Every Which Way But Dead

I watched myself in the mirror above my new, solid-ash dresser as I put my hoop earrings in, the ones big enough for Jenks to ride on. The little black dress looked good on me, and the above-the-knee boots that went with it would keep me warm enough. I didn't think Kisten had planned a snowball fight in the park, as corny and cheap as that was. And he had said wear something nice. I stood sideways and checked myself out. This was nice. This was very nice.



Pleased, I sat on my bed and snapped my boots up, leaving the last few inches open so I could walk easier. I didn't want to get excited about going out with Kisten, but the chance to dress up and have a good time had been so infrequent lately that it was hard not to. I told myself that I could be going out with the girls and still feel like this. It wasn't Kisten; it was just going out.



Wanting a second opinion, I went clattering into the hall in search of Ivy. The memory of her fighting Piscary off in her mind was very real. The undead vampire had given up as soon as Quen was gone, but she had been very subdued the rest of the day, refusing to talk about it as she helped me clean the kitchen. She didn't want me going out with Kisten now, and I was inclined to agree with her that it was a stupid idea. But it wasn't as if I couldn't fight Kisten off. He had said he wouldn't bite me, and I wasn't about to let a moment of passion change my mind. Not now. Not ever.



I ran my hand down my sparkling party dress as I entered the living room, hesitating for Ivy's inspection. Curled up on the couch, she looked up from her magazine. I couldn't help but notice she was on the same page as when I had gone in to change thirty minutes ago.



"What do you think?" I said, making a slow circle and feeling tall in my spike-heeled boots.



She sighed, closing her magazine on her finger to mark the page. "I think it's a mistake."



My brow furrowed and I looked down at myself. "Yeah, you're right," I said as my thoughts went to my closet. "I'll put on something else."



I turned to leave, and she threw her magazine across the room to hit the wall before me. "That's not what I meant!" she exclaimed, and I spun, startled.



Ivy's oval face was creased and her thin eyebrows pinched as she sat up in her chair, fidgeting. "Rachel..." she cajoled, and I knew where this conversation was going.



"I'm not going to let him bite me," I said, becoming angry. "I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself. And after this afternoon, you can be damned sure his teeth aren't going to get anywhere near me."



Brown eyes worried, she curled her legs up under her to make herself look uncertain. It was a mien I didn't see on her very often. Her eyes closed as she took a breath as if gathering herself. "You look nice," she said, and I could almost feel my blood pressure drop. "Don't let him bite you," she added softly. "I don't want to have to kill Kisten if he binds you to him."



"You got it," I said, trying to lighten her mood as I walked out, knowing she might. It would be the only way to reliably break his hold on me. Time and distance would do it eventually, too, but Ivy wasn't one to take chances. And being bound to him after I had said no to her would be more than she could take. My heels clacked a little slower as I went back to my room to change into something more subdued. This outfit was asking for trouble.



Standing before my open closet, I pushed hangers around hoping something would jump out and say, "Wear me! Wear me!" I'd already been through everything and was starting to think I didn't have anything that wasn't too sexy and yet attractive enough for a night on the town. With all the money I'd spent filling my closet last month, there ought to have been something. My stomach tightened at the thought of my shrinking bank balance, but Quen had left his ten thousand on the kitchen floor. And I had agreed to baby-sit Trent...



The soft knock at my door startled me, and I spun, my hand to my collarbone.



"Um," Ivy said, her closed-lipped smile telling me she found something funny in having surprised me. "I'm sorry. I know you aren't going to let him bite you." She raised a long hand in a gesture of exasperation. "It's the vamp thing. That's all."



I nodded, understanding. I'd been living with Ivy long enough that her unconscious vampire instincts thought of me as her property even though her conscious mind knew different. It was why I didn't spar with her anymore, wash my clothes with hers, bring up ties of family and blood, or follow her out of the room if she abruptly left in the middle of a conversation for no apparent reason. All pushed her vampire-instinct buttons and would put us right back where we were seven months ago, fumbling about as we figured out how to live with each other.



"Here," Ivy said, coming one step into my room and holding out a fist-sized package wrapped in green foil and a purple bow. "It's an early solstice gift. I thought you might like to use it on your date with Kisten."



