I lifted a plant and ran my hand under it—my version of dusting. “People who want to kill Trent,” I said lightly. “I like excitement, but I’m not insane.”
Ivy moved my bucket and mop to a dry part of the floor and sprayed a heavy layer of that unlabeled bottle. “You going to do it?” she asked, as if I hadn’t already said no.
“No.”
In one motion I swept all the papers off the desktop and into the uppermost drawer. Jenks landed on the clean surface, his wings stilling as he leaned against the pencil cup and crossed his ankles and arms to look surprisingly alluring for a four-inch-tall man. “Why not?” he accused. “You think he’s going to stiff you?”
Again, I added in my thoughts. “Because I already saved his freaking elf ass once,” I said. “You do it once, it’s a mistake. You do it twice and it’s not a mistake anymore.”
Mop and bucket in hand, Ivy walked out, snickering.
“It’s RSVP by tomorrow,” Jenks needled. “Rehearsal is Friday. You’re invited.”
“I know that.” It was my birthday, too, and I wasn’t going to spend it with Trent. Ticked, I headed into the kitchen after Ivy.
Flying backward, Jenks got in my face and preceded me down the hallway, slices of sunlight coming in from the living room. “I’ve got two reasons you should do it,” he said. “One, it will piss Ellasbeth off, and two, you could charge him enough to afford to resanctify the church.”
My steps slowed, and I tried to keep the ugly look off my face. That was unfair. By the sink, Ivy frowned, clearly thinking the same. “Jenks…”
“I’m just saying—”
“She’s not working for Kalamack,” Ivy threatened, and this time he shut his mouth.
I stood in the kitchen, not knowing why I was here. “I gotta shower,” I said.
“Go,” Ivy said, meticulously—and needlessly—washing the bucket with soapy water before putting it away. “I’ll wait up for the man coming over with an estimate.”
I didn’t like that. She’d probably fudge on the quote, knowing that her pockets were deeper than mine. She had told me she was nearly broke, but nearly broke for the last living member of the Tamwood vampires was not my broke, rather more of a down-to-six-figures-in-her-bank-account broke. If she wanted something, she got it. But I was too tired to fight her.
“I owe you,” I said as I grabbed the cooled tea Ceri had made for me and shuffled out.
“God, Jenks,” Ivy was saying as I avoided my room with my scattered clothes and just headed for my bathroom. “The last thing she needs is to be working for Kalamack.”
“I just thought—” the pixy said.
“No, you didn’t think,” Ivy accused. “Trent isn’t some pantywaist rich pushover, he’s a power-hungry, murdering drug lord who looks good in a suit. You don’t think he’s got some reason for inviting her to work security other than his welfare?”
“I wasn’t going to let her go alone,” he protested, and I shut the door. Sipping the tart tea, I dropped my pj’s into the washer and got the shower going so I wouldn’t have to listen to them. Sometimes I felt as if they thought I couldn’t hear at all just because I couldn’t hear a pixy belch across the graveyard. Yeah, they’d had a contest one night. Jenks won.
The water’s warmth was wonderful, and after the sharp scent of pine soap washed away the choking smell of burnt amber, I stepped from the shower feeling refreshed and almost awake. Purple towel wrapped around me, I rubbed the mist from the long mirror, leaning close to see if I had any new freckles. Nope. Not yet. Opening my mouth, I checked out my beautiful, pristine teeth. It was nice not having any fillings.
I may have coated my soul in blackness when I had twisted a demon curse to turn into a wolf this spring, but I wasn’t going to feel guilty over the beautiful unmarked skin I had when I turned back. The accumulated damage of twenty-five years of existence had been removed, and if I didn’t find a way to get rid of the demon smut from twisting the curse before I died, I was going to pay for it by burning in hell.
At least I’m not going to feel too guilty about it, I thought as I reached for my lotion, heavy on the SPF protection. And I certainly wasn’t going to waste it. My mother’s family had come from Ireland long before the Turn, and from my mom I got my red hair, my green eyes, and my pale skin, now as satisfyingly soft and supple as a newborn’s. From my dad I got my height, my lean, athletic build, and my attitude. From both of them I got a rare genetic condition that would have killed me before my first birthday if Trent’s father hadn’t set himself above the law and fixed it in his illegal genetic lab.