The Undead Pool (26 page)

“You guys stink,” Jenks said as I slid off Tulpa, right after Trent. Knees aching, I hobbled to the gate, closing it and standing on tiptoe to watch the cop car drive past. The cop's radio was turned up loud, and I ducked down as the searchlight played over the carport, then the church. A slice of it made it through the fence, and my whisper to stay quiet was never spoken as I saw Trent.

He was standing beside Tulpa, holding the big animal's head in his arms to keep him quiet, lovingly rubbing his fuzzy ears. His clothes were covered in ever-after dust, rumpled and dirty. He looked nothing like himself, and seeing me looking at him, he pulled the black cap off, leaving his hair in complete disarray. His eyes smoldered with the memory of our race. I took a breath to say something, finding no words.

And then the spotlight moved and he was a shadow.

“Nice. Really nice,” Jenks said as Bis sat on the fence, clearly worried as his feet put new dents in it. “I've got a horse in my yard. Ivy is going to freak out.”

“Ah, Bancroft and Landon are in custody,” Bis said, his eyes squinched apologetically. “That's what kept me. I'll tell them you're okay.”

“Bis, wait,” I said, but he had already launched himself. Jenks scowled as he hovered before a captivated Tulpa, but he was probably more angry that I'd been in trouble than upset about a horse in his backyard.

“Maybe you should stay the night,” I said to Trent. “If they put Bancroft in custody, they'll probably lock you up just for fun.”

“I agree.” His voice was soft, and his eyes were on the sky. “Ah, I'm sure the couch will be more than adequate.”

My bed is softer,
I thought, then pushed down the thought.

Jenks looked between me and Trent, his dust shifting to an odd silver pink. “We can do better than that. Wayde's cot is still up in the belfry.”

“Belfry?” Trent loosened the cinch and pulled the saddle from Tulpa, pad and all.

“It's surprisingly nice up there,” I said. “He fixed it up. Real windows . . . lock on the door.”
Lock on the door? Had I really said lock on the door?

Trent turned with the saddle. “Capital. Thank you, Jenks. Can I use your phone? I should tell Quen where I am, and the towers are down.”

Again?
Frustrated, I reached for Tulpa's reins. “I'll cool him off,” I offered, not wanting to go inside yet. My thoughts were churning. I had no right to be looking at Trent like that. None.

“You sure?” Trent asked, and I started back to the graveyard, horse in tow. The pixy kids were playing with Tulpa's mane, and the patient horse was taking it well, making me wonder if Trent had a few pixies he didn't know about in his stables.

“You'd better call Quen,” I said, almost walking into Ivy's grill. “He and Ellasbeth are going to be worried sick.” A sudden thought stopped me, and I reached into a pocket. “Ah, here are the readings. They'll probably want them, too.”

“Thank you.” Trent didn't move as I extended the paper and he took it. He wanted to talk to me. I couldn't do this, and I turned, pace fast as I led Tulpa deeper into the graveyard.

“My God, you stink,” Jenks said to Trent, his voice becoming faint. “I've got some clothes from when I was your size, but you're going to have to shower before you put them on. I don't want them ruined. You really smell.”

“Thanks, I'd appreciate that.”

Jaw clenched, I stopped in the darkest, most secluded spot in the graveyard. The daydream of Trent in my shower rose back up, and I quashed it. Pulling my borrowed jacket off, I began to wipe the sweat from Tulpa with it. Was it cowardice if there was no way?

My mind said no, but my heart said yes.

Fifteen

T
he sheets were light atop me, and I languorously stretched a foot down, jerking when it slipped out of its warm spot and into the cold. Feeling fuzzy headed, I looked at the sunlight on my ceiling. It was morning, or early afternoon, maybe. I could hear pixies past my stained-glass window propped open with a pencil. Rolling over, I looked at my clock. The radio was on in the kitchen. It was turned to the news. That was weird. Ivy never listened to the news in the morning.

Trent.

