"Hello." Nick's recorded voice came from my answering machine, sounding smooth and polished. "You've reached Morgan, Tamwood, and Jenks of Vampiric Charms, independent runners. They are currently unavailable. Please leave a message and let us know if you would prefer a daylight or evening return call."
I gripped the black plastic of Nick's phone tighter and waited for the beep. Having Nick leave the outgoing message on our machine had been my idea. I liked his voice, and I thought it very posh and professional for us to appear to have a man as a receptionist. 'Course, that all went out the window when they saw the church.
"Ivy?" I said, wincing at the guilt I could hear in my voice. "Pick up if you're there."
Nick walked past me from the kitchen, his hand trailing across my waist as he went into his living room.
The phone remained silent, and I rushed to fill the gap before the machine clicked off. "Hey, I'm at Nick's. Um... about earlier. Sorry. It was my fault." I glanced at Nick doing the "bachelor tidy shuffle" as he swooped about, shoving things out of sight under the couch and behind cushions. "Nick says he's sorry for hitting you."
"I do not," he said, and I covered the receiver thinking her vamp hearing might catch it.
"Hey, umm," I continued, "I'm going to my mom's to pick up some stuff, but I'll be back around ten. If you get home before me, why don't you pull the lasagna out and we'll have that tonight. We can eat around midnight? Make it an early dinner so I can get my homework done?" I hesitated, wanting to say more. "Well, I hope you get this," I finished lamely. " 'Bye."
I clicked the phone off and turned to Nick. "What if she's still knocked out?"
His eyes tightened. "I didn't hit her that hard."
I slumped to lean against the wall. It was painted an icky brown and didn't go with anything else. Nothing in Nick's apartment went with anything else, so it kind of fit - in a warped sort of way. It wasn't that Nick didn't care about continuity, but that he looked at things differently. The time I found him wearing a blue sock with a black, he had blinked at me and said they were the same thickness.
His books, too, weren't cataloged alphabetically - his oldest tomes had no title or author - but by some ranking system I had yet to figure out. They lined an entire wall of his living room, giving me the eerie feeling of being watched whenever I was there. He had tried to get me to store them in my closet for him after his mother dumped them on his doorstep early one morning. I'd kissed him soundly and refused. They creeped me out.
Nick leaned into the kitchen and grabbed his keys. The sliding sound of metal pulled me from the wall and to the door. I glanced over my outfit before following him into the hall: blue jeans, tucked-in black cotton T, and the flip-flops I used when we swam in his apartment's pool. I had left them last month and found them washed and hung up in Nick's closet.
"I don't have my bag," I muttered as he gave the door a firm tug to lock it.
"You want to stop at the church on the way?"
His offer didn't sound genuine, and I hesitated. We'd have to cross half of the Hollows to get there. It was after sundown. The streets were getting busy, and it would take forever. There wasn't much in my bag in terms of money, and I wouldn't need my charms - I was only going to my mom's - but the thought of Ivy flat out on the floor was intolerable. "Could we?"
He took a slow breath, and with his long face twisted into a stilted expression, he nodded.
I knew he didn't want to, and the bother of that made me almost miss the step out of the apartment house and onto the dark parking lot. It was cold. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, but the stars were lost behind the city lights. My feet felt drafty in their flip-flops, and when I clutched my arms about myself, Nick handed me his coat. I shrugged into it, my anger at his reluctance to check on Ivy easing at the warmth and lingering smell of him on the thick fabric.
A faint whine came from a street lamp. My dad would have called it a thief light. Just enough illumination to let a thief know what he was doing. The sound of our feet was loud, and Nick reached for my door. "I'll get it," he said gallantly, and I smirked as he fought with the handle, grunting as he gave it a final yank and the latch released.
Nick had been working his new job for only three months but somehow managed to get a beat-up blue Ford truck already. I liked it. It was big and ugly, which was why he had gotten it so cheap. He said it was the only thing they had on the lot that didn't scrunch his legs up to his chin. The clear coat was peeling and the tailgate was rusting out, but it was transportation.
I lurched up and in, putting my feet squarely on the offensive floor mat from the previous owner as Nick slammed the door shut. The truck shook, but it was the only way to be sure the door wouldn't fly open when we went across railroad tracks.
