internal struggle showed on his face. His eyes showed his broken spirit. "You will accompany Mr. Kalamack in my place," he said, his voice haggard.



"No, I won't." I reached for his arm.



Flashing alive, he sprang back. "You will accompany Mr. Kalamack in my place," he repeated, his face falling back into despair. "Or I will give in and go back into that kitchen." His face twisted, and I panicked that he might anyway. "He's whispering to me, Morgan. I can hear him through her...."



My mouth went dry. My thoughts spiraled to Kisten. If I let him bind me to him, I could end up like this. "Why me?" I asked. "There's a university of people better at magic than I am."



"Everyone else relies on their magic," he panted, bent almost double. "You use it as a last resort. It gives you...the advantage." He gasped. "She's weakening. I can feel it."



"Okay!" I exclaimed. "I'll go, damn it! Just get out of here!"



A sound of agony, soft as a brush of wind, slipped from him. "Help me," he whispered. "I can't make myself move anymore."



Heart pounding, I grabbed his arm and dragged him to the door. Behind us was Ivy's tortured cry of anguish. My stomach twisted. What was I doing, going on a date with Kisten?



A bright stab of snow-reflected light lanced into the church as Jenks and his brood worked the elaborate pulley system we had rigged so they could open the door. Quen balked at the cold blast of air that sent the pixies hiding. "Get out!" I exclaimed in frustration and fear as I pulled him out onto the stoop.



A long Gray Ghost limo idled at the curb. My breath hissed in relief as Jonathan, Trent's number-one lackey, opened the driver's door and emerged. I never thought I'd be happy to see the shockingly tall, distasteful man. They were in this together, working behind Trent's back. This was a badder mistake than usual. I could feel it already.



Quen panted as I helped him lurch down the steps. "Get him out of here," I demanded.



Jonathan yanked open the passenger-side door. "Are you going to do it?" he said, his thin lips pressed tight as he took in my cookie-smeared hair and wet jeans.



"Yes!" I pushed Quen in. He fell onto the leather seat, collapsing like a drunk. "Go!"



The tall elf shut the door and stared at me. "What did you do to him?" he said coldly.



"Nothing! It's Piscary! Get him out of here!"



Apparently satisfied, he strode to the driver's side. With an odd quietness, the car accelerated. I stood on the icy sidewalk and shivered, watching it speed away until it turned a corner and was gone.



Pulse slowing, I wrapped my arms around myself. The winter sun was cold. Slowly I turned to go inside, not knowing what I'd find curled up on my kitchen floor.