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Good, I said again, feeling stupid. Can you bring it with you?
It s a little big for me to slip into my pocket, but I ll manage. It was sarcastic and biting, but he was
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sounding more like the Jenks I knew.
I glanced at him, seeing he was trailing the faintest wisp of silver sparkles. My car was just ahead, and I
wondered whether he d take offense if I offered him a ride home.
Cowardly ball of spider snot? Jenks said when I opened the door and he darted inside.
Swallowing hard, I stared across to the sidewalk and the people running for cover as the clouds opened
and it began to pour. He was back. I had gotten him back. It wasn t perfect, but it was a start. Breath
shaking, I folded the umbrella and ducked inside. Give me a break, I said as I started the car and
turned the heat on full to warm him up. I was pressed for time.
Four
Iheld up the black lace top in consideration. Sighing, I decided against it, folding it up and jamming it
back into the third drawer down. Sure, I looked good in it, but this was a rescue run, not spring break.
Taking the short-sleeve peach-colored cotton shirt instead, I set it atop the jeans already packed in the
suitcase my mom had given me for graduation. She insisted it hadn t been a hint, but I reserved my
doubts to this day.
Moving to my top drawer, I grabbed enough socks and undies for a week. The church was empty since
Ivy was out getting Jenks and his brood. The rain pattered pleasantly on my small stained-glass window
propped open with a pencil, getting the sill wet but little else. From the dark garden came the trill of a
toad. It mixed well with the soft jazz from the living room.
In the back of my closet I found the red turtleneck sweater I d stored last week. I shook the hanger
from it, carefully folded it, and set it with the rest. I added a pair of running shorts and my favorite black
tee with STAFF on it that I d gotten while working Takata s concert last winter. The temp could hit
eighty as easily as thirty-five. I sighed, content. Midnight rain, toad song, jazz, and Jenks coming home. It
didn t get much better.
My head rose at the creak of the front door. Hey, it s me, came Kisten s voice.
And now it was better still. Back here, I called, taking two steps to the hall, one hand on the
doorframe as I leaned out. The lights were dim in the sanctuary, his tall silhouette mysterious and
attractive as he shook the rain from his full-length slicker.
I ducked back inside and shut my underwear drawer just before Kisten came in, the soft and certain
steps of his dress shoes distinct on the hardwood floor. The scent of pizza and someone else s perfume
hung about him, and by his carefully styled hair, clean-shaven cheeks, expensive dress slacks and silk
shirt, I knew he had come from work. I liked the respectable, financially successful club manager aspect
of Kisten as much as his rougher, bad boy image. He could do both equally well.
Hi, love, he said, hitting his fake British accent hard to make me smile. A rain-spotted paper grocery
bag was in his hands, the top rolled down. I padded forward in my sneakers, having to reach to give him
a hug. My fingers played with the damp tips of his hair as I drew away, and he smiled, enjoying the tease.
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Hi, I said, reaching for the bag. Is that them?
Nodding, he gave it to me, and I set it on the bed, opening it and peering inside. As I had asked, there
was a pair of sweatpants and a soft flannel sweatshirt.
Kisten looked at the bag, clearly wanting to know why, but all he said was, Ivy s out?
She went to get Jenks because of the rain. Pensive, I opened a lower drawer and packed another
T-shirt. She missed him as much as me, I finished softly.
Looking tired, Kisten sat at the head of my bed, his long fingers rolling the top of the bag down. I closed
my suitcase but didn t zip it. It was unusual for him to leave Piscary s club mid-hours. Clearly something
was bothering him. I straightened, arms crossed, and waited for it.
I don t think you should go, he said, his voice serious.
My mouth fell open, surprise shifting to anger when I pieced it together. Is this about Nick? I said,
turning to my dresser to pack the ungodly expensive bottle of perfume that kept my natural scent from
mixing with a vampire s. Kisten, I m over him. Give me some credit.
That s not why. Ivy
Ivy! I stiffened, glancing into the empty hall. What about her? Is Piscary&
His slowly moving head said no, and I relaxed a notch. He s leaving her alone. But she relies on you
more than you know. If you go, things might shift.
Flustered, I jammed the perfume into a zippy bag and dropped it into a pocket in my vanity case. I m
only going to be gone for a week, maybe two. It s not as if I m her scion.
No. You re her friend. And that s more important than anything else to her right now.
Arms crossed, I leaned back against my dresser. This isn t my responsibility I have my own life, I
protested. Gods, we share rent. We aren t married!
Kisten s eyes were dark in the dim light from my table lamp, his brow pinched with worry. You have
coffee with her every day when she wakes up. You re across the hall when she shuts the curtains before
going to sleep. That might not mean much to you, but it s everything to her. You re her first real friend
in& Damn, I think it s been over ten years.
You re her friend, I said. And what about Skimmer?
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