As I waited for Nick to come around the back, a flickering shadow over the hood caught my eye. I leaned forward, squinting. Something almost smacked the window, and I jumped.
"Jenks!" I exclaimed, recognizing him. The glass between us did nothing to hide his agitation. His wings were a gossamer blur, shimmering in the street lamp as he frowned. A floppy, wide-brimmed red hat looking gray in the uncertain light was on his head, and his hands were on his hips. My guilty thoughts flashed to Ivy, and I rolled the window down, pushing it along when it got stuck halfway. He darted inside and took off his hat.
"When the hell are you two going to get a speaker phone?" he snarled. "I belong to this crappy firm as much as you, and I can't use the phone!"
He had come from the church? I didn't know he could move that fast.
"What did you do to Ivy?" he continued as Nick silently got in and shut his door. "I spend the afternoon with Glenda the Good trying to calm him down after you yelled at his dad, then I come home to find Ivy having hysterics on the bathroom floor."
"Is she all right?" I asked, then looked at Nick. "Get me home."
Nick started the truck, jerking back as Jenks landed on the gearshift. "She's fine - as much as she ever is," Jenks said, his anger shifting to worry. "Don't go back yet."
"Get off that," I said, flicking a hand under him.
Jenks flitted up, then down, staring at Nick until the man put his hands back on the wheel. "No," the pixy said. "I mean it. Give her some time. She heard your message and is calming down." Jenks flew to sit on the dash before me. "Man, what did you do to her? She was going on and on about not being able to protect you, and that Piscary was going to be angry with her, and she didn't know what she was going to do if you left." His tiny features grew worried. "Rache? Maybe you should move out. This is too weird, even for you."
I felt cold at the undead vampire's name. Maybe I hadn't pushed her too far; maybe Piscary had put her up to it. We would've been fine had she quit when I first said to. He'd probably figured out that Ivy wasn't the dominant one in our odd relationship and wanted her to rectify the situation, the little prick. It wasn't his business.
Nick put the car in gear, and the tires cracked and popped against the gravel lot. "Church?" he questioned.
I glanced at Jenks, and he shook his head. It was the wisp of fear on him that decided it for me. "No," I said. I'd wait. Give her time to collect herself.
Nick seemed as relieved as Jenks. We pulled out into traffic, headed for the bridge.
"Good," Jenks said. Eyeing my lack of earrings, he vaulted up to sit on the rearview mirror. "What the hell happened, anyway?"
I rolled my window back up, feeling the coldness of the coming night in the damp breeze. "I pushed her too far while we were working out. She tried to make me her - uh - tried to bite me. Nick knocked her out with my spell pot."
"She tried to bite you?"
I looked from the passing night to Jenks, seeing in the light from the car behind us his wings go still, then blur to nothing and go still again. Jenks looked from Nick's embarrassed face to my worried one. "Ohhh," he said, his eyes widening. "Now I get it. She wanted to bind you to her so only she could make your vamp scar resonate to vamp pheromones. You turned her down. My God, she must be embarrassed. No wonder she's upset."
"Jenks, shut up," I said, stifling the urge to grab him and toss him out the window. He would only catch up at the first red light.
The pixy flitted to Nick's shoulder, eyeing the lights glowing on the dash. "Nice truck."
"Thanks."
"Stock?"
Nick's gaze slid from the taillights of the car ahead to Jenks. "Modified."
Jenks's wings blurred, then steadied. "What's your top end?"
"One fifty with NOS."
"Damn!" the pixy swore admiringly as he flew back to the rearview mirror. "Check your lines. I smell a leak."
Nick's eyes darted to a grimy, obviously not factory-installed lever under the dash before returning to the road. "Thanks. I wondered." Slowly he rolled his window down a crack.
"No problem."
I opened my mouth to ask, then closed it. Must be a guy thing.
"So-o-o-o-o," Jenks drawled. "We going to your mom's?"
I nodded. "Yeah. Want to come?"
He rose an inch as we hit a pothole, hovering cross-legged. "Sure. Thanks. Her Rose of Sharon is probably still blooming. Think she'd mind if I took some of the pollen home?"
"Why don't you ask her?"
"I will." A grin came over him. "You'd better put some makeup on that love bite."
