The Undead Pool (27 page)

“I'm glad you did.” He set the plate down, and I held my breath. His grip on my wrist was tight but not imprisoning.

“Trent, maybe Landon is right. You have responsibilities and I understand that.”
What am I doing?
“So do I.”

Still, he moved closer, and my heart pounded when he looked at my lips. “Landon who?”

My eyes widened when his long hand slid across my cheekbone as he leaned across the space between us and brazenly kissed me. “Mrent,” I mumbled, shocked, but he pulled me to him with a sudden tug. A spike of desire dove through me, fueled by the demand of his hand on my waist. His lips moved against mine, and the scent of him plinked through me. My eyes closed, and I leaned into him, little drops of feeling sparking wherever his fingers touched, wherever my hands found him. His stubble was prickly, and the newness of it was thrilling.

Oh God, it was the best kiss yet, and my toes pressed into the floor as I leaned into him. His hand slipped behind my neck, the slight hint of a tightening grip bringing my fervor to a sudden and unexpected pitch.

It took everything I had to pull from his lips, and even as I did, I felt a new desire layering itself over the old, soaking in where it would linger in my thoughts. I could say nothing, the long length of our bodies touching, his hand at my neck and back, mine at his waist. The heat of desire was in his eyes, and I could hardly breathe, imagining what it would be like to have him—have everything.
Right now.

“I enjoyed last night,” he said softly, the words making me shiver, though it might be the sensation of his fingers hinting at pulling me back to him. “Riding,” he added, a gentle pressure building between us. “You before me. I'm glad you stayed on this time.” He smiled.

“Me too,” I whispered. “I wish . . .” His fingers eased their pressure, and I looked away. “I wish things were different,” I said, then held my breath as I looked up at him, regret tightening the corners of my eyes. “You have
everything
waiting for you. I don't want to ruin that.”

Trent's expression became empty, and I pulled away, hating myself.

“Please don't close up,” I begged, but his hands had fallen away, and I took them in my own. “Talk to me.”

Exhaling, he looked up from our joined hands. “No, you're right.” His focus blurred at the sound of a motorcycle at the curb. “I should listen to the people whose experience I value. I don't want to hit the ground again. Excuse me. Quen is coming in about an hour with a horse trailer. I'd like to be showered by then. Do you mind?”

There was no regret in his tone, no accusation. Nothing. “No, go ahead,” I said, and he nodded and turned away.

My throat was tight as I looked at that damn skillet on the stove, now radiating heat waves. The door to the bathroom clicked shut, and hunched, I turned to the window. My stomach hurt, and I held it. The passion of that kiss still rang through me. Stopping it had been the right thing to do.
It had!
I was not going to be his mistress. I was better than that.

“You are a blind fool, Rache,” Jenks said from the archway to the hall, and I spun, wiping the hint of moisture from my eyes.

“And you're a Peeping Tom,” I accused when the shower went on and Trent couldn't hear us. His beard would have grown in soft. I could almost feel it on my fingers right now.

Jenks flew in, the greenish-purple dust telling me he was pissed if his scowl wasn't enough. “I am not. I like happy endings, and you're ruining it!”

“Whose happy ending?” I said as the church's door opened and a pixy sang out a cheerful greeting. “Not mine.”

“Rache . . .” Jenks rose up, his expression pleading as his dust hit the pan and sparkled. “I can't believe I'm saying this, but you're perfect for each other! You irritate people, and he smooths things out. You have good mojo, and he only thinks he does. You're broke, and he's rich. You've got those weird feet of yours, and he's got them cute ears.”

“Stop it!” I whispered, not wanting Ivy to hear. “It was a mistake going on that date, and I won't jeopardize his future with Ellasbeth and the girls.”

“Rachel?” Ivy's voice lifted through the church. “Why is there a horse in our backyard?”

I gave Jenks a look to shut up, and he flipped me off. Her footsteps sounded closer, and I went to the stove and turned the flame down, pretending to be busy.

“Who's in the shower?” she asked as she came in, looking refreshed in her black slacks and tailored jacket.