"Oh, Ivy!" I exclaimed, taking the elaborate, clearly store-wrapped package. "Thank you. I, ah, haven't wrapped yours yet...." Wrapped? I hadn't even bought it.



"That's okay," she said, clearly flustered. "I was going to wait, but I thought you could use it. For your date," she fumbled. Eyes eager, she looked at the box in my hand. "Go on. Open it."



"Okay." I sat on my bed, carefully undoing the fabric and foil ribbon, as I might want to use it next year. The paper was embossed with the Black Kiss logo, and I slowed my fingers, wanting to prolong the suspense. The Black Kiss was an exclusive shop catering to vamps. I didn't even window-shop there. The associates knew by looking that I couldn't afford a hanky.



The paper came away to reveal a small wooden box, and inside that amid a cushion of crushed red velvet was a cut-glass perfume bottle. "Ooooh," I breathed. "Thank you." Ivy had been getting me perfume since I'd moved in as we tried to find a scent that covered up her lingering aroma on me and help her curb her vampiric tendencies. It wasn't the romantic gift one might think it was, but kind of a vampire antiaphrodisiac. My dresser was covered in castoffs of varying degrees of effectiveness. Actually, the perfume was more for her than me.



"It's really hard to find," she said, starting to look discomforted. "You have to special order it. My dad told me about it. I hope you like it."



"Mmmm," I said, opening it and dabbing some behind my ear and on my wrists. I breathed deeply, thinking it smelled like a green woods and dash of citrus: clean and crisp, with a hint of darker shadows. Scrumptious. "Oh, this is wonderful," I said, standing to give her a quick impromptu hug.



She held very still, and I busied myself at my dresser, pretending I didn't notice her surprise. "Huh," she said, and I turned, finding a bemused expression on her. "It works."



"What..." I said warily, wondering what I had put on.



Her gaze rove before settling on mine. "It blocks a vampire's sense of smell," she said. "At least the more sensitive aromas that run to the unconscious." She gave me a lopsided smile to make her look harmless. "I can't smell you at all."



"Cool," I said, impressed. "I should wear it all the time."



Ivy's expression went subtly guilty. "You could, but I got the last bottle, and I don't know if I could find it again."



I nodded. She meant it was more expensive than a gallon of water on the moon. "Thank you, Ivy," I said earnestly.



"You're welcome." Her smile was genuine. "Happy early solstice." Her attention went to the front of the church. "He's here."



The rumble of an idling car filtered in through my thin stained-glass window. I took a deep breath and glanced at my bedside clock. "Right on time." I turned to her, pleading with my eyes for her to get the door.



"Nope." She grinned to show an unconscious slip of teeth. "You get it."



She turned and left. I looked down at myself, thinking what I had on was grossly inappropriate, and now I had to answer the door in it. "Ivy..." I complained as I followed her out. She never slowed, holding her hand up in refusal as she walked into the kitchen.



"Fine," I muttered, boot heels clicking to the front of the church. I flicked on the lights in the sanctuary in passing, the high, dim glow doing little to brighten the gloom. It was after one in the morning, and the pixies were all safe and snug in my desk until about four, when they would wake up. There was no light in the foyer, and I wondered if we ought to do something about that as I pushed open one side of the heavy wooden door.



With the soft sound of shoes grinding on rock salt, Kisten shifted back.



"Hi, Rachel," he said, his eyes taking in my clothes. A faint stiffening of the skin about his eyes told me I had guessed correctly; I wasn't dressed for whatever he had planned. I wished I knew what he had on under the luscious gray wool coat he was wearing. It went all the way to his boot tops and looked classy. He had shaved, too - his usual day-old stubble gone - giving him a polished look I wasn't used to seeing on him.



"This isn't what I'm wearing," I said by way of greeting. "Come on in. I just need a minute to change."



"Sure." Past him at the curb was his black Corvette, the light snow melting as it hit. He edged in past me, and I pulled the door thumping shut behind him.



"Ivy's in the kitchen," I said, starting back to my room, his soft steps following right behind me. "She had a bad afternoon. She won't talk to me, but she might talk to you."



"She called me," he said, the careful cadence of his words telling me he knew about Piscary asserting his dominance over her. "You're going to put on different boots, right?"



