He wasn’t, but I set my hand on the table and settled back, feeling soft tugs as he finished what his children had started. A heavy sigh shifted me, and Jenks asked, “Now what?” his tone unusually gruff to cover his embarrassment over messing with my hair. The sound of his wings was pleasant, and I could smell oak leaves and Queen Anne’s lace.
My gaze went to Ivy’s empty space, and the sound of his wings dropped in pitch. “You going to get her out?” he asked softly.
He had reached the ends of my hair, and I slowly leaned forward, pillowing my head on my folded arms. “I’m worried, Jenks.”
Jenks harrumphed. “At least she didn’t leave because you bit Kisten.”
“I suppose,” I said, the warmth of my breath coming back to me from the old wood.
There was a final tug, and Jenks flew to land on the table before me. I sat upright to feel the heavy weight of my braid. His tiny features pinched. “She may not want to leave Piscary.”
My hand rose and fell in a gesture of frustration. “So I’m supposed to leave her there?”
Looking tired, Jenks sat cross-legged beside my abandoned coffee mug. “I don’t like it either, but he’s her master vampire—the one that protects her.”
“And screws with her mind.” Bothered, I rubbed at a nail, smoothing out a nick before the polish finished setting.
“You think you’re strong enough to protect her? Against an undead master vampire?” Jenks asked.
I thought back to my conversation with Keasley in the garden. “No,” I whispered, glancing at the clock. Where the devil is Glenn?
Jenks’s wings blurred, and he rose four inches, still sitting cross-legged. “Then let her get herself out. She’ll be all right.”
“Damn it, Jenks!” He started to laugh, which ticked me off. “There is nothing funny about this,” I said, and, smirking, Jenks landed on the table.
“I had this same conversation with Ivy about you up in Mackinaw. She’ll be all right.”
My eyes went to the clock. “If she isn’t, I’ll kill him.”
“No you won’t,” Jenks said, and I flicked my gaze to him. No, I wouldn’t. Piscary kept Ivy safe from predation. When she came home, I’d make her a cup of cocoa, listen to her cry, and this time, damn it, I’d hold her and tell her it was going to be okay. Vampire culture sucks.
My eyes blurred, and I jumped when the front bell rang. “There he is,” I said, chair scraping as I stood and yanked the waistband of my jeans up.
Jenks’s wings were a subdued hum as I grabbed my phone and dropped it into my bag. My thoughts went to Piscary, and I added my splat gun. Then I thought about Trent, and I dropped the focus in there, too. Checking to see if I’d marred my nails, I slid the jar into my arms and picked up the tomato. “Ready, Jenks?” I said with a forced cheerfulness.
“Yup,” he said, then shouted, “Jhan!”
The serious-minded pixy came in so fast I was sure he’d been on the gutters outside the window. “Watch your mother,” Jenks said. “You know how to use my phone?”
“Yes, Dad,” the eight-year-old said, and Jenks put a hand on his shoulder.
“Call Ms. Morgan if you need to reach me. Don’t look for me, use the phone. Got it?”
“Yes, Da-a-a-a-ad.” This time it carried a heavy exasperation, and I smiled, though I was dying inside. Jhan was assuming more responsibility to take his dad’s place in the next few years. Pixy life spans suck.
“Jenks,” I said as I shifted the jar of sauce to my hip, “it’s noon. If you want to sit this one out, that’s fine. I know you nap this time of day.”
“I’m fine, Rachel,” he said darkly. “Let’s go.”
To insist would only tick him off, so we headed out. My vamp-made boots clumped on the hardwood floor of the sanctuary, and after setting the jar on the table by the door, I fumbled in my bag for my sunglasses. I wrangled them on one-handed and pulled the door open.
“I got that sauce you wanted, Glenn,” I said, then looked up. I was getting tired of finding unexpected people on my stoop. Maybe I ought to spend an afternoon with a drill and put in one of those peepholes. How expensive could they be?
“Hey, David, what’s up?” I said, taking him in. He was out of his usual suit, wearing a soft gray suede tuck-in shirt and pair of jeans instead. His face was absolutely clean-shaven, and a long, dull scratch marked his cheek and neck. Behind him at the curb, his gray sports car idled.
“Rachel.” His quick gaze darted to Jenks. “Jenks,” he added. Standing a step back, the usually collected Were took a steadying breath, reaching to straighten his missing jacket. His hand clenched as if reaching for the handle of his briefcase. My worry intensified.