“Trent,” Jenks said. “And Rachel is dumber than Tink's little pink dildo.”

“Oh my God!” Ivy said, eyes wide. “You didn't!”

“No!” I shouted, my frustration coming out as anger. “I didn't!”

Ivy's expression went wide-eyed. “But . . . he spent the night?”

Jenks frowned, hands in his pockets. “That's what I'm telling you. She didn't. Biggest mistake she's made since quitting the I.S.”

“Shut up, Jenks,” I said, tossing a piece of bread into Trent's egg mix and pushing on it until it accidentally tore. “We didn't. He slept in the belfry.”

Wings humming, Jenks went to sit on the sill. “Dumbest thing I've ever seen,” he grumbled, and Ivy set her purse down. “Him up there staring at the ceiling, her down here staring at the ceiling.”

“I'm having a hard time sleeping with the vampires out of control,” I said back to them as I cooked the French toast. “Is Nina okay?”

“About what I'd expect.” Ivy sat before her computer, but she was eyeing Trent's laptop as she typed in her password and everything came alive. “I can't believe they made Felix the functioning head of the I.S. You heard Edden's announcement?”

“Up to him asking for everyone's cooperation. I think
functioning
is the key word there. We have got to find these jokers before the vampires start targeting one another. You want one or two of these?” I pointed to the pan so she'd know what I meant.

“One is good.” Concern pinched her brow as she looked past me to Jenks, but the pixy was smiling insincerely when I turned to him. “I'm kind of surprised they named names, to tell you the truth.”

“Trent says it was to squelch a rumor of a biological attack.”

“Still, to say it was Free Vampires?” Ivy tapped a pencil against her teeth. “Every living vampire out there is going to be hunting them.”

“Maybe that was the intent. Keep them so busy they can't make more trouble.”

“I swear, you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make her drink,” Jenks said loudly, and I threw the fork at him. “Pixy pus!” he yelped, darting out of the way when it hit the window screen and bounced into the sink.

“Leave her alone, Jenks,” Ivy said as I stomped to the silverware drawer for a new one. Jenks hovered over the sink, darting back when I threatened to bop him with the stainless steel. A cell phone began tinkling, half heard and almost ultrasonic, and I turned my back on him to flip the French toast.

“Towers are back up,” Ivy said, and when I ignored it, she added. “It's not mine.”

“Well, it's not mine,” I said. “Jenks, if your kids can't leave my phone alone—”

“Why do you blame my kids for everything?”

“Because everything is usually their fault.” Agitated, I turned the flame down and went into the back living room to check. “They're as nosy as their dad.”

“Hey, I'm just pointing things out,” he said, but I'd skidded to a halt, staring at the black-and-silver phone tinkling out its little song on the coffee table. It was Trent's.

“Rachel?” came faintly from the bathroom, over the sound of the shower. “Can you get that for me?”

Slowly I picked up his phone. That was kind of intimate. What if it was Ellasbeth?

Jenks hovered over my shoulder, his dust making the screen blank out. “If you don't, he might come out all naked and dripping to get it himself.”

“Rachel?” Trent yelled as it rang again, the sound clearly reaching him through the walls.

“Got it!” I yelled back as Quen's name popped up.

“Lucky,” Jenks said, and I waved him off.

“Hi, Quen,” I said with a false cheerfulness.

“R-Rachel?” the older man stammered.

“Trent's in the shower,” I said, hearing the sound of traffic in the background. “Apparently I'm his secretary this morning.”

There was a hesitation. It was heady with questions, but I didn't say anything. Trent could talk to him about this morning. I sure as hell wasn't going to. “Ah, okay. Will you tell Trent that we have a problem that needs his immediate attention. Bancroft is at the top of the FIB building.”

Jenks's wing hum bobbled, and I went back the kitchen. “You mean, like the top, top? Why? Is he threatening to jump?” I said sarcastically.

“It's hard to tell,” Quen said, and my eyes met Ivy's.
Holy shit!
“Landon says Bancroft tried to contact the divided mystics this morning and convince them to go back to the Goddess. I'm guessing something went wrong, seeing as he's blown out the entire top floor.”