I jerked to a stop at the door to my room. "What's wrong with my boots?" I said, thinking they were the only thing that I was going to keep on. Ah...the only thing from this outfit, not the only thing total.



He looked at them, his dyed-blond eyebrows high. "They're what, five inches?"



"Yeah."



"It's icy. You're going to slip and break your ass." His blue eyes widened. "I mean your rear end."



A smile crossed my face at the thought that he was trying to clean up his mouth for me. "They make me as tall as you, too," I said smugly.



"I noticed." He hesitated. With a little jiggle, he whisked past me and into my room.



"Hey!" I protested as he went right to my closet. "Get out of my room!"



Ignoring me, he pushed all the way to the back where I put everything I didn't like. "I saw something here the other day," he said, making a small exclamation as he leaned to tug at something. "Here," he said, holding out a pair of drab black boots. "Start with these."



"Those?" I complained as he set them aside and stuck his arms back into my closet. "There's no heel to those at all. And they're four years old and out of style. And what were you doing in my closet?"



"That's a classic boot," Kisten said, affronted. "It never goes out of style. Put them on." He shuffled about again, pulling something out by feel, as he couldn't possibly see anything back there. My face warmed when I saw an old suit I'd forgotten I had. "Oh, this is just ugly," he said, and I snatched it out of his hands.



"It's my old interview suit," I said. "It's supposed to be ugly."



"Throw it away. But keep the pants. You're wearing them tonight."



"I am not!" I protested. "Kisten, I am fully capable of picking out my own clothes!"



Silently he raised his eyebrows, then went right back in to get a black long-sleeve shirt, from my don't-go-there section, that my mother bought for me three years ago. I hadn't the heart to give it away as it was silk, even though it was so long it hung mid-thigh on me. The neckline was too low, and it made my small chest look even flatter.



"This too," he said, and I shook my head.



"No," I said firmly. "It's too long, and it's something my mother would wear."



"Then your mother has better taste than you," he said in good humor. "Wear a camisole under it, and for God's sake, don't tuck it in."



"Kisten, get out of my closet!"



But he reached back in, bowing his head over something small in his hands as he rocked back. I thought it might be that ugly purse with the sequins I wished I had never bought, but I went mortified when he turned with an innocuous looking book. It had no title and was bound with a soft brown leather. The glint in Kisten's eyes told me he knew what it was.



"Give me that," I said, reaching out for it.



A wicked grin on him, Kisten held it up over his head. I could probably still get it, but I'd have to climb him. "Well, well, well..." he drawled. "Ms. Morgan. You have shocked and delighted me. Where did you get a copy of Rynn Cormel's guide to dating the undead?"



I pressed my lips together and fumed, stymied. Hip cocked, I could do nothing as he took a distancing step back and flipped through it.



"Have you read it?" he asked, then made a surprised Mmmm sound as he paused at a page. "I forgot about that one. I wonder if I can still do that."



"Yes, I've read it." I extended my hand. "Give it here."



Kisten pulled his attention from the pages, his long masculine hands cradling the book open. His eyes had gone black just a wee bit, and I cursed myself as a thrill of excitement went through me. Damn vamp pheromones.



"Ooooh, it's important to you," Kisten said, glancing out the door when Ivy banged something in the kitchen. "Rachel..." he said, his voice softer as he moved a step closer. "You know all my secrets." Without looking, his fingers dog-eared a page. "What drives me crazy. What instinctively tips me over - the - edge..."



He said the last word carefully, and I stifled a delicious shudder.



"You know how to...manipulate me," he murmured, the book dangling from an inattentive hand. "Do witches have a manual?"



He had somehow gotten within two feet of me, and I didn't remember him moving. The smell of his wool coat was strong, and under that was the heady scent of leather. Flustered, I snatched the book away, and Kisten dropped back a step. "Don't you wish," I muttered. "Ivy gave it to me so I would stop pushing her buttons. That's all it is." I shoved it under my pillow, and his smile widened. Damn it, if he touched me, I was going to slug him.



"That's where it belongs," he said. "Not a closet. Keep it close for quick reference."



"Get out," I said, pointing.



Long coat drifting about his shoe tops, he moved to the door, his every motion holding a confident seductive grace. "Put your hair up," he said as he sauntered through the arch-way. A grin came over him, showing me his teeth. "I like your neck. Page twelve, third paragraph down." He licked his lips, hiding the flash of fang even as I saw it.



