My mouth dropped open in protest, then snapped shut. Crap. She's right. "Mmmm," I said, peeved as I stirred the pasta. "Glenn gave me his file today. It's four inches thick."

"Really?" she drawled, and I frowned. She hadn't liked Nick from day one.

"Yes, really." I hesitated, watching the steam rise. "He's been at this awhile."

"I'm sorry."

I forced my face into a bland expression. She hated Nick, but she was genuinely sorry he had cracked my heart. "I'm over it." And I was. Except for the part about feeling used. He'd been selling information to Al about me for favors before we broke up. Ass.

NIN's "Only" went soft, and I wasn't surprised when Skimmer came into the kitchen, probably wanting to know what we were up to. I felt more than saw Ivy's posture shift to a more closed mien when Skimmer's jeans-clad dancer's body breezed in.

Ivy was as open with me as she was with Skimmer, but she wasn't comfortable letting Skimmer know that. We three had an odd dynamic, one I wasn't keen on. Skimmer flatly loved Ivy, having moved here on the promise that if she got Piscary out of prison she'd be accepted into his camarilla and could stay. I was the one who had put him there, and the day he got out, I'd probably find my life not worth troll farts. Ivy was a large part of why I was still alive, which put her in a hard spot whose pressures slowly built with each court success.

Skimmer would do what she had to do to stay with Ivy. I would do what I had to do to keep my body and soul together. And Ivy was going to go quietly insane, wanting both of us to succeed. It would've helped if Skimmer weren't so darn nice.

The perceptive vampire clearly recognized that she'd interrupted something, and, tucking her long, blond, severely straight hair back behind an ear, she settled herself into Ivy's chair at the table. From the corner of my sight, I saw her features scrunch up for a moment when she and Ivy exchanged a look, but then she smoothed them, her small nose and chin easing into a pleasant expression. Beside Skimmer's delicate features, I thought my strong jaw and cheekbones looked Neanderthal. Though sharp as a cracked whip and at the top of her game, the woman looked innocent with her blue eyes and West Cost tan, a trait that probably stood her in good stead in her profession when the competition underestimated her.

"Lunch?" she said brightly, her pleasant voice showing a calculated hint of distress.

"Just white pasta," I said, going to drain the macaroni. "I've got enough for three if you're interested." I turned from the sink, finding that her vivid blue eyes had a shrinking iris of blue to make them even more striking. Her eyelashes were thick and long, accentuating her delicate features. I wondered what they'd been doing in the sanctuary. There was more than one place to bite someone—and most of them were covered by clothes.

"Count me in," she said, glancing at her watch with its diamond-chip numbers. "I've got an hour before I need to be back in the office, and if I'm not there, they can damn well wait for me."

That was cool—seeing as she was the boss—but my blood pressure started clicking upward when she went to the fridge, reaching above it for one of Ivy's Brimstone cookies. God, I hated those things, and I lived in worry that one day the I.S. would have an excuse to search my kitchen and I'd be dragged off.

"Why don't we make it a real meal?" the vampire said, clearly aware I was upset but determined to forge ahead. "Ivy has a run tonight, and I've got to get back to work. It won't take much to make it a sit-down lunch right now."

If my pasta isn't enough for you, then why did you say yes? I thought nastily, but I stifled my first reaction since I knew that the offer had been made out of a genuine attempt at camaraderie. I glanced at the clock, deciding there was plenty of time before Ceri came over, and when Ivy shrugged, I nodded. "Sure," I said. "Why not?"

Skimmer smiled. It was obvious she wasn't used to having anyone dislike her, and it wasn't that I hated her, but every time she came over, she did something that rubbed me the wrong way through no fault of her own. "I'll make garlic bread," she said brightly, hair swinging as she tugged open the cupboard door to the spices.

"Rachel's allergic to garlic," Ivy prompted, and the living vampire hesitated. Her eyes went to mine, and I could almost hear her berate herself.

"Oh. Herb toast, then." With a forced cheerfulness, she went to wash her hands.

I wasn't really allergic, just sensitive to it thanks to that same genetic aberration that would have killed me had Trent's father not intervened. Ivy slid off the counter, and after snapping the box of pasta shut, started gathering salad stuff. She was right next to Skimmer, and when their heads almost touched, I thought I heard soft encouragement.

Standing at the stove with my pasta, I found I was beginning to feel bad for the woman. She was really trying, recognizing that I was important to Ivy and making an effort to be gracious. Skimmer knew that Ivy had once set her sights on me, dropping her play for my blood after she'd finally gotten it, the encounter's ending bad enough to scare her into never doing it again. And it was no secret that I didn't give a flying flip that the two of them were sharing blood and a pillow both. I think that that had a lot to do with Skimmer's attitude. I was one of Ivy's few friends, and Skimmer knew that the quickest way to tick Ivy off was to be mean to me.

Vampires, I thought, shaking the pasta into the white sauce. I'd never understand them.

"How about some wine?" Skimmer asked, standing at the open fridge with a stick of butter in her hand. "Red goes with pasta. I brought some over today."

I couldn't drink red wine without risking migraines, and Ivy didn't drink much—not at all before a run. I opened my mouth to simply say none for me, but Ivy blurted, "Rachel can't tolerate red wine. She's sensitive to sulfur."

"Oh, God." Skimmer's pretty face was creased when she came out from behind the door. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. Is there anything else you can't tolerate?"

Just you. "You know what?" I said, dropping the lid on the finished pasta and turning the flame off. "I'm going to get some ice cream. Anyone else want ice cream?"

Not waiting for an answer, I snatched up my shoulder bag and one of Ivy's canvas sacks and walked out of the kitchen. "I'll be back before the bread's done!" I called over my shoulder.

The echo of my sandals was different in the sanctuary, and I slowed to see the cozy area Ivy and Skimmer had arranged in a front corner as temporary living room. The TV would be lame, since we didn't have cable out here, but all I needed was the stereo. Skimmer must've brought the floor plants, since I hadn't seen them before. Damn vampire was just moving in.

And I'm having a problem with that? Irritated at myself now, I shoved one of the thick doors open, slipping out onto the wide stoop and shutting it hard. The light over the sign was onto make the damp pavement shine. Rain-soft air caressed my bare shoulder, but it didn't soothe me.

Was I bothered because I'd begun to think of the church as mine, or was it because Skimmer was taking some of Ivy's attention?

Do I really want to answer that?

My mood worsened when I passed my car in the carport. Couldn't drive my stupid car to the stupid corner store because of the stupid I.S.

I scanned the street for my pack-hopeful, not finding Brett. Maybe the rain had chased him off. The man did have to work sometime.

The thump of the church's front door shutting cut through the damp air, and I turned with an apologetic look on my face. But it wasn't Ivy.

"I'm coming with you," Skimmer said, shrugging her lightweight cream-colored jacket and taking the steps two at a time.