Blown out?
I turned to the bathroom, a niggle of fear growing.

“The news is keeping the deaths of those who fell quiet until the next of kin are notified, but they haven't been able to search for survivors. He's raving incoherently and threatening anyone who gets close. Even Landon can't get through to him.”

My chill deepened. Edden worked in that building on the Inderland-related crimes.
Bancroft blew out the top floor? We didn't have a wave come through, did we?

“Rachel, I'll be there in about half an hour to pick Trent and Tulpa up.”

My head jerked up. “Trent's not going out there if Bancroft is throwing people off the top of the FIB tower.”

“He's not throwing them off the top floor. They fell during the initial blast.”

“Yeah? You said he's threatening anyone who gets close. Let the I.S. handle it. It's their job.”

“In the FIB building?” Quen said, then exhaled heavily. “Rachel . . . Trent is the only person Bancroft personally knows in Cincinnati. The man is the head of the elven religious sect. They can't just shoot him. Maybe all he needs is an understanding ear.”

Hip cocked, I fumed. “Fine, I'll tell him.” Ivy was watching me, the rim of brown around her pupils shrinking. “But I'm going with you.”

Quen, though, had already hung up, and I closed Trent's phone with a snap. From the bathroom, the water turned off. Maybe Trent's hearing was better than he let on.

“He tried to talk to the Goddess?” Jenks said, landing on my shoulder and sending a worried red dust down my front. “As in, ‘Hi, how you doing, babe. Got any threes?' ”

Ivy went back to her e-mail. “Sounds like God answered him back.”

“Or he found out something that he didn't like and is having a tantrum,” I said, feet slow as I went to knock on the bathroom door and tell Trent I was coming with him. If Landon thought I was a black demon, that was his problem. Maybe it would take a demon to keep Trent safe from his Goddess, much less a pissed-off priest who could blow out the entire top floor of a city high-rise.

Sixteen

W
ell, do your best,” Trent said into his shiny phone as he flipped my car's tiny visor to block the sun flashing irritatingly through the building-lined Hollows street. He looked tired, overdue for his afternoon nap. Apparently the holes in the Hollows blockades had been closed, and much to Trent's disgust, the Kalamack name wasn't opening doors like it used to.

The shadow of the bridge shaded us, and I slowed my little car as we wove past the unattended
BRIDGE CLOSED
sign. Jenks's dust shifted to a concerned orange and he shrugged, feet drumming the rearview mirror. I'd left a message for Edden that we were coming in, but if he hadn't gotten it, I didn't know how we were going to get past the manned blockade.

“There's a few days' pasture at the church before he eats it all,” Trent added, and I slowly crept down the bridge at a meek forty miles an hour. The empty bridge looked odd. One would think that if both Cincinnati and the Hollows were closed, they could be closed together.

“He's not going to hurt me,” Trent said, giving me an uncomfortable glance. “The man was there at my birth. Quen, Rachel has this.”

Which was why I'd jammed my splat gun and several other nasties in my bag before we left. Yesterday, while eating hot dogs and ribs with the man, I wouldn't have thought he'd swat a fly, much less destroy an entire floor of the FIB. It would've been major news if it hadn't been shoved below the fold by the rising violence between various vampire gangs and Were packs, all of them looking for Free Vampires.

It was bad and getting worse, and now that I was out of my church, I couldn't ignore it. Misfires were one thing, but possible vampire-on-vampire violence was far more dangerous. My worry for Ivy layered over everything, and I slowed to look at a damaged pylon. Were graffiti was scrawled among the broken pieces of plastic and cement chunks in clear warning. Six different packs at least.

It had been in the news, but the visual confirmation that Weres were becoming more aggressive in the face of feuding vampires was chilling. Maybe that's why the blockades between Cincy and the Hollows. The trains, too, weren't stopping anymore, blowing through the usual stops at eighty miles an hour, horns screaming a klaxon warning. I knew David was working with Edden to find the Free Vampires, but I'd not heard from him since yesterday, more reason to be concerned.

