A Perfect Blood

what her problem was. The sound of Ivy’s footsteps drew my attention, and Jenks flew in to make nervous circles around me.
    “What are you doing?” she hissed at Trent as she reached for me. “Look at her. She’s going into shock. And you have her sitting on a bench? What are you doing here anyway?”
    “He’s saving my ass,” I said, smiling up at her until my face hurt. “Hi, Ivy,” I added, then hissed in pain when she tried to slide her shoulder under my arm and lift me. “Ow! Ow!” I cried out, and Jenks let a burst of yellow dust slip from him.
    “Watch it!” he shouted, but Ivy had jumped back, her eyes going black as she pulled her hands from me.
    Trent had gotten to his feet, and as I listed sideways, he propped me back up with a single, obvious finger as I tried to breathe, my ribs hurting. “Her ankle is broken,” Trent said as he held my shoulder, and Ivy’s eyes went even wider. “Her ribs are bruised, and her hand has suffered major damage. She’ll be fine, but—”
    “She needs an ambulance!” Ivy hissed, dropping her pain amulet around my neck and carefully scooping me up. My shoulders slumped at the quick relief. It didn’t get rid of everything, but it at least took the edge off.
    “She didn’t want one!” Trent said loudly.
    “When does Rachel ever know what she wants?” Ivy said, her pace jarring as she walked away with me. I looked back, giving him a painful bunny-eared kiss-kiss as Ivy toted me away. The last I saw of him, he was standing beside that bench looking disgusted, his suit askew and the radio in his hand, probably wondering how he was going to get home. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
    “Thanks for watching her, cupcake,” Ivy said dryly to Jenks, and he clattered his wings aggressively.
    “Hey! I got you as soon as I could!” Jenks exclaimed as he flew alongside. “You were the ones who let him get away.”
    “No ambulance,” I protested as she carried me, wincing when she took the curb hard. “I want to see Eloy get in a van, and then go home. My gun is still down there, too. And my bag.”
    “You can get your gun later,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “I’ve already got your bag in one of the FIB cruisers. Do you think you could work with these guys just once without finishing a run needing stitches?”
    Jenks laughed, and Ivy started in with unusually cheerful chatter as she led me to the waiting ambulance, her topics ranging from the celebration pizza party Glenn had invited us to, all the way to Dr. Cordova’s unique vocabulary that she’d shared with everyone when Eloy had gotten away. I let her words wash over me, soaking them in and thinking they were better than a bubble bath. She’d been worried on finding the shaft empty except for my shoulder bag, and I couldn’t help but feel loved.
    The ambulance guys were great, patching me up and making me feel less like a battered woman and more like a battle-weary warrior. They even let me keep the door open as they gave me a shot for infection and wrapped my ribs—fortunately not broken, and my ankle—which was. I wanted to watch and make sure the van that Jenks told me Eloy was in left with no incidents. I wasn’t the only one.
    Dr. Cordova stood by her car and watched, too, getting in and slamming her door before she drove off in the opposite direction.
    We had gotten him, but I felt empty. It wasn’t the victory I had wanted.
    It looked like it wasn’t the victory Dr. Cordova had wanted, either.

Chapter Twenty-six

    S ilvers, grays, blacks, and browns had taken over Glenn’s apartment, Daryl’s touch turning the open floor plan from a rather sterile place of uncomfortably mixed styles to something pleasantly relaxed. It was masculine, calming and powerful, I mused as I sat on the overindulgent, black leather couch with my ribs taped and my ankle propped up, smiling as I took with my left hand the plate of pizza Wayde handed me. It had just come out of the oven and was too hot to eat, but the hamburger, tomatoes, and bacon set my mouth watering.
    In the few months that Daryl had been living with Glenn, she had completely redecorated his space. If I had to choose, I’d say it was soft modern, having simple lines and clean surfaces, but mixing in plush and lavish textures. The couch I was drowning in was about the only thing left from his original furnishings. I’d be worried that the unemployed woman was taking over his life, but in all honesty, the place looked