For a Few Demons More

her. Either Kisten was dead and no threat or he was undead and destroyed from the sun, or his killer was still here, or Ivy had found Kisten and she needed me.

The living room was clean and empty, smelling of water and sunshine through the open windows. Pulse fast, I followed Jenks into the hall, past the bathroom, and to the back bedroom. The rasp of Ivy's ragged breath sent a chill through me, and I jerked from Edden's grasp only to stop dead just inside the door.

Ivy stood alone with her back to the dresser, arms over her middle, and her head bowed. Before her, on the floor slumped upright against the bed, was Kisten.

My eyes closed, and a lump filled my throat. Grief slammed into me, and I staggered to stand against the doorframe. He was dead. And it hadn't been easy.

Edden's soft curse behind me cut through my awareness, and I took a gasping breath. 'You son of a bitch,' I whispered to no one. 'You son of a bitch bastard.' I was far too late.

Kisten's barefoot body was dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a shirt I'd never seen. His neck and body had been savaged, and his arms and torso were torn as if he had tried to defend himself. Silvered blue eyes told me he had died undead, but the blood pooled in his legs and heels said that he hadn't been drained, simply killed twice. Dark blood matted his once-bright hair, and his smile was gone.

I took another breath, trying to keep upright, though the room was starting to waver.

'I'm sorry, Rachel,' Edden said softly, his hand landing on my shoulder in a show of comfort. 'I know he meant a lot to you. This wasn't your fault.'

At that the tears started to dribble out, one by one. 'Kisten?' I warbled, not wanting to believe he was gone. I had been here. I had tried to keep him alive. I must have. But I hadn't been able to, and the guilt must have been why I'd tried to forget.

I took a helpless step closer, wanting to fall on my knees and pull him to me. 'I'm sorry, Kisten.' I started to cry in earnest. 'I must have tried. I must have.'

From behind me in the hall, Ford said, 'You did.'

Both Ivy and I turned. He looked ragged as both of our personal hells resonated in him. 'It's in your thoughts,' he said, and I just about lost it. Giving up, I sank to my knees before Kisten, the tears flowing unchecked as I tried to arrange his shirt collar to hide his ravaged skin.

'I don't remember,' I gushed. 'I don't remember any of it. Tell me what happened.'

Ford's voice was strained. 'I don't know. But you're feeling guilt and remorse. There's hatred, but not at him. Someone made you forget.'

I looked up, wanting to believe. Everything was blurry, unreal.

'You didn't forget because you couldn't handle it,' he said, guilt in his voice for having labeled me weak. 'Someone made you forget against your will. It's all there in your emotions.'

Blinking fast, I tried to clear my sight. The pain in my chest wouldn't go away and let me think. Someone had been here besides me. Someone else knew what had happened. Someone had forced me to forget? Why?

A new fear, pulled my attention to Ivy, still standing apart and miserable as Kisten lay cold and dead between us. She hadn't wanted Ford to help me to remember. Had she… had she killed him because he'd bitten me?

'I don't remember,' Ivy whispered as if knowing my thoughts, her head bowed and arms wrapped around herself to keep from falling apart. 'I could have. I don't remember.'

Edden put his weapon back in the holster, snapping it shut. Arms crossed aggressively, he took a firm stance. I stood, torn between anger at him and fear for Ivy.

'She wouldn't do it,' I said, frightened, and I went to give her a shake. 'You wouldn't do that, Ivy. Look at me! You loved him!'

She shook her head, her black hair hiding her face.

'She was Piscary's scion,' Edden said. 'She would if he told her to.'

'She loved Kisten!' I exclaimed, appalled and scared. 'She wouldn't do it!'

Edden took a harder line. 'Word on the street is she'd kill him if he touched your blood. Did he?'

