Ivy snickered, and I reached up to touch it. "Thanks," I said, cursing my outright fear of hurting her feelings. Great. I was going to be eating cake in a silly hat. Damn it, no one had better have a camera.

Keasley's brown, arthritic hands gathered up the handles of the canvas grocery sacks. "I'll take those. You entertain," he said, pulling them from the couch. Hesitating, he turned, bending his once-tall height to give me a fatherly kiss on the cheek. "Happy birthday, Rachel. You're quite the young woman. Your father would be proud of you."

If they were trying to cheer me up, they were doing a lousy job of it. "Thanks," I said, feeling my throat start to take on a lump.

I turned, looking for something to do. Ivy was supervising Jenks handing out soda to his kids in little cups made from the plastic plugs they put in pressboard furniture to hide the holes. David caught my eye and started over. His worn brown boots showed from under his blue jeans, and he scuffed to an uncertain halt. I hadn't seen him since the night I'd been lying on the floor, drugged as he told Minias that he had a legal right to make decisions for me. David had saved my life as much as Ceri.

"Happy birthday," he said, clearly wanting to say something more. Hell, a handshake wasn't going to do it, and as a wash of gratitude warmed me, I reached out and brought him close, taking him in a hug. His arms were solid and real. Comforting. The complicated scent of Were filled my senses, and I closed my eyes, feeling my chest grow heavy when I noticed the differences between being held by him and Kisten. I'd never hold Kisten again.

I clenched my jaw and refused to cry. I didn't want to talk about Kisten. I wanted to pretend we were all normal. But I had to say something, I couldn't let David think I wasn't grateful for what he'd done. "Thank you," I said into his shirt. "Thank you for saving my life."

"It was an honor." His voice rumbled from him to me through his chest, and his hold on me grew more certain now that he knew that the depth of my emotion was coming from gratitude.

"I'm sorry about Brett," I said miserably, and his grip tightened.

"Me too," he said, and I heard the pain in his voice, the loss of more than a fellow Were, but a possible friend. "I want to make him a member of our pack posthumously."

"I'd like that," I said, throat closing. Giving my arms a squeeze, he let go and backed up.

I met his eyes, surprised at the flash of fear. It was the curse. It was afraid of me, and it was only David's alpha confidence that held it in check. Anyone else might have misunderstood the fleeting, deep-seated terror, but I'd had that thing in my thoughts. I knew what it was. And it was dangerous. "David…"

"Don't," he said, his dark eyes fixing on me to stop my words. "I did the right thing. I turned five women, and it killed three of them. If I have the curse in me, I can help Serena and Kally." His anger left him as he got lost in a memory. "And it's not that bad," he finished, gesturing helplessly. "I feel good. Whole. Like this is the way I was supposed to be."

"Yeah, but David…"

He confidently shook his head. "I have this under control. The curse is like the devil itself. I feel it in me, and I have to weigh my thoughts to decide if it's me or the curse, but it's happy to be able to run again, and I have that as a threat. It knows if it makes me angry, I'll come to you and you'll take it out and put it in a prison of bone."

"It's right," I said, remembering the fear in his eyes from just my touch. "David, this is so dangerous. Let me take it out. Everyone thinks the focus is destroyed. We can hide it—"

He held up a hand, and I stopped. "With the curse in me, Serena and Kally can shift without pain. Do you really want to take that from them? And it's okay. I didn't want a pack, but… sometimes our choices are made for us. The curse belongs to the Weres. Leave it where it is," he said firmly, as if the conversation were done.

Slumping against the back of the couch, I gave up. David ducked his head and relaxed. He had won, and he knew it. Ivy glanced at me from where she was handing out soda when Jenks whispered something in her ear, and her questioning gaze turned into a smile. Taking two plastic cups, she moved to sit against the pool table where she could watch everyone.

"Do you want something to drink, Rachel?" David asked, and Ivy raised one to say she'd already poured me something.

"Ivy's got it," I said, and he touched my arm before going to see what Keasley wanted.

I wasn't thirsty, but I went over to Ivy, leaning against the table beside her. Her thin eyebrows were high, and she silently handed me my drink. My gaze strayed to her neck. Piscary had bitten her so cleanly that the bites had healed with almost no scar. My neck still was a nasty mess, and it would likely stay that way. I didn't care. My soul was black, and the outward scarring seemed to fit.

Piscary had been dead for two weeks, and the minor camarillas were chomping at each other's heels to find out who would be Cincinnati's next master vampire. The mourning period was nearly over, and all of Cincy was gearing up for the squabbles and power plays. Ivy's mom had a good shot at it, which didn't fill me with any confidence. Though Ivy would be exempt from being a blood source, she'd probably have more backroom responsibility. All of Piscary's vampires had banded together under her; if a different camarilla came out on top, their lives wouldn't be worth the grape leaves Piscary had used to wrap around his lamb sandwiches. Ivy said she wasn't worried, but it had to be preying on her.

Now she cleared her throat in warning, and I forced my hand down from my own neck before I accidentally set the scar resonating to her pheromones. The scent of the pool table rose around me, the combined scent of vampires, cigarette smoke, and beer bringing back memories of me knocking around the balls as I waited in a peaceful, empty dance club for Kisten to finish locking up and our evening to begin.

Again my throat closed, and I set my drink down. "Nice pool table," I said miserably.

"I'm glad you like it." At my shoulder Ivy blinked fast but didn't look at me. "It's your birthday present from Jenks and me."

Jenks darted up with a clatter of wings. "Happy birthday, Rachel," he said with a forced brightness. "I was going to give you some color-changing nail polish, but Ivy thought you'd like this better."

Unshed tears made my vision swim, but I wasn't going to cry, damn it. I stretched out my hand and ran my fingers over the rough felt. It had stitches, just like me. "Thanks," I said.

"Damn it, Ivy!" Jenks said as he darted erratically from me to her. "I told you it was a bad idea. Look, she's crying."

I sniffed loudly, glancing up to see that only Keasley had noticed. "No," I said, my voice a shade too tight. "I love it. Thank you."

Ivy took a drink, maintaining a silent, companionable misery. I didn't need to say a word. I couldn't. Every time I had tried to comfort her the last two weeks, she'd fled. I'd learned it was better just to meet her eyes and look away with my mouth shut.

The pixy landed on her shoulder in silent support, and I saw her tension ease.

The pool table might be mine in name, but I think it meant more to Ivy. It was the only thing besides Kisten's ashes that she had taken. And the fact that she had given it to me was an affirmation that she understood that he'd been important to both of us, that my pain was as important as hers. God, I miss him.

The ice in my drink shifted to smack my nose when I took a sip. I wasn't going to cry. Not again. Edden wanted me to come in and talk to Ford about my memory, "for your own piece of mind, not the case," he had said. But I wasn't going to. I might have had my memory loss forced upon me, but now that it was gone, it could stay gone. It would only cause more pain. The FIB were bucking the system and trying to find out who had killed Kisten by way of who had made the deal between Piscary and Al to get him out, but that was a dead end.