"Jenks!" I exclaimed, my hand going to cover my neck. I had forgotten. My face warmed as Jenks and Nick exchanged looks in some asinine macho thing. God help me, I felt as if I was back in the cave. Me mark woman so Glurg keep his furry hands off her.
"Nick," I pleaded, keenly feeling the lack of my bag. "Can I borrow some money? I have to stop at a charm shop."
But the only thing more embarrassing than buying a complexion spell is buying one with a hickey on your neck. Especially when most of the shop owners knew me. So I opted for autonomy and asked Nick to stop at a gas station. Of course, the spell rack by the register was empty, so I ended up plastering my neck with conventional makeup. Covergirl? Don't you believe it. Nick said it looked all right but Jenks laughed his wings red. He sat on Nick's shoulder and chatted about the attributes of the pixy girls he had known before meeting Matalina, his wife. The randy pixy kept it up all the way to the outskirts of Cincinnati where my mom lived while I tried to touch up my makeup in the visor's mirror.
"Left down that street," I said, wiping my fingers off on each other. "It's the third house on the right."
Nick said nothing as he pulled to the curb in front of my house. The porch light was on for us, and I swear I saw the curtain flutter. I hadn't been there for a few weeks, and the tree I'd planted with my dad's ashes was turning. The spreading maple was almost shading the garage in the twelve years it had been in the ground.
Jenks had already buzzed out Nick's open door, and as Nick leaned to get out, I reached for his arm. "Nick?" I questioned. He paused at the worried tone in my voice, easing back against the age-worn vinyl as I drew my hand away and looked at my knees. "Um, I want to apologize for my mom - before you meet her," I blurted.
He smiled, his long face going soft. He leaned across the front seat and gave me a quick kiss. "Moms are terrible, aren't they?" He got out, and I waited impatiently until he came around and jerked my door open for me.
"Nick?" I said as he took my hand and we started up the walk. "I mean it. She's a little whacked. My dad's death really threw her. She's not a psychopath or anything, but she doesn't think about what she's saying. If it comes into her head, it comes out her mouth."
His pinched expression eased. "Is that why I haven't met her yet? I thought it was me."
"You?" I questioned, then winced inside. "Oh. The human/witch thing?" I said softly, so he wouldn't have to. "No." Actually, I had forgotten about that. Suddenly nervous, I checked my hair and felt for my missing bag. My toes were cold, and the flip-flops were loud and awkward on the cement steps. Jenks was hovering beside the porch light, looking like a huge moth. I rang the bell and stood beside Nick. Please make it one of her good days.
"I'm glad it wasn't me," Nick said.
"Yeah," Jenks said as he landed on my shoulder. "Your mom ought to meet him. Seeing as he's bonking her daughter and all."
"Jenks!" I exclaimed, then steeled my face as the door opened.
"Rachel!" my mom cried, swooping forward and giving me a hug. I closed my eyes and returned her embrace. She was shorter than I was, and it felt odd. Hair spray caught in my throat over the faint whiff of redwood. I felt bad about not telling her the full truth about quitting the I.S. and the death threats I'd survived. I hadn't wanted to worry her.
"Hi, Mom," I said, pulling back. "This is Nick Sparagmos. And you remember Jenks?"
"Of course I do. It's good to see you again, Jenks." She stepped back into the threshold, a hand briefly going to her faded, straight red hair and then her calf-length, sweater dress. A knot of worry loosened in me. She looked good. Better than the last time. The mischievous glint was back in her eyes, and she moved quickly as she ushered us inside. "Come in, come in," she said, putting a small hand on Nick's shoulder. "Before the bugs follow you."
The hall light was on, but it did little to illuminate the shadowy green hallway. Pictures lined the narrow space, and I felt claustrophobic as she gave me another fierce hug, beaming as she pulled away. "I'm so glad you came," she said, then turned to Nick. "So you're Nick," she said, giving him a once-over, her lower lip between her teeth. She nodded sharply as she saw his scuffed dress shoes, then her lips twisted in thought as she saw my flip-flops.
"Mrs. Morgan," he said, smiling and offering his hand.
She took it, and I winced as she pulled him staggering into a hug. She was a great deal shorter than he was, and after his first startled moment, he grinned at me over her head.
"How wonderful to meet you," she said as she let him go and turned to Jenks.
