"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.