Heart thudding, I sat up. He was still here. Had to be. He wouldn't just leave, would he?

I lurched out of bed. My blue robe wasn't going to happen, and as the muted sounds of the announcer droned, I did the hop-scuff into a clean pair of jeans and slipped into a fresh camisole. My hair was a mess. There was no way I was going to go into the kitchen without a stop in the bathroom first; perfume didn't cover morning breath. It was almost eleven. Trent had been up for hours.

Breath held, I cracked open the door. The smell of coffee dove deep into me, alluring.

“It's God's retaliation against the wicked,” a masculine voice said, his vehemence dulled by the radio speaker. “Cincinnati is being visited by
God himself
in the guise of a blood-borne virus. It will sweep away the undead and leave the clean!”

“That's dumber than tits on a man,” Jenks said, and when Trent chuckled, I ran to the bathroom for the detangler. My bare feet were silent on the cold oak, and I winced when the door squeaked.

The radio dulled to nothing, and I stood just inside the bathroom, breathing in Trent's wine and woods scent. There was a water glass on the sink, and one of the toothbrushes Ivy and I had bought for Jenks when he was human-size. The wrapper was in the trash can, and a set of towels, clearly used but folded up, were on top of the dryer.

Trying to be quiet, I got ready for the day. I'd seen Trent's bathroom. It was bigger than my kitchen and had a closet of equal size attached. I was just finishing my teeth when Jenks slid in under the door, his dust a cheerful silver. “ 'Bout time you got up,” he said, hands in his pockets instead of on his hips as he hovered such that his reflection was easier to see than him.

“You mind?” I said, spitting in the sink. Trent's glass was sitting there, and after hesitating, I used my hands to get some water as I always did. Yep. No social grace at all.

“Wow, I don't think I've ever seen your hair like that before. You going retro eighties?”

Dismayed, I looked at the snarled, frizzy mess. “It's called going to bed with your hair wet,” I said as I sprayed detangler and tried to comb it. I had a charm in the kitchen . . . but it was in the kitchen. Frustrated, I finally put it in a scrunchie and called it good. The man had seen me in sweats and in a hospital bed.
I shouldn't care. I don't care.

“You should have Trent over more often,” Jenks said, his wings transparent with motion. “It's nice talking with someone without having to wade through all that estrogen.”

“I'll get you a puppy.” Trying for a cool attitude, I gave myself a last look, adjusted my camisole, and headed out. Jenks darted before me, his dust trailing behind like vanishing crumbs in the forest. Trent had his head in the fridge when I came in, and my heart gave a thump. My eyes went to the windowsill and his ring, still under the water glass with Al's chrysalis.
Crap, he probably already saw it. He's going to know it's important to me.

“Morning,” I said, arms swinging awkwardly, and he pulled himself up and out. He was wearing Jenks's sweats from when he was human-size. And stubble.
Whoa.
The slight haze threw him into an entirely new category of yummy, and I stood there, blinking like an idiot as he rubbed his face, clearly knowing it had caught my attention.

“Morning,” he echoed, glancing at the clock to confirm it was still before noon. “Are you hungry?” He stood at the fridge, tugging at his sweats as if uncomfortable.

“She's always hungry,” Jenks said. “You should see how this woman can eat!”

“Don't you have something to do, Jenks?” I said, wondering what Trent would look like with a real beard.
Stop it, Rachel.

“What . . .” Jenks complained. “I like a woman who eats.” Wings clattering, he went to the sink to check on his kids in the garden. “None of this prissy ‘Oh, just a salad. I'm watching my waistline.' Hot dogs and milkshakes, baby! Give you energy for more important stuff.”

I shot Jenks a look to shut up before he could enumerate, and when he took a deep breath, I threw the dishcloth at him. Trent looked up at the noise, and I stuffed my hands in my pockets. “What looks good?” I said, trying for nonchalant as I went to stand at the fridge beside him.
His stubble was reddish blond. Cool.