The pixy had put himself at the ceiling. "Hi, Mrs. Morgan. You look nice tonight," he said warily, dipping slightly.
"Thank you." She smiled, her few wrinkles deepening. The house smelled like spaghetti sauce, and I wondered if I should have warned Mom that Nick was human. "Well, come all the way in. Can you stay for lunch? I'm making spaghetti. No problem to make a little more."
I couldn't help my sigh as she led the way to the kitchen. Slowly I started to relax. Mom seemed to be watching her mouth more than usual. We entered the kitchen, bright from the overhead light, and I breathed easier. It looked normal - human normal. My mom didn't do much spelling anymore, and only the dissolution vat of saltwater by the fridge and the copper spell pot on the stove gave anything away. She had been in high school during the Turn, and her generation was very discreet. "We just came to pick up my ley line stuff," I said, knowing my idea to get it and run was a lost cause since the copper pot was full of boiling water for pasta.
"It's no trouble," she said as she added a sheaf of spaghetti, ran her eyes down Nick, then added another. "It's after seven. You're hungry, aren't you, Nick?"
"Yes, Mrs. Morgan," he said, despite my pleading look.
She turned from the stove, content. "And you, Jenks. I don't have much in the yard, but you're welcome to what you can find. Or I can mix up some sugar water if you'd like."
Jenks brightened. "Thank you, ma'am," he said, flitting close enough to send the wisps of her red hair waving. "I'll check the yard. Would you mind if I gathered the pollen from your Rose of Sharon? It will do my youngest a world of good this late in the season."
My mother beamed. "Of course. Help yourself. Those damned fairies have just about killed everything looking for spiders." Her eyebrows arched, and I froze in a moment of panic. She had a thought. No telling what it was.
"Might you happen to have any children who would be interested in a late summer job?" she asked, and my breath escaped me in a relieved sound.
Jenks landed on her offered hand, wings glowing a satisfied pink. "Yes, ma'am. My son, Jax, would be delighted to work your yard. He and my two eldest daughters would be enough to keep the fairies out. I'll send them tomorrow before sunup if you like. By the time you have your first cup of coffee, there won't be a fairy in sight."
"Marvelous!" my mother exclaimed. "Those damn bastards have been in my yard all summer. Drove my wrens away."
Nick started at the foul word coming from such a mild-looking lady, and I shrugged.
Jenks flew an arching path from the back door to me in an unspoken request for me to open it. "If you don't mind," he said, hovering by the knob, "I'll just nip out and take a look. I don't want them running into anything unexpected. He's just a boy, and I want to be sure he knows what to watch out for."
"Excellent idea," my mother said, her heels clacking on the white linoleum. She flicked on the back light and let him out. "Well!" she said as she turned, eyeing Nick. "Sit down, please. Would you like something to drink? Water? Coffee? I think I have a beer somewhere."
"Coffee would be great, Mrs. Morgan," Nick said as he pulled a chair from under the table and lowered himself into it. I opened the fridge for the coffee, and my mom took the bag of grounds out of my hands, fussing with soft mother sounds until I sat beside Nick. The scraping of my chair was loud, and I wished she wasn't making such a fuss. Nick grinned, clearly enjoying my disquiet.
"Coffee," she said as she puttered about. "I admire a man who likes coffee with lunch. You have no idea how glad I am to meet you, Nick. It's been so long since Rachel brought a boy home. Even in high school she wasn't much for dating. I was starting to wonder if she was going to lean the other way, if you know what I mean."
"Mom!" I exclaimed, feeling my face go as red as my hair.
She blinked at me. "Not that there's anything wrong with that," she amended, scooping out the grounds and filling the filter. I couldn't look at Nick, hearing the amusement in him as he cleared his throat. I put my elbows on the table and dropped my head into my hands.
"But you know me," my mother added, her back to us as she put the coffee away. I cringed, waiting for whatever was going to come out of her mouth. "I'm of the mind that it's better to have no man than the wrong one. Your father, now, he was the right man."
Sighing, I looked up. If she was talking about Dad, she wouldn't be talking about me.
"Such a good man," she said, motions slow as she went to the stove. She stood sideways so she could see us as she took the lid off the sauce and stirred it. "You need the right man to have children with. We were lucky with Rachel," she said. "Even so, we almost lost her."
