White Witch, Black Curse

Hearing Ivy's steps, I started throwing my shoes in the closet, trying to get it shut before Ivy offered to help me organize. My thoughts went back to that solstice night, trying to remember the charm. I saw Robbie pick up the rare red-and-white shallow bowl before we fled Fountain Square. But what he did with it between that and Pierce and me going to the vamp's house and saving the girl, I didn't know. The kitchen had been clean by the time I was strong enough to stand again, and I had assumed Dad's ley line stuff was back in the attic. I never did see the book again. My mom hadn't said much about me summoning a ghost out of purgatory, and it would be just like her to hide everything to keep me from doing it again. Especially when I'd been trying to summon my dad, not a young man accused of witchcraft and buried alive in the mid-1800s.

Ivy's shadow passed my door, Jenks a small glow and a hushed voice of panic on her shoulder. "Hi, Ivy," I called as I kicked the last shoe in and forced the door shut. Then, knowing how she disliked surprises, I added, "Ford is in the kitchen."

From Ivy's room came a preoccupied "Hi, Rachel." Then a terse "Get out of my way, Jenks," followed by a soft thump. "Hey. Where's my sword?"

My eyebrows rose. Nudging my flip-flops under the bed, I went to the hall. "You left it in the belfry stairway after you oiled it the last time." I hesitated, hearing Jenks tattling on me. "Ah, what's up?"

Ivy was halfway back to the sanctuary. Her long winter coat swayed, and her boots hit the wood floor with purpose. Gold sparkles fell from Jenks as he flitted back and forth in front of her, flying backward. I hated it when he did that to me, and by her stiff arm movements, I figured Ivy did, too.

"It's a ghost, Ivy!" he shrilled. "Rachel summoned it when she was a kid, and it's back."

Leaning against the door frame with my arms crossed, I said, "I was eighteen, not a kid."

His sparkles shifted to silver. "And he likes her," he added.

Oh for God's sake, I thought, losing sight of them in the dark foyer but for Jenks's glow. "We have a randy ghost?" Ivy asked, faintly amused, and my eyes narrowed.

"This isn't funny," Jenks snapped.

"He's not randy!" I said loudly, more embarrassed by Jenks than anything else. Pierce was probably hearing every word. "He's a nice guy." But my gaze became distant as I remembered Pierce's eyes, the flinty black of them and how I'd shivered when he kissed me on my front porch, ready to go off to tag the bad vampire and thinking he could make me stay behind.

I smiled, remembering my past emotional inexperience. I'd been eighteen, and totally impressed by a charismatic witch with mischievous eyes. But it had been the turning point in my life. Together, Pierce and I had saved a little girl from a pedophile vamp—the same vampire who'd gotten him buried alive in the 1800s, which I thought beautiful justice. I'd expected the deed would have been enough to put his soul at rest, but apparently not.

That night had been the first time I'd felt alive, the adrenaline and endorphins making my body, still recovering from disease, feel…normal. It was then that I realized I'd risk anything to feel that way all the time—and most days, I did.

Ivy's lithe shape seemed to ghost across the dim sanctuary toward me, pixies whirling in her wake with too many questions. She had her sheathed sword in her hand, and concern hit me. "What do you need your sword for?" I asked, then froze. She'd been out to the boat. She'd found something, and was going to follow it up with cold steel before sunrise. Crap. "You've been to the boat."

Her perfect, oval face was placid, but the intent eagerness of her pace tightened my gut. "I've been to the boat," Ivy said. "But I don't know yet who else was out there, if that's what you're asking. Don't you have a date tonight with Marshal?"

"It's not a date," I said, ignoring Jenks hovering nearby, shedding frustrated sparkles. "He's rescuing me from my overzealous mother. How come the sword if you don't know who was at the boat?"

"The hell with the sword, Ivy," Jenks shouted, and I didn't wonder that his kids were now whispering in the sanctuary's shadowed rafters. "This is serious! It's been here for months! Changing her ring tones and scaring my cat. Spying on us!"

"Pierce is not spying on us. God, Jenks, lighten up!" I exclaimed, and Ivy came out of her room with her sword, a rag, and the cleaner she used on her steel. "I don't mind skipping dinner at my mom's. You want to take a girls' night out?" I asked, eyeing her blade.

"No, but thanks for the offer." Ivy eased the blade out an inch and the biting scent of oiled metal tickled my nose. "I got a look at the list of people who visited Piscary when he was in jail." Her smile made me stifle a shudder, and when I dropped my gaze, she added, "The sword is a conversation starter. Rynn…" A faint blush marred her pale complexion, and she started for the kitchen. "I'm not his scion, but he's letting me lean on him."