Skimmer glanced at her watch—I couldn't help but notice it had diamonds on it in place of numbers. "I've got to go. I'm meeting with—someone in about an hour."
She was going to meet someone in about an hour. Just after the sun went down. Why didn't she just say Piscary?
"You need a ride?" Ivy said, sounding almost wistful, if she would ever let that particular emotion come from her.
Skimmer looked from Ivy to me and back to Ivy, hurt and disappointment flickering in the back of her eyes. "No," she said softly. "I've got a cab coming." She swallowed, trying to scrape herself back together. "Actually, I think that's it now."
I didn't hear anything, but I didn't have a living vampire's hearing.
Skimmer shifted awkwardly forward. "It was nice meeting you," she said to me, then turned to Ivy. "I'll talk to you later, sweets," she said, eyes closed as she gave her a long hug.
Ivy was still in a shocked quandary, and she returned it looking numb.
"Skimmer," I said as they broke apart and the shaken, subdued woman took a thin jacket from the hall closet and put it on. "This isn't what you think."
She stopped with her hand on the doorknob, looking at Ivy for a long moment with deep regret. "It's not what I think that matters," she said as she opened the door. "It's what Ivy wants."
I opened my mouth to protest, but she left, latching the door softly behind her.
Seventeen
Skimmer's departure left an awkward silence. As the cab accelerated down the drive, I looked at Ivy standing in the sterile white entryway with its elegant decorations that utterly lacked any warmth. Guilt was thick on her. I knew it was from the reminder that she still harbored the belief that someday I'd be her scion—apparently with a little extra something on the side. It was a position that I think Skimmer had moved out here hopefully to fill.
Not sure what I was feeling, I faced her. "Why did you let her think we were lovers?" I said, shaking inside. "God, Ivy. We aren't even sharing blood, and she thinks we're lovers."
Ivy's face closed, the barest tightening of her jaw giving away her emotion. "She doesn't think that at all." She strode out of the room. "Do you want some juice?" she called back.
"No," I said softly as I followed her deeper into the house. I knew if I pressed the issue right now, she would likely become more closed. This conversation wasn't over, but having it in front of Erica wasn't a good idea. My head hurt. Maybe I could get her to talk about it over coffee and cheesecake while we were shopping. Maybe I should move to Timbuktu, or the Tennessee mountains, or somewhere else where there weren't any vampires. (Don't ask. It's weird, even for Inderlanders—which is saying a lot.)
Erica was tight on my heels, her mindless chatter an obvious attempt to cover up the issues that Skimmer had raised. Her bright voice filled the sterile house with life as she trailed after us through large dim rooms full of hardwood furniture and cold drafts. I made a mental note to never get Erica and Jenks in the same room. No wonder Ivy didn't have a problem with Jenks. Her sister was cut from the same cloth.
Ivy's boots were slow on the polished floor when we left a dark blue formal dining room and entered a brightly lit, spacious kitchen. I blinked. Ivy met my startled gaze and shrugged. I knew that Ivy had remodeled the church's kitchen before I had moved in, and as I looked around, I realized she had patterned it after the one she grew up with.
The room was nearly as spacious, that same center island counter taking up the middle. Cast-iron pots and metal utensils hung over it instead of my ceramic spoons and copper spell vats, but it made the same comfortable spot to lean against. There was a heavy antique table—twin to ours—against the near wall, right where I'd expect it. Even the cupboards were the same style, and the counters had an identical color. The floor, though, was tile instead of linoleum.
Past the sink where I had a single window overlooking the graveyard, there was a bank of windows that showed a long snowfield running down to the gray ribbon of the Ohio River. Ivy's parents owned a lot of property. You could graze cattle down there.
A kettle steamed on the stove, and as Ivy moved it off the burner, I dropped my bag on the table where my chair would be if I was home. "This is nice," I said wryly.
Ivy gave me a cautious look, clearly glad I had shelved the pending discussion about Skimmer. "It was cheaper to do both kitchens at once," she said, and I nodded. It was warm, and I took my coat off, draping it on the back of the chair.
Stretching to show the small of her back, Erica stood on one foot to reach a glass jar half full of what looked like sugar cookies. Leaning against the counter, she ate one, offering Ivy another but none to me. I had a feeling they weren't sugar cookies but those awful cardboard-tasting disks that Ivy had kept shoving down my throat last spring when I was recovering from a massive blood loss. Sort of a vampire pick-me-up that helped support their—ah—lifestyle.
A muffled thumping grew louder, and I turned to what I had thought was a pantry door. It creaked opened to show a staircase leading down. A tall gaunt man was coming up and out of the shadows. "Hi, Dad," Ivy said, and I straightened, smiling at the softness in her voice.
"Ivy…" The man beamed as he set a tray with two tiny empty cups down on the table. His voice was gravely, matching his skin: rough and pebbly. I recognized the texture as scars left from the Turn. It had affected some more than others, and witches, pixies, and fairies not at all. "Skimmer's here," he said gently.
"I saw her," Ivy said, and he hesitated at the lack of anything more.
He looked tired, his brown eyes content as he gave Ivy a quick hug. Gently waving black hair framed his serious face softly lined with what looked like worry rather than age. It was obvious that this was where Ivy got her height. The living vampire was tall, with a refinement that turned his gaunt frame pleasing rather than unattractive. He was wearing jeans and a casual shirt. Small, almost unseen lines scarred his neck, and his arms showing past his rolled-up sleeves had the same marks on the underside. It must be hard being married to an undead.
"I'm glad you came home," the man said, his eyes flicking briefly to me and the cross on my charm bracelet before settling back on his daughter with an obvious warmth. "Your mother will be up in a bit. She wants to talk to you. Skimmer put her in a rare mood."
"No." Ivy dropped back out of his touch. "I wanted to ask you something, is all."
He nodded once, his thin lips falling into a resigned disappointment. I felt a slight tingle from my demon scar as he poured the steaming water into a second teapot. The clanking of the porcelain was loud. Arms crossed before me, I leaned to rest against the table to distance myself. I hoped the tingle was a lingering sensation from Skimmer and didn't stem from Ivy's dad. I didn't think it was him. He looked too calm to be fighting a need to slack his hunger.
"Dad," Ivy said, seeing my unease. "This is Rachel. Rachel, this is my dad."
As if aware my scar was tingling, Ivy's dad stayed at the other end of the kitchen, taking the cookies from Erica and putting them back into the cookie jar. The girl huffed, then grimaced at her dad's raised eyebrow. "It's a pleasure to meet you," he said, his attention returning to me.
"Hello, Mr. Randal," I said, not liking the way he was eyeing Ivy and me standing beside each other. I suddenly felt as if I was on a date, meeting the parents, and I flushed. I didn't like his knowing smile. Apparently neither did Ivy.