Nick sat up interested. "How so, Mrs. Morgan?"
Her face went long in an old worry, and I rose to plug the coffeemaker in, since she had forgotten. The coming story was embarrassing, but it was a known embarrassment, much better than what she might come out with, especially after having mentioned children. I sat down beside Nick as my mom started in with the usual opening line.
"Rachel was born with a rare blood disease," she said. "We had no idea it was there, just waiting for an inopportune match to show itself."
Nick turned to me, his eyebrows raised. "You never told me that."
"Well, she doesn't have it anymore," my mother said. "The nice woman at the clinic explained everything, saying that we were fortunate with Rachel's older brother, and that we had a one-out-of-four chance that my next child would be like Rachel."
"That sounds like a genetic disorder," he said. "You usually don't get better from those."
My mother nodded and turned the flame down under the boiling pasta. "Rachel responded to a course of herbal remedies and traditional medications. She's our miracle baby."
Nick didn't look convinced, so I added, "My mitochondria were kicking out this odd enzyme, and my white blood cells thought it was an infection. They were attacking healthy cells as if they were invaders, mostly the bone marrow and anything that had to do with blood production. All I know was, I was tired all the time. The herbal remedies helped, but it was when puberty kicked in that everything seemed to settle down. I'm fine now, except for being sensitive to sulfer, but it did shorten my life span by about ten years. 'Least, that's what they tell me."
Nick touched my knee under the table. "I'm sorry."
I flashed him a smile. "Hey, what's ten years? I wasn't supposed to make it to puberty." I didn't have the heart to tell him that even with ten years sliced off my life expectancy, I was still going to live decades past him. But he probably already knew that.
"Monty and I met at school, Nick," my mother said, bringing the conversation back to its original topic. I knew she didn't like talking about the first twelve years of my life. "It was so romantic. The university had just started their paranormal studies, and there was a lot of confusion about prerequisites. Anyone could take anything. I had no business being in a ley line class, and the only reason I signed up for it was because the gorgeous hunk of witch in front of me at the registrar's office was, and all my alternate classes were full."
Her spoon in the pot slowed, and steam wafted over her. "Funny how fate seems to push people together sometimes," she said softly. "I took that class to sit next to one man, but ended up falling in love with his best friend." She smiled at me. "Your father. All three of us partnered for the lab. I would have flunked if it hadn't been for Monty. I'm not a ley line witch, and since Monty couldn't stir a spell to save his life, he set all my circles for me the next two years in return for me invoking all his charms for him until he graduated."
I had never heard this one before, and as I rose to get three coffee mugs, my gaze fell upon the pot of red sauce. Brow pinching, I wondered if there was a tactful way to spill it down the garbage disposal. She was cooking in her spell pot again, too. I hoped she had remembered to wash it in saltwater, or lunch might be a bit more interesting than usual.
"How did you and Rachel meet?" my mother asked as she nudged me away from the pot and set a loaf of frozen bread to bake in the oven.
Eyes suddenly wide, I shook my head in warning at Nick. His eyes flicked from me to my mother. "Ah, a sporting event."
"The Howlers?" she questioned.
Nick looked to me for help, and I sat beside him. "We met at the rat fights, Mom," I said. "I bet on the mink, and he bet on the rat."
"Rat fights?" she said, making a face. "Nasty business, that. Who won?"
"They got away," Nick said, his eyes soft on mine. "We always imagined they escaped together and fell madly in love and are living in the city's sewers somewhere."
I choked back a laugh, but my mother let hers flow freely. My heart seemed to catch at the sound. I hadn't heard her laugh in delight in a long time.
"Yes," she said as she set her oven mitts aside. "I like that. Minks and rats. Just like Monty and me with no more children."
I blinked, wondering how she had jumped from rats and minks to her and Dad, and how that related to them not having any more children.
Nick leaned close and whispered, "Minks and rats can't procreate, either."
My mouth opened in a silent, Oh, and I thought that perhaps Nick, with his odd way of seeing the world, might understand my mother better than I did.
"Nick, dear," my mom said as she gave the sauce a quick, clockwise turn. "You don't have a cellular disease in your family, do you?"
Oh, no, I thought in panic as Nick answered evenly, "No, Mrs. Morgan."
