For a Few Demons More(182)

I turned to Quen, the chalk still in my grip. “Thanks,” I whispered, and he nodded.

Slowly Piscary collected himself, turning from a savage monster to a ruthless businessman, albeit one covered in blood. His eyes were utterly black, and a shudder rippled over me. Taking a step forward, he stopped at the edge of my bubble. He tugged down the sleeves of his elegant traditional dress robes and wiped the last of the demon flesh from his mouth, clearly waiting. My pulse slowed, and, praying I was safe, I slid a foot forward and broke the circle.

Hell, I had saved his undead life. Surely that meant something to him.

“You could have let him kill me,” Piscary said, scanning the room until he found Ivy, her back to him as she touched her reflection.

“Uh-huh,” I panted, scooping up my bag and tucking the chalk away. “But you’re my ticket to normalcy, right? And the only way to get Kisten’s blood gift reversed.”

Piscary raised one eyebrow. “I can’t rescind my gift of Kisten’s last blood. I wouldn’t even if I could. Kisten needed to be reminded of his reason for existence. And besides, that would have been rude.”

Would have been? I thought, going cold. As in past tense?

“Kisten…” I stammered, suddenly feeling trapped. My hand clutched at my sore arm, and I felt sick. Jenks’s wings rose to a pitch that made my eyes ache. Kisten. “What did you do?” I took a frantic breath. “What did you do to him!”

The vampire dabbed at the black blood leaking from him. It smelled like incense, potent and heady. “Kisten is dead,” he said flat out, and I reached for the table, dizzy. “Not only dead but truly dead. Twice. He didn’t have it in him to stay the course.” Piscary pressed his lips and cocked his head in a mockery of interest. “I’m not surprised.”

“You’re lying,” I said, hearing my voice tremble. My chest clenched, and I couldn’t get enough air. Kisten couldn’t be dead. I would know. I would have felt it. Something would have been different, everything, and nothing was. Jenks had said he’d called. He couldn’t be dead!

“He went underground!” I exclaimed, frantically looking at everyone—wanting someone, anyone, to tell me I was right. But no one met my eyes.

Piscary smiled to show a glint of fang. He was getting too much joy from my despair for it not to be true. “You don’t think I know when one of my own passes into undead existence?” he said. “I felt him die, and then I felt him die again.” Face showing a twisted pleasure, he leaned toward me and whispered loudly. “It was a shock to him. He didn’t expect it. And I licked up his despair and failure, reveling in it. His entire life was worth just that one…exquisite moment of failed perfection. Pity his living bloodline ended with him, but he was always so careful. It was as if he didn’t want anyone to follow him….”

Vertigo hit me, and I clutched at the edge of the table. This cannot be happening. “Who?” I rasped, and Piscary smiled like a benevolent, savage god. “Who killed him?”

“How pathetic,” he said, then cocked his head. “Or do you really not remember?” he said in speculation, dropping his bloodstained handkerchief and focusing intently on me.

I tried to speak, but nothing came out. Horror that he might be speaking the truth numbed me. I couldn’t think. My arm throbbed under my fingers, and when he leaned closer, I did nothing, too shaken to respond.

“You were there,” he said distantly, reaching out to take my jaw in his hand and tilt my head so the light hit my eyes. “You saw. I can smell Kisten’s final death all over you. You breathe it out. It lifts from your skin like perfume.”

I was sleeping in the church, I thought in denial, then felt my world shift with a nauseating spin as things added up. I had woken sore and hurt. I had a cut on my lip. The kitchen had smelled of candles and lilac—the materials for a forget potion. My damned foot was so swollen that I couldn’t wear anything but my boots.

What had I seen? What had I done?

I stumbled back when Piscary took a step forward. I didn’t believe this! I had given him the focus for what? Kisten was dead. Tears prickled. Oh, my God, Kisten is dead. And I was there.

Piscary reached for me, and I flung my hand up to block, only to have him capture my wrist. Fear spiked to my middle, and I froze. The room seemed to waver as the people in it drew their breath, and Piscary breathed deep, scenting me. Relishing my fear.

“You’re stronger than Ivy let on,” he said softly, almost introspective. “I understand why she’s fixated on you. Perhaps there’s a use for you, if you can walk unscathed from a room where one undead vampire met his end and another barely escaped to see another night.”