Trent's eyes met mine, and suddenly unsure, I backed up, deciding to get some coffee. From the counter, the radio was running a list of closings. There were a lot, from social events to entire businesses. “I was thinking about French toast, but it has eggs in it,” Trent said, and I poured myself a cup of long-brewed coffee.

“Most days I can handle that much without a problem.” I leaned against the counter, a safe five feet between us. The mug was warm, and the coffee tasted as good as it smelled. I let a swallow slip down, waking me up. It was a good day, bright and sunny. It didn't jibe with the serious tone of the announcer talking about the riots at the closed borders, and I wondered if Trent might go running with me sometime. He had the build for it. Then I frowned. Why would he want to go running with me? He had an entire private woods to run in where he wouldn't have to dodge strollers or dog crap.

“Good coffee,” I said, and he came out of the fridge with a carton of eggs and milk.

“Jenks said you liked it dark,” he said, and then my head snapped up as Edden's voice came over the radio.

“Hey, listen!” I said as I reached for the knob, and Jenks got over his dishcloth-induced sulk, coming to sit on my shoulder as we stared at the radio as if it were a TV.

“Let me say again,” Edden's smooth voice said over the click of cameras. “The rumor that Cincinnati and the Hollows are closed due to a biological threat is false. After expert analysis of data gained last night, we can definitively say that the magic misfires and the inability of the undead to wake is
not
biological, but a calculated attack on the undead by a fringe organization called the Free Vampires. Outside help is being obtained, but until we resolve this, Cincinnati and the Hollows will remain locked down with no entry or exit. We don't want those responsible for this getting out of our jurisdiction.”

The reporters shouted questions, and I looked at Trent, knowing Inderlanders would respond badly to being fenced in no matter what the reason.

“Listen to me!” Edden shouted, and they all shut up. “I know this isn't popular, but we are confident that the people responsible are still in Cincinnati or the Hollows. I'm asking everyone to calm down and be cooperative, and for God's sake, don't go targeting your neighbors because they have fangs. We've got a hotline set up if you think you have something we need to know, and I'm confident—”

I turned the radio off, arms around my middle. And the day had started so nice, too. “Edden told them,” I said, surprised. “They must be out of leads.”

“Either that or they were worried about a panic that a new virus was killing the undead. You know how sensitive everyone is about that.” Catching back a snort, I nodded. He was looking at my bare feet, and I tried to hide one under the other. “It was Bancroft's idea to break the news,” he said as his gaze rose to my spelling pots hanging over the center island counter. “I phoned the data to him last night. He says thank you.”

Bancroft?
My suspicion rose. “Always glad to help,” I said, watching how Trent's hand entirely encompassed the bottom of my smallest spelling pot as he gently lifted it free of the hook, but my notion to tell him not to cook with it slipped away as I remembered seeing him last year, wet from the shower, a towel around his hips and his hair clinging to his face. His abs had been beautiful, his waist trim, and his skin taut as he moved. “And?” I said, hiding behind my cup.

“Moving you to the ever-after won't solve anything.”

“Oh, thank all that is holy,” I said, slumping. “Ah, not that I wouldn't have.”

He smiled, and I slid to the side so he could throw the shells away. Jenks was using both hands to work the twist tie on the bread bag, and I belatedly got a plate down, feeling like a fifth wheel.

“Thanks,” Trent said. “I hope you don't mind me using your exercise bike. I needed to stretch out after last night. I've not ridden like that in a long time.”

I dropped my eyes before they caught his. His mood was pinging on my subconscious. Something was on his mind other than breakfast. I had a feeling I knew what it was, and I didn't want to talk about it. “You used Ivy's machine? It's a good one, isn't it.”

From the sink Jenks's wings hummed in discontent. His kids must be up to mischief. “Hey, I owe you, cookie man,” Jenks said as Trent found a fork to beat the eggs with. “It would have taken me all summer to move those rocks.”

“I said I'd help you with that,” I said, and Jenks's dust shifted to an annoyed orange.