"Call me Alice," she said. "I like you. Marry Rachel and have lots of kids."
"Mom!" I exclaimed. Nick grinned, enjoying it.
"But not right away," she continued. "Enjoy your freedom together for a while. You don't want children until you're ready. You are practicing safe sex, yes?"
"Mother!" I shouted. "Shut up!" God, help me get through this night.
She turned, one hand on her hip, the other holding the dripping spoon. "Rachel, if you didn't want me to bring it up, you should have spelled your hickey."
I stared at her, my mouth agape. Mortified, I rose and pulled her into the hall. "Excuse us," I managed, seeing Nick grinning.
"Mom!" I whispered in the safety of the hall. "You ought to be on medication, you know that?"
Her head drooped. "He seems like a nice man. I don't want you to drive him away like you do all your other boyfriends. I loved your father so. I just want you to be that happy."
Immediately my anger fizzled to nothing, seeing her standing alone and upset. My shoulders shifted in a sigh. I should come over more often, I thought. "Mom," I said. "He's human."
"Oh," she said softly. "Guess there isn't much safer sex than that, is there?"
I felt bad as the weight of that simple statement fell on her, and I wondered if that might change her opinion of Nick. There could never be any children between Nick and me. The chromosomes didn't line up right. Finding that out for sure had been the end of a long-running controversy among Inderlanders, proving that witches, unlike vamps and Weres, were a separate species from humans, as much as pixies or trolls. Vamps and Weres, whether bitten or born to their status, were only modified humans. Though witches mimicked humanity almost perfectly, we were as different as bananas from fruit flies at a cellular level. With Nick, I would be barren.
I had told Nick the first time our cuddling turned to something more intent, afraid he would notice if something didn't look quite right. I had been almost sick with the thought he would react in disgust about the different species thing. Then I almost cried when his only wide-eyed question had been, "It all looks and works the same, doesn't it?"
At the time, I honestly hadn't known. We had answered that question together.
Flushing at such thoughts in front of my mother, I gave her a weak smile. She returned it, pulling her slight body up straight. "Well," she said, "I'll go open a jar of alfredo, then."
Tension drained from me, and I gave her a hug. Her grip had a new tightness to it, and I responded in kind. I'd missed her. "Thanks, Mom," I whispered.
She patted my back, and we stepped apart. Not meeting my eyes, she turned to the kitchen. "I've an amulet in the bathroom if you want it, third drawer down." She took a breath, and with a cheerful face headed into the kitchen with quick, short steps. I listened for a moment, deciding nothing had changed as she chattered happily to Nick about the weather while packing the tomato-based sauce away. Relieved, I thumped down the shadowed hall in my flip-flops.
My mom's bathroom looked eerily like Ivy's - minus the fish in the bathtub. I found the amulet, and after washing off the Covergirl, I invoked the spell, pleased at the result. A final primp and sigh at my hair, and I hustled back to the kitchen. No telling what my mom would tell Nick if I left her alone with him too long.
Sure enough, I found them together with their heads almost touching as she pointed at the photo album. He had a cup of coffee in his hands, the steam drifting between them. "Mom," I complained. "This is why I never bring anyone over."
Jenks's wings made a harsh clatter as he rose from my mother's shoulder. "Aw, lighten up, witch. We've already got past the naked baby pictures."
I closed my eyes to gather my strength. Moving with a happy swing in her step, my mother went to stir the alfredo sauce. I took her place by Nick, pointing down. "That's my brother, Robert," I said, wishing he would return my phone calls. "And there's my dad," I said, feeling a soft emotion fill me. I smiled back at the photo, missing him.
"He looks nice," Nick said.
"He was the best." I turned the page, and Jenks landed on it, hands on his hips as he strolled over my life, carefully arranged in neat little rows and columns. "That's my favorite picture of him," I said, tapping an unlikely looking group of eleven-and twelve-year-old girls standing before a yellow bus. We were all sunburned, our hair three shades lighter than usual. Mine was cropped short and stuck out all over. My dad was standing beside me, a hand on my shoulder as he smiled at the camera. I felt a sigh slip from me.
"Those are all my friends at camp," I said, thinking my three years there had been some of my best summers. "Look," I said, pointing. "You can see the lake. It was way up in New York somewhere. I only went swimming once, since it was so cold. Made my toes cramp up."
