a/n: I've always liked the idea of exploring Erica and Ivy's relationship, so this is my first attempt at doing such. Ivy is a very complex person, and I wondered what it would be like to be her sister. This came out of the thought that while Erica talks a lot and is the definition of 'happy-spastic' she's probably not as blind as Ivy and her father think. Also, I've made Erica twenty, because when we first meet Erica, quite early in the series, she's eighteen and it's been a while since then.
There's nothing like a lazy Monday morning curled up on your designer lounge, recovering from the parties you've been to in the previous weekend. even if the only movies you could find are so corny you want to throw them across the room.
Sure, I'm only twenty, but it's amazing how many people will ignore that fact. Jacan reckons it's just because I'm related to the Tamwoods, but I prefer to think it's my engaging company. Jacan still refuses to come partying with me, because he has to 'study'. And my dearest mother wants me to marry him.
Gah. Just the thought of marriage makes me faintly nauseous.
My eyes flutter close and I yawn, ignoring the angst in full swing on my t.v and drift into that warm, formless place that lingers between sleep and awareness, where thoughts tear ad scatter. My last coherent thought is of that gorgeous guy with the blue eyes that I'd met at the supermarket last week.
And, just as I slip into sleep, there's an insistent, firm tapping at my door and a familiar voice, "Erica?"
"What do you want, Ivy?" I groan, rubbing at my eyes. For the love of blood, she's odd sometimes.
"Just open the freaking door! It's raining," Ivy is very used to getting her own way. And so am I. It runs in the family, I'm told.
With another flamboyant groan to make her feel bad I stagger to the door. No one else would come here at this time of day, while I'm devoid of most of my piercings, in a old pair of track suit pants and a shirt I'd stolen from Jacan. Black of course-it's like a tenet of being a Tamwood or something. People might tell me I'm not a Tamwood, but, whatever.
My elder sister looks down at me from her superior six feet. Six feet of dripping wet, leather-clad biker vamp. There is even a Harley Davidson cap perched on her head. And she questions my fashion sense. Okay, so she looks good in it, but hello, she's look good in a freaking sack.
"I bring gifts," she declares, lifting the canvas shopping bag she carries.
"For me? How kind!" I peek inside to find four bottles of champagne, "You're drinking now, V? I thought you didn't drink 'cause it ruined your badass, angsty vamp look." Ivy just stepped past me, "Wow, it's not an improvement, you're even more silent than usual." I follow her in and she places the bottles on the coffee table, her long, delicate fingers wrapped gently around the fragile glass. Ivy is very good at breaking things, not so good at fixing them and she always touches things so gently like her very touch can shatter them.
"Do you have any glasses?" She asks me, cutting off my rant.
"Yeah, in the cupboard over there," I gesture randomly but ivy heads right for the one containing the champagne glasses. Yeah, that's scarily perceptive ninja sisters for you.
She returns with two cradles in her palms, "No, Rica, I am not going to drink this all by myself. You are going to help me," She gives me a small smile that hides her fangs. I don't think I've ever seen her laugh or grin freely, "And we both know you love champagne."
I grin at her, showing mine. Why should I hide what I am? The monster is in all of us, it's how we deal with it that makes us unique.
"Indeed I do. Now, what has persuaded this stoic runner to abandon sobriety?"
"You talk too much," Ivy tells me mildly, telling me that she doesn't want to talk about it. She looks very sophisticated as she fills her glass almost to the brim and sips. But I don't give up that easily.
I flop down on the lounge beside her and poke her arm. It's hard with muscle under my finger, whispering of iron strength. I wasn't an idiot, I'd heard the stories.
"Tell," I plead.
"Do you mind if I stay here today?" She asks, eyes sliding away from me.
"Nope," I pour myself a drink, noticing Ivy has brought my favourite champagne, "But don't wake me up with your weird sleeping patterns, V, vamps are made to be nocturnal and that's exactly what I'm going to be.
"Vampires are meant to be many things," Ivy replies, peering at me with cinnamon eyes.
"Let me guess then," I say, "Bad run," She shakes her head, "Mum dropped in," Another headshake, "Argument with Rachel."
Ivy takes a gulp of champagne and refills her glass. Two for her, three for me. I don't feel the alcohol. Fast vamp metabolism.
"What's new?" She says at last, resigned.
"What was this time about?" Recipe for fireworks: mix one miserable vampire, one reckless witch, stir in some adrenaline addiction, add a dash of sexual tension and shake well.
"She's dating a ghost," Ivy tells me, "A fucking ghost in a stolen body, who happens to use black magic like they're party tricks. He's going to get her killed. I tell her to be smart and she goes and has sex with him." Her fingers tighten dangerously around her glass. Despair flickers, dances in her eyes and the fine champagne tastes bitter as I wrap an arm around her.
She doesn't relax. She thinks she'll fall apart if she lets go just for a second. I want to show her that her emotions are not things to be ashamed of, but that bastard did his job well and I don't know where to begin.
And Rachel Morgan isn't helping.
"You're stronger than me, "I tell her, "I'd just rip the guy's head off."
She laughs at that, "I've been tempted."
I reach for the bottle again, "She does love-"
"I know," Ivy cuts me off, "It just makes it worse, that she doesn't want me." She lets me pull her closer.
"We're gorgeous, rich and young. We should be out partying somewhere with other gorgeous people but instead we're in my apartment, getting drink on champagne-which, I might add, is very expensive," I shake my head, "We have so much to live for, Ivy."
Her eyes are sad when she smiles without any laughter, "I know." I don't want to hear the unsaid words in that statement, I want to be as oblivious as she and Dad think I am.
"This is depressing," I tell her flatly, "I'm going to put on some music, and God damn it woman, you are going to dance!" She looks afraid at that, but I swear, I will use the Look on her and she won't be able to resist.
Grinning evilly I find a cd and slam it into the player. As dance music thumps out, loud and vibrant I grab her hand.
"Pleeeease?" I stretch the word out and give her the Look. And she tries to resist, but finally she smiles and lets me pull her up
I know, I'm utterly irresistible.
In the morning I wake first and give my sister a glare-she'd stolen my blanket, damnit!-and go to wake myself. My head is pounding from too much champagne and I have fucking classes tonight. Fuck university.
When I stagger out to get some coffee Ivy's phone decides to be obnoxious and ring. I am tempted to throw it across the room, but then I smile slowly, evilly when I see the number. FIB?
"Ivy Tamwood's phone," I chirp.
"Who is this?" A gruff voice demands.
"Who is this?" I echo, grinning.
"Captain Edden," The man snaps.
"Oh, I'm Erica and Ivy can't come to the phone right now because she brought like four bottles of champagne over last night and got very drunk, so she's sleeping right now. She even started dancing! It would be funny, but she's good at it, the bitch and she makes me look bad. Don't you hate that, when your siblings make you look bad?"
"Erica! Gimme that!" Cue Ivy.
Ivy spends three nights with me and when she goes, I watch her ride away on her black bike and I sigh.
I can't save her from herself.