Dead Witch Walking. Ким Харрисон
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had collapsed into one of the gray suede chairs, sprawled out in a look of total unconcern, with her head on one of the thick arms and her feet dangling over the other. I hesitated in the doorway, taken aback at the picture she made. Like a lioness in her den, satiated from the kill. Well, I thought, she is a vampire. What did I expect her to look like?
Reminding myself that she wasn’t a practicing vamp and that I had nothing to worry about, I cautiously settled in the chair across from her, the coffee table between us. Only one of the table lamps was on, and the edges of the room were indistinct and lost in shadow. The lights from her electronic equipment glowed. “So, joining the I.S. was your dad’s idea?” I prompted.
Ivy had set her little white cardboard box atop her stomach. Not meeting my gaze, she lay on her back and indolently ate a bamboo shoot, looking at the ceiling as she chewed. “It was my mother’s idea, originally. She wanted me to be in management.” Ivy took another bite. “I was supposed to stay nice and safe. She thought it would be good for me to work on my people skills.” She shrugged. “I wanted to be a runner.”
I kicked off my slippers and tucked my feet under me. Curled up around my take-out box, I flicked a glance at Ivy as she slowly pulled her chopsticks out from between her lips. Most of the upper management in the I.S. were undead. I always thought it was because the job was easier if you didn’t have a soul.
“It wasn’t as if she could stop me,” Ivy continued, talking to the ceiling. “So to punish me for doing what I wanted instead of what she wanted, she made sure Denon was my boss.” A snicker escaped her. “She thought I’d get so ticked that I’d jump to a management position as soon as one opened up. She never considered I’d trade my inheritance to get out of my contract. I guess I showed her,” she said sarcastically.
I shuffled past a tiny corncob to get to a chunk of tomato. “You threw away all your money because you didn’t like your boss? I don’t like him, either, but—”
Ivy stiffened. The force of her gaze struck me cold. My words froze in my throat at the hatred in her expression. “Denon is a ghoul,” Ivy said, her words drawing the warmth from the room. “If I had to take his flack for one more day, I was going to rip his throat out.”
I hesitated. “A ghoul?” I said, confused. “I thought he was a vamp.”
“He is.” When I said nothing, she swung herself upright to put her boots on the floor. “Look,” she said, sounding bothered. “You must have noticed Denon doesn’t look like a vamp. His teeth are human, right? He can’t maintain an aura at noon? And he moves so loud you can hear him coming a mile away?”
“I’m not blind, Ivy.”
She cradled her white paperboard box and stared at me. The night air coming in through the window was chilly for late spring, and I drew her robe tighter about my shoulders.
“Denon was bitten by an undead, so he has the vampire virus in him,” Ivy continued. “That lets him do a few tricks and makes him real pretty, and I imagine he’s as scary as all hell if you let him bully you, but he’s someone’s lackey, Rachel. He’s a toy and always will be.”
There was a small scrape as she put her white box on the coffee table between us and edged forward to the end of her chair so she could reach it. “Even if he dies and someone bothers to turn him into an undead, he’ll be second-class,” she said. “Look at his eyes next time you see him. He’s afraid. Every time he lets a vamp feed on him, he has to trust that they’ll bring him back as an undead if they lose control and accidentally kill him.” She took a slow breath. “He should be afraid.”
The red curry went tasteless. Heart pounding, I searched her gaze, praying it would just be Ivy staring back at me. Her eyes were still brown, but something was in them. Something old that I didn’t understand. My stomach clenched, and I was suddenly unsure of myself. “Don’t be afraid of ghouls like Denon,” she whispered. I thought her words were meant to be soothing, but they tightened my skin until it tingled. “There are a lot more dangerous things to be afraid of.”
Like you? I thought, but didn’t say it. Her sudden air of repressed predator set off alarm bells in my head. I thought I should get up and leave. Get my scrawny witch butt back in the kitchen where it belonged. But she had eased herself back into her chair with her dinner, and I didn’t want her to know she was scaring the crap out of me. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t seen Ivy go vampy before. Just not after midnight. In her living room. Alone.
“Things like your mother?” I said, hoping I hadn’t gone too far.
“Things like my mother,” she breathed. “That’s why I’m living in a church.”
My thoughts went to my tiny cross on my new bracelet with the rest of my charms. It never failed to impress me that something so small could stop so powerful a force. It wouldn’t slow a living vamp down at all—only the undead—but I’d take whatever protection I could get.
Ivy put her boot heels on the edge of the coffee table. “My mother has been a true undead for the last ten years or so,” she said, startling me from my dark thoughts. “I hate it.”
Surprised, I couldn’t help but ask, “Why?”
She pushed her dinner away in what was obviously a gesture of unease. There was a frightening emptiness in her face, and she wouldn’t meet my gaze. “I was eighteen when my mother died,” she whispered. Her voice was distant, as if she wasn’t aware she was even talking.
“She lost something, Rachel. When you can’t walk under the sun, you lose something so nebulous, you can’t even say for sure what it is. But it’s gone. It’s as if she’s stuck following a pattern of behavior but can’t remember why. She still loves me, but she doesn’t remember why she loves me. The only thing that brings any life to her is the taking of blood, and she’s so damned savage about it. When she’s sated, I can almost see my mother in what’s left of her. But it doesn’t last. It’s never enough.”
Ivy looked up from under her lowered brow. “You do have a crucifix, don’t you?”
“Right here,” I said with forced brightness. I wouldn’t let her know she was putting me on edge; I wouldn’t. Holding up my hand, I gave it a little shake so the robe’s sleeve fell to my elbow to show my new charm bracelet.
Ivy put her boots on the floor. I relaxed at the less provocative position until she leaned halfway over the coffee table. Her hand went out with an unreal quickness, gripping my wrist before I knew she had moved. I froze, very aware of the warmth of her fingers. She studied the wood-inlaid metal charm intently as I fought the urge to pull away. “Is it blessed?” she asked.
Face cold, I nodded, and she released me, easing back with an eerie slowness. It seemed I could still feel her grip on me, an imprisoning firmness that wouldn’t tighten unless I pulled away. “Mine, too,” she said, drawing her cross out from behind her shirt.
Impressed anew with her crucifix, I set aside my dinner and scooted forward. I couldn’t help but reach out for it. The tooled silver begged to be touched, and she leaned across the table so I could bring it closer. Ancient runes were etched into it, along with the more traditional blessings. It was beautiful, and I wondered how old it was.
Suddenly, I realized Ivy’s warm breath was on my cheek.
I sat back, her cross still in my hand. Her eyes were dark and her face blank. There was nothing there. Frightened, I flicked my gaze from her to the cross. I couldn’t just drop it. It would smack her right in the chest. But I couldn’t set it gently down against her, either.
“Here,” I said, terribly uncomfortable at her blank stare. “Take it.”
Ivy reached out, her fingers grazing mine as she grasped the old metal. Swallowing hard, I scooted back into my chair and adjusted Ivy’s robe to cover my legs.
Moving with a provocative slowness, Ivy took her cross off. The silver chain caught against the black sheen of her hair. She pulled her hair free, and it fell back in a