"I never went to camp," Nick said, looking at the faces intently.
"It was one of those 'Make-a-Wish' camps," I said. "They kicked me out when they figured out I wasn't dying anymore."
"Rachel!" my mother protested. "Not everyone there was dying."
"Most were." My mood went somber as my gaze roved over the faces, and I realized I was probably the only one in the picture still alive. I tried to remember the name of the thin black-haired girl standing beside me, not liking it when I couldn't. She had been my best friend.
"Rachel was asked to not come back after she lost her temper," my mom said, "not because she was getting well. She got it into her head to punish a little boy for teasing the girls."
"Little boy," I scoffed. "He was older than everyone else there and a bully."
"What did you do?" Nick asked, a glint of amusement in his brown eyes.
I got up to put coffee in my mug. "Threw him into a tree."
Jenks snickered, and my mother rapped the spoon on the side of the sauce pot. "Don't be modest. Rachel tapped the ley line the camp was built on and threw him thirty feet up."
Jenks whistled and Nick's eyes grew wide. I poured out the coffee, embarrassed. It hadn't been a very good day. The brat had been about fifteen, and was tormenting the girl whose shoulder my arm was draped over in the picture. I had told him to leave her alone, and when he pushed me down, I lost it. I hadn't even known how to draw on a ley line; it just kind of happened. The kid landed in a tree, fell, and cut his arm. There had been so much blood, I got scared. The young vamps in the camp all had to take a special overnight trip across the lake until they could dig up the dirt he had bled on and burn it.
My dad had to fly up and sort things out. It was the first time I had used ley lines, and basically the last until I went to college since my dad had tanned my hide but good. I'd been lucky they hadn't made me leave right then and there.
I went back to the table, looking at him smiling at me from the photo. "Mom, can I have this picture? I lost mine this spring when - a misaligned spell took them out." I met Nick's eyes, the shared understanding in them reassuring me he'd say nothing about my death threats.
My mom sidled close. "That's a nice one of your father," she said, pulling the photo out and handing it to me before she went back to the stove.
I sat down in my chair and looked at the faces, searching for a name for any of them. I could recall none. It bothered me.
"Um, Rachel?" Nick said, peering down at the album.
"What?" Amanda? I silently asked the dark-haired girl. Was that your name?
Jenks's wings flashed into motion, sending my hair to dance about my face. "Holy crap!" he exclaimed.
I looked down to the picture that had been under the one now in my hand and felt my face go white. It was the same day, since the background was of the bus. But this time, instead of being surrounded by preadolescent girls, my dad was next to a man who was a dead ringer for an older Trent Kalamack.
My breath wouldn't come out. The two men were smiling, squinting against the sun. They had an arm companionably about each other's shoulders and were clearly happy.
I exchanged frightened looks with Jenks. "Mom?" I finally managed. "Who is this?"
She came close, making a small sound of surprise. "Oh, I had forgotten I had that one. That's the man who owned the camp. Your father and he were such good friends. It broke your dad's heart when he died. And so tragically, too, not six years after his wife. I think that was part of the reason your dad lost the will to fight. They died only a week apart, you know."
"No, I didn't," I whispered, staring down. It wasn't Trent, but the resemblance was eerie. It had to be his father. My dad had known Trent's father?
I put a hand to my stomach in a sudden thought. I had gone to camp with a rare blood disease and left every year feeling better. Trent dabbled in genetic research. His father might have done the same. My recovery had been called a miracle. Perhaps it had been outlawed, immoral, genetic manipulation. "God help me," I breathed.
Three summers at camp. Months of not waking until almost sundown. The unexplained soreness in my hip. The nightmares I still occasionally woke from, of a cloying vapor.
How much? I wondered. What had Trent's father taken from my dad in payment for the life of his daughter? Had he exchanged it for his own?
"Rachel?" Nick said. "Are you okay?"
"No." I concentrated on breathing, staring at the picture. "Can I have this one, too, Mom?" I asked, hearing my voice as if it weren't my own.
"Oh, I don't want it," she said, and I slipped it out, fingers trembling. "That's why it was underneath. You know I can't throw anything of your father's away."
"Thanks," I whispered.