Guilt seemed to stop my heart, and I looked frantically for a way out. Jenks stood on the dresser, miserable. We were in the same room where I'd bitten Kisten in a blood passion I scarcely knew how to comprehend. He hadn't bitten me, but it didn't seem to matter now.

Ivy brought her head up at my silence. Her beautiful face was twisted in pain. 'I might have done it,' she whispered. 'I don't remember. Everything up to Piscary attacking you is a… a jumbled nightmare. I think someone told me you tasted Kisten. I can't remember if someone told me or if I made it up.' Tear-wet eyes rose to mine, framed by black hair iced in gold. A terrible fear lay in her gaze. 'I might have. I might have done it, Rachel!'

My stomach was in knots, but the terror was gone, and in a sudden surge I understood. She hadn't wanted to come out here, afraid she might find she'd killed him. She hadn't wanted Ford to help me remember for the same reason. Someone had killed Kisten, but I knew to the bottom of my soul that it hadn't been Ivy, though centuries of evolution and conditioning made her want to.

'You didn't kill him,' I said, putting my arms around her to help her believe. Her muscles tensed, and she started to silently tremble. 'You didn't. I know it, Ivy. You wouldn't.'

'I don't remember,' she sobbed, admitting her fear. 'I don't remember anything but being angry and confused and out of control.' She moved, and I let go so she could pull her head up. 'Did you bite him?' she whispered, her eyes begging me to say no.

I was glad I wasn't wearing that amulet so at least I could pretend Ford wasn't watching the drama play out. If I said yes, she would assume she had killed Kisten. But to lie was not possible. 'I bit him,' I said, the guilty words coming quick so I could get it out before she decided she'd killed him to end the pain inside her. 'He gave me a pair of caps for my birthday. He knew you'd made a pass at me. Looking back on it, I'm sure I did it to convince him that I wasn't going to leave him. That he was important to me.'

Ivy moaned and pulled away.

'Damn it, Ivy!' I exclaimed, wiping at the slowly leaking tears. 'You wouldn't kill him for that! You loved him! Piscary never touched that part of you. He couldn't! You were never his. He only thought you were! Kisten said Piscary never asked you to kill me, but Piscary did, didn't he?' I said, watching her. I could hardly breathe, and her misery hesitated as she tried to remember. 'He told you to kill me, and you said no. You wouldn't kill me for Piscary, and you wouldn't kill Kisten for him either. I know it, Ivy. That's why you shut yourself off. You didn't kill him. You didn't.'

For six heartbeats she simply stared, thoughts sifting through her. Behind her I saw Ford drop his head into his hand, trying not to eavesdrop—but hell, that was his job. She took a deep breath, and all her muscles went limp. 'Kisten,' she finally breathed, falling to her knees to touch him, and I knew she believed. Her hands went to his hair, his and she started to cry.

The first heavy cry was her undoing, and proud, stoic Ivy finally let go. Huge, racking sobs shook her shoulders. Tears for his death, yes, but for herself as well, and I felt my own eyes fill and spill over as I dropped down to hold her beside his cold stillness. Kisten was the only person who had known the depth of depravity to which Piscary had sunk them, the heights of ecstasy. The breath-stealing power he had granted them, and the terrible price he extracted for it. The only one who had forgiven her for what she was, who understood who she wanted to be. He was gone, and there'd be no one else who could possibly understand. Not even me.

'I'm sorry,' I whispered, rocking her while her ragged sobs broke the silence as we sat on the floor of the tiny bedroom in a backwater tributary of the Ohio River. 'I know what he was to you. We'll find out who did this. We will find out, and then we'll track them down.'

And still she wept, as if her grief would never end.

And then grief came for me as well, cold and hard, grief defined by bright blue eyes and the smile I loved so much and would never see again. As my hand found his, bitter salt tears spilled from my eyes, in sorrow and pain and regret that I had so utterly failed him.

Thirty-nine

Two weeks later

I jiggled the handle of the canvas bag to the crook of my arm so I could open the door to the church,