Chapter Twenty-one
I pulled my car into one of the open, back spots at the correctional facility, right under a light, and making a best guess as to where the lines were since they hadn't plowed the last few inches of snow. The heater was going full blast since Ivy had the window cracked for air, and turning it and the car lights off, I killed the engine and dropped the keys into my bag. Ready to face Skimmer, I sighed, hands in my lap and not moving as I looked at the low building before us.
Ivy sat rigidly still, staring at nothing. "Thank you for doing this," she said, her eyes black in the dim light.
I shrugged and opened my car door. "I want to know who killed Kisten, too," I said, not wanting to talk about it. "I haven't been much help, but I can do this."
She got out as I did, and the thump of our doors was muffled by the mounds of snow that turned the world black and white under the puddles of security lights in the thickly populated lot-employees, probably, though I supposed they could be visitors; it was a low-security facility. Sure, Skimmer had killed someone, but it had been a crime of passion. That, and being a lawyer, had gotten her here instead of the high-security prison outside Cincinnati.
About a quarter mile back, the hospital was hazy with dusk and falling snow. Seeing the peaceful buildings, I had the sudden idea to take my old stuffed animals to the kids. They'd know how precious they were and would take good care of them. I could pick the toys up tonight when I was looking for that spell book. It would be a good excuse for me to get up there, too.
Ivy was still standing beside her closed door, gazing at the building as if it held her salvation or her damnation. She looked sleek and lanky in her working leathers, all in black, with a biker cap to add some spice. Feeling my questioning gaze on her, she pushed into motion, and we met at the front of my convertible. Together we angled through the parked cars toward the shoveled sidewalk. "I'm sorry to make you do this," she said, hunched from more than the cold. "Skimmer...she's going to be ugly."
I choked back my laughter. Ugly? She was going to be positively poisonous. "You want to talk to her," I said stiffly, shoving my fear down where I hoped it wouldn't show.
I had way too much to do tonight to be visiting Skimmer, if not for the information we might get from her, but at least I wouldn't have to restir the locator charms. The relief that the problem was likely with my blood-not my skills-was starting to outweigh the worry of why the problem was with my blood. Jenks was the only one who knew that the charm I invoked had failed, and he thought it was a bum amulet. By now, the locator charms Marshal had invoked were in the hands of six FIB guys cruising the city. I doubted they'd come within the needed hundred feet to engage the amulet, but it had improved my standing with them immeasurably.
Dinner with my mom and Robbie later tonight would hopefully give me the book and equipment and I could move forward on stamping out that fire. I'd been concerned that Al might show up and snag whoever was with me now that it was again dark, but he hadn't done so before finding Pierce, and it was unlikely he would now.
I so wanted to be at my mom's looking for that book, not here talking to an angry vampire, but I resolutely walked beside Ivy to the low-security Inderland correctional facility. All the safeguards must be on the inside, because the outside looked like a research building, its stucco walls and accent lights shining on low, snow-covered evergreens. It probably made for better neighbor relations, but not being able to see the fences gave me the creeps.
We walked in silence but for our boots on the crushed ice and salt. The pavement gave way to gray sidewalk, and then the glass double doors with visiting hours and rules about what could be brought into the building. My lethal-amulet detector was going to be a problem.
The woman behind the desk looked up from her phone conversation as we entered. Mild alarms were already going off, reacting to my amulets, and I smiled to try to defuse the situation. Redwood, and a faint smell of unhappy vampire, drifted to me. Ivy grimaced, and I swung my bag around to drop it on the desk while we signed in. There was a TV on in the corner, set to the weather map and talking to itself. More snow tonight.
"Rachel Morgan and Ivy Tamwood to visit Dorothy Claymor," I said, handing her my ID as I noticed the sign asking for it behind her. No wonder the blond vampire wanted everyone to call her Skimmer. "We have an appointment."
Ivy handed me the pen, and I signed in under her. My thoughts went back to the last time I'd put my name in a register book, and I added a solid period after my signature to symbolically end any psychic connection it might have to me. Crossing it off would be better, but I wouldn't be able to get away with that here.
"Right through there," the woman said as she ran our IDs through a scanner and handed them back. "Keep your ID out," she added, gesturing to a pair of thick plastic doors, clearly anxious to get back to her phone conversation.
I'd rather have gone to the right, where the floor was covered in carpet and there were fake potted plants, but Ivy, who clearly knew the drill, was already headed for the sterile, ugly hallway to the left with its white tile and milky-plastic doors. They were magnetically sealed, and when I caught up to Ivy, the woman buzzed us through.
My jaw clenched when the doors opened and the scent of unhappy vampire and angry Were worsened. I shuddered as I passed the threshold and the prison's safeguards started to take hold. The magnetic door snicked shut behind us, and the air pressure shifted. We were probably in prison air now. Swell. There could be anything in it up to and including airborne potions.
At the end of the room was another set of those doors and a guy behind a desk. The old woman with him started our way, clearly in charge of the standard-looking spell checker before us-which was probably anything but standard. I couldn't help but notice that the woman really stank of redwood, and that, if the gun on her hip wasn't enough, would keep me minding my p's and q's. She might look like an old woman, but I bet she could give Al a run for his money.