"Out!" I shouted, taking two steps and slamming the door.



Fuming, I turned to what he had laid out on my bed, glad I'd made it that afternoon. A faint tingling at my neck drew my hand up, and I pressed my palm into it, willing it away. I stared at my pillow, then hesitantly pulled the book out. Rynn Cormel had written it? Cripes, the man had single-handedly run the country during the Turn, and he had enough time to write a vampire sex manual, too?



The scent of lilac rose as I opened it at the dog-eared page. I was prepared for anything, having been through the book twice and finding myself more appalled than turned on, but it was only about the use of necklaces to send messages to your lover. Apparently the more you covered your neck, the more you were inviting him or her to rip it open. The gothic metallic lace that was so popular lately was like walking around in a teddy. Going completely bare at the neck was almost as bad - a delicious claim of vampiric virginity and a complete and utter turn-on.



"Huh," I muttered, closing the book and dropping it on my new bedside table. Maybe a reread was in order. My gaze went to the outfit Kisten had chosen for me. It looked frumpy, but I'd try it on, and when Ivy told him I looked like I was forty, he could wait another ten minutes while I changed back.



Motions quick, I took off my boots and tossed them thumping aside. I had forgotten that the gray slacks were lined with silk, and they made a pleasant sensation slipping over my legs. I chose a black halter top - without Kisten's help - and put the long shirt on over it. It didn't do a thing to show off my curves, and I turned to my mirror, frowning.



I froze at my reflection, shocked. "Damn," I whispered. I had looked good before in my black dress and boots. But in this? In this I looked...sophisticated. Remembering page twelve, I fumbled for my longest gold chain and looped it over my head. "Double damn," I breathed, shifting to see myself from a different angle.



My curves were gone, hidden behind the simple straight lines, but the subdued statement of the modest slacks, silk shirt, and gold chain screamed confidence and casual wealth. Now my pale skin was softly alabaster instead of sickly white, and my athletic build appeared sleek. It was a new look for me. I didn't know I could do high-class wealthy.



I hesitantly pulled my hair up off my neck and held it atop my head. "Whoa," I breathed, when it turned me from sophisticated to elegant. Looking this good outweighed the embarrassment of letting Kisten know he could dress me better than I could dress myself.



Digging in a drawer, I found and invoked my last amulet to tame the frizz of my hair, then put my hair up, pulling a few strands to drape artfully before my ears. I dabbed on a bit more of my new perfume, checked my makeup, hid my hair-taming amulet behind my shirt, then grabbed a small clasp purse, as my shoulder bag would ruin everything. The lack of my usual charms gave me a moment of pause, but it was a date, not a run. And if I had to fight Kisten off, I'd be using ley line magic anyway.



My flat-heeled boots were subdued as I left my room and followed the soft give-and-take murmurs of Kisten and Ivy into the amber-lit sanctuary. I hesitated at the doorway, looking in.



They had woken the pixies, who were flitting everywhere, concentrating about Ivy's grand piano as they played tag among the wires and stops. There was a faint hum of sound shifting the air, and I realized the vibrations from their wings were making the strings resonate.



Ivy and Kisten stood by the archway to the foyer. She had that same uneasy, defiant look on her that she'd been wearing earlier when she refused to talk to me. Kisten was bent close, clearly concerned, with his hand on her shoulder.



I cleared my throat for their attention, and Kisten's hand fell. Ivy's posture shifted back to her usual equanimity, but I could see her shattered confidence underneath.



"Oh, that's better," Kisten said as he turned, his eyes lighting briefly on my necklace.



He had unbuttoned his coat, and I ran my eyes appreciatively over him as I approached. No wonder he had wanted to dress me. He looked fabulous: navy Italian pinstripe suit, shiny shoes, hair slicked back and smelling faintly of soap...and smiling at me with an attractive self-assurance. His usual chain was a quick flash hidden behind the collar of his starched white shirt. A tasteful tie was snugged up to his neck, and a watch fob ran from a vest pocket through a buttonhole and then to the other vest pocket. Looking at his trim waist, broad shoulders, and slender hips, there was nothing to argue with. Nothing at all.



Ivy blinked as she took me in. "When did you buy that?" she asked, and I smiled widely.