“Like I said, all summer,” he said to make me feel guilty. Trent, though, was all smiles.

“My pleasure. I don't count us even, yet. Moving rocks isn't payment enough for your help last year.”

Stealing his daughter,
I thought, wondering if it had really only been a year. “Can I help with anything?” I asked, needing something to do so I'd stop thinking about stuff.

“No, I've got it,” he said as he took a pan from under the counter and set it on the stove.

“I'm not used to people making me breakfast,” I said as I sat at the table. Jenks was watching me as if I was doing something wrong, and I made a
what?
face, switching back to a bland smile when Trent came up from eyeing the flame under the pan.

“I hope you don't mind I just hung out here this morning. Ivy wasn't back yet and you were sleeping. I didn't want to simply leave.” He touched the inside of the pan once, then again, clearly dissatisfied with the temp. “I like your church. It's quiet, but in a good way. Not lonely.”

Jenks frowned at me, and I had no idea why. “Excuse me,” he said, his tone almost caustic as he flew out the kitchen.

Whatever.
“Thanks,” I said as Trent crossed his arms and stifled a yawn. It was nearing noon. Time for all good pixies and elves to siesta. I wasn't all that rested myself. Sleep had been hard to find, and fleeting. There was an unfamiliar laptop and a mug of coffee beside me, and I glanced at Ivy's spot at the table. The laptop was shiny enough to be hers, but she'd just gotten a new one. “Yours?” I asked.

Trent held his hand over the pan and pulled back. “Quen had it couriered over. Cincy is locked down, but there're a few ways in and out of the Hollows yet if you know the back roads. Oh, that reminds me,” he said as he almost danced to the table and picked up a set of keys and jingled them. “Your car is in the carport.”

“Thanks!” I said, stuffing them in my front pocket. My car wasn't just a car, it was my freedom, and he knew it. “At least now you know you can get Tulpa home,” I said. But then guilt hit me, and I set my mug aside. “Trent, I'm so sorry you lost Red—”

Head shaking, Trent reached for the egg mixture. “It's my fault. Carlton said she wasn't ready. I disagreed. He was right. Ten to one Newt has her.”

“Even so, she's still lost. She must be worth a fortune.”

“And then some,” he admitted, face grim. “I can't
believe
I fell off her.”

“I'm really sorry. If Newt does have her, I'll see about getting her back.”

Head down over the egg mix, he sighed. “I'd appreciate that.”

I eased back in my chair, an odd feeling rising through me. I'd heard Trent say those words half a dozen times a day, and every time he meant it, but this time it was about something he couldn't buy or fix, and he knew I'd offered because it was important to him and I just wanted him to be . . . happy.

I'm not doing this!
I thought, panicking even as the warm feeling born from caring about someone suffused me. Beyond the walls of my church, all hell was breaking loose. I didn't have time to fall in love. “I can't tell you how long it's been since anyone made me breakfast,” I said, almost whispered, really, as I tried to get a handle on this. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure.” The snap of the nutmeg top was loud. “I can't tell you how long it's been since I've had anyone I've wanted to cook for. You look content in the early light.”

My thoughts swung back to Landon's threats, and I made myself rise to get more coffee. “Seriously?” I said lightly. “I've not even been able to get through my hair yet. Burnt amber seems to bring out the worst in it.”

He was coming over to me, and I backed up, my spine hitting the counter. “I like it like that,” he said, not looking at me as he pulled open a cupboard and took down a large plate to soak the bread in. “All out like a lion's mane. Comfortable. Wild.”

Wild. He liked my hair. My heart pounded, and my stomach felt funny. “Trent,” I said softly, and his eyes fixed on mine. He was so close the light caught in his stubble and the scent of him drifted through my awareness.

“You kept my ring,” he said. “Why?”

“You want it back?” I was flushing, and he caught my arm as I reached for it. Tingles fed upon themselves, rising to find my core where the sensation settled in to grow.