"Anything to declare?" the woman asked as she looked over our IDs then gave them back.
"No." Ivy's mood was tight as she handed her coat and purse to her, ignoring the little claim check and walking unhesitatingly through the spell checker and to the desk at the end of the room. More paperwork, I thought as I saw her take a clipboard and start filling in a form.
"Anything to declare?" the guard asked me, and I brought my attention back. God, the woman looked a hundred and sixty, with nasty black hair that matched the color of her too-tight uniform. Her complexion was a pasty white, and I would've wondered why she didn't invest in a cheap complexion spell except I didn't think they allowed them anything while on the job.
"Just a lethal-amulet detector," I said, handing her my bag and taking the little slip of paper and jamming it in a jeans pocket.
"I'll bet," she said under her breath, and I hesitated, eyeing her. I didn't like my stuff in her care. She'd probably go through it as soon as I was out of sight. I sighed, trying not to get upset. If this was the crap you had to go through to see a low-security inmate, I didn't want to know what was needed to see someone in the high-security prison.
Smiling, making herself look almost ugly, she nodded to the spell checker, and I reluctantly approached it. I couldn't see the cameras, but I knew they were here-and I didn't like the casual carelessness she used to bag my stuff up and drop it in a bin.
The wave of synthetic aura cascading over me from the spell checker gave me a start, and I jumped. Maybe it was because I didn't have much of an aura right now, but I hadn't been able to stifle my shudder, and the guy at the desk smirked.
Ivy was waiting impatiently, and I took the form the guy shoved across the desk at me. "And who are we visiting today?" he snarkily asked me as he handed Ivy her visitor's pass.
My attention jerked up from the release form. I was not the one in jail here. Then I saw where he was looking and went cold. My visible scars were less than a year old, clear enough, and I stiffened when I decided he thought I was a vampire junkie on my way to get a fix. "Dorothy Claymor, same as her," I said as if he didn't know, signing the paper with stiff fingers.
The young man's smirk grew nasty. "Not at the same time you aren't."
Ivy took a stance, and I set the clipboard down with a tap. Peeved, I looked at him. Why is this becoming so difficult? "Look," I said, using one finger to slide the form back to him. "I'm just trying to help a friend, and this is the only way Dorothy will see her, okay?"
"She likes threesomes, eh?" the guy said, and seeing me drumming my fingers on my crossed arm, he added in a more businesslike voice, "We can't let two people visit an inmate at once. Accidents happen."
Much to my surprise, it was the woman who came to my rescue, clearing her throat like she was trying to get a cat out of it. "They can go in, Miltast."
Officer Miltast, apparently, turned. "I'm not losing my job over her."
The woman grinned and tapped her paperwork. "We got a call. She can go in."
What in hell is going on? Concern wound tighter in my gut when the man looked from me to my scrawl and back again. Face scrunching up, he turned to Ivy, then handed me the visitor's badge the tabletop machine spit out.
"I'll escort you to the visiting rooms," he said as he rose and patted his shirt front for his key card. "You got this okay?" he asked the woman, and she laughed.
"Thank you," I muttered as I peeled the backing off my badge and stuck it to my upper shoulder. Maybe me being an independent runner just got me in, but I doubted it. My man Miltast opened the door, and hoisting his belt up, waited for us to pass through. God, he was only thirty-something, but he was swaggering around like he was fifty, with a gut.
Again the vampire incense hit me, with a hint of unhappy Were and decayed redwood. It was not a good mix. There was anger, and desperation, and hunger. Everyone was under mental stress so thick I could almost taste it. Ivy and I going in together suddenly didn't seem like a good idea. The vamp pheromones were probably hitting her hard.
The door shut behind me, and I stifled a shudder. Ivy was silent and stoic as we paced down the corridor, jittery under her facade of confidence. Her black jeans looked out of place in the white corridor, and her dark hair caught the light, looking almost silver. I wondered what she was hearing that I wasn't.
We passed through another Plexiglas door and the corridor got twice as wide. Blue lines blocked the floor into sections, and I realized that the clear doors we were passing led to cells. I couldn't see anyone, but it all looked clean and sterile, like a hospital. And somewhere down here was Skimmer.
"The solid doors cut down on the pheromones," Ivy said, noticing me eyeing them.
"Oh." I missed Jenks, and I wished he was here watching my back. There were cameras in the corners, and I bet they weren't fake. "So how come they've got witches working as guards?" I said, realizing that the only vamp I'd seen outside a cell so far had been Ivy.
"A vampire might be tempted to do something stupid for blood," Ivy said, her gaze distant and not paying me much attention. "A Were can be overpowered."
"So can a witch," I said, watching our escort take an interest in our conversation.
Ivy looked sideways at me. "Not if they tap a line."
"Yeah," I protested, not liking that I couldn't right now, "but even the I.S. doesn't send a witch after an undead. There's no way I could even come near besting Piscary."
The man walking behind us made a small noise. "This is an aboveground, low-security facility. We don't house dead vampires here. Just witches, Weres, and living vampires."