"Kist picked it out of my closet," I said brightly, and that would be the only admission of my lack of polish he was going to get.



It was a date, so I went to stand beside Kisten; Nick would have gotten a kiss, but as Ivy and Jenks were hovering - and in Jenks's case, literally - a little discretion was in order. More importantly, he wasn't Nick.



Jenks landed on Ivy's shoulder. "Do I need to say anything?" the pixy asked Kisten, his hands on his hips to look like a protective father.



"No, sir," Kisten said, entirely serious, and I fought to keep a smile from me. The picture of a four-inch pixy threatening a six-foot living vampire would have been ridiculous if Kisten weren't taking him seriously. Jenks's warning was real and very enforceable. The only thing more unstoppable than fairy assassins were pixies. They could rule the world if they wanted.



"Good," Jenks said, apparently satisfied.



I stood by Kisten and rocked back and forth on my flat heels twice, staring at everyone. No one said a word. This was really weird. "Ready to go?" I finally prompted.



Jenks snickered and flitted off to corral his kids back into the desk. Ivy gave Kisten a last look, and walked out of the sanctuary. Sooner than I would have expected, the TV blared. I ran my eyes over Kisten, thinking he looked as far away from his biker image as a goat is to a tree.



"Kisten," I said, putting a hand to my necklace. "What does this...say?"



He leaned close. "Confidence. Not looking for anything, but naughty behind closed doors."



I stifled a thrill-invoked shudder when he pulled away. Okay. That...works.



"Let me help you with your coat," he said, and a sound of dismay came from me as I followed him into the foyer. My coat. My ugly, ugly coat with the fake fur around the collar.



"Ouch," Kisten said, his brow furrowed in the dim light seeping in from the sanctuary as he saw it. "Tell you what." He shrugged out of his coat. "You can wear mine. It's unisex."



"Now wait up," I protested, taking a step back before he could put it on me. "I'm smarter than that, fang-boy. I'll end up smelling like you. This is a platonic date, and I'm not going to break rule number one by mixing our scents before I even step out of my church."



He grinned, his white teeth glinting in the dim light. "Got me dead to rights," he admitted. "But what are you going to wear? That?"



A wince pulled my face tight while I looked at my coat. "All right," I agreed, not wanting to ruin my new facade of elegance with fake fur and nylon. And there was my new perfume..."But I'm not putting this on to intentionally mix our scents. Understand?"



He nodded, but his smile made me think otherwise, and I let him help me slip into it. My gaze went distant as its heavy weight eased over my shoulders, comforting and warm. Kisten might not be able to smell me, but I could smell Kisten, and his lingering body warmth sank into me. Leather, silk, and the barest hint of a clean-scented after-shave made a mix I was hard-pressed not to sigh into. "Will you be okay?" I asked, seeing he had only his suit jacket.



"The car is already warm." He intercepted my reach for the door, his hand touching mine atop the handle. "Allow me," he said gallantly. "You're my date. Let me act like it."



Thinking he was being silly, I nevertheless let him open the door and take my arm as he helped me down the steps lightly dusted with snow. The snow had started shortly after sundown, and the ugly gray splotches kicked up by the snowplows were covered in pristine white. The air was crisp and cold, and there was no wind.



I wasn't surprised when he maneuvered to open the car door for me, and I couldn't help but feel special as I arranged myself. Kisten shut the door and hustled around to the front. The leather seats were warm, and there was no cardboard tree hanging from the rearview mirror. I took a quick look at the discs in the console as he got in. They ranged from Korn to Jeff Beck, and he even had one of singing monks. He listened to singing monks?



Kisten settled himself. As soon as the car started, he flipped the heater on full. I sank into the seat, relishing the deep rumble of the engine. It was markedly stronger than my little car, vibrating through me like thunder. The leather, too, was of a higher quality, and the mahogany on the dash was real, not fake. I was a witch; I could tell.



I refused to compare Kisten's car to Nick's drafty, ugly truck, but it was hard not to. And I liked being treated special. Not that Nick didn't make me feel special, but this was different. It was fun to get dressed up, even if we ended up eating at Mickey-d's. Which was a very real possibility as Kisten had only sixty dollars to spend.



Glancing at him sitting beside me, I realized I didn't care.