“As soon as I know,” Trent said tersely. “Thank you.” He closed his phone, twisting to tuck it in a pocket. Expression grim, he stared out over the river. The wind brushed through his hair, and I wanted to touch it—to bring him back to me. I'd seen Trent quietly lose his temper before, but seldom when it involved Quen. The passion from our kiss, hardly an hour old, flashed through me and was gone.

“Anything I can do?” I offered as the cop just past the end of the bridge flagged us down. There were four of them, but only one seemed interested.

Trent exhaled, using the motion to hide his frustration. “No. Thank you, though.”

Experience told me he wouldn't say another word about it, and I put the car in park as the cop came to my window. Jenks darted out of the car, immediately lost in the glare.

“Ma'am?” the officer said, black glasses reflecting me as he pushed his cap up. “Turn your car around and go back, please. The city has been closed. No one in or out.”

It wasn't a request, and I reached for my ID, already pulled out of my shoulder bag. “Captain Edden asked us to come down,” I said, stretching the truth as I handed it over. I was sure if he knew we were coming, he would have cleared us. “I'm Rachel Morgan.” I turned to Trent. “Give him your ID,” I prompted, then smiled at the cop again. There was no way we were getting in. I could see it already. They'd even diverted the interstate.

“ID?” Trent hedged, and then he brightened. “You know what? I think I have it on me.”

The officer's eyes were lost behind thick sunglasses as he compared my name to the list on his clipboard. Jenks was hovering over his shoulder, and he shook his head when our eyes met. “Ah, sorry, ah . . . Ms. Morgan,” the cop said as he handed it back. “No one gets over the bridge unless they're government food or fuel trucks.”

“What about them, huh?” Jenks said, startling the man. “Rache, tell him your name is Dr. Margret Tessel.
She's
on the list.”

“Found it,” Trent said, and I held out my hand for his ID, but he leaned across me, flashing a professional smile as he passed it to the cop. “Officer, the man at the top of the FIB building is my friend. I think I can talk him down. Can you please let us through?”

The cop's stern expression suddenly became wide-eyed. “Seriously?” he said, turning into fan-boy as he looked from Trent's license to Trent. “Mr. Kalamack?” His glasses came off, and he got that weird smile people have when they meet their idol. “Wow. This is so cool,” he said, shifting from foot to foot. “I got a scholarship because of your dad. It made the difference in which side of the jail cell I was on.”

“Good to meet you,” Trent said, and I pressed back into the seat when the cop stuck his hand in to shake Trent's. I gave Trent a pained look, and he barely lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I understand you have your orders, but my friend has information about the misfires. I have to help get him down.”

Clearly torn, the cop looked out over the river, then behind him at the barricade and the three other cops trying to stay cool in their cars. “I think we can make an exception,” he said as he handed the ID back. “Just promise me you won't start a riot,” he kidded.

I snatched Trent's ID before he could, blinking at the bad picture he'd taken. His eyes were wide and his smile quirky.

“I was in a hurry that morning,” Trent said as he twitched it from my grip, clearly peeved.

“Open it up!” the cop said, whistling three times in quick succession to get the three other men moving. “They're cleared!” The man looked back at us. “I hope you can talk your friend down, Mr. Kalamack.”

“Thank you. I'm sure my father would have enjoyed meeting you.”

“If you need a place to stay, give me a call,” he added, then fumbled for a card, handing it in. “The hotels are full and you're kind of stuck here now.”

“I'll do that, thank you.”

“Tink loves a duck.” Jenks darted back in. “Guys give you their number too?”

Trent shrugged, but the cop was waving us through, and I rolled my window up so I wouldn't have to talk to anyone else. “That was nice,” Trent said, and a tremor passed through me as the barrier scraped back in place behind us. We were in, and it felt wrong.

“How so?” I asked.

Bringing his arm in, he rolled his window up. “Lately, it's not always good when I've been recognized out on the street.”

I thought back to Limbcus. The “them and us” animosity probably wasn't entirely new to Trent, but finding it in a public setting was. “It happens to me all the time,” I said, leaning to see around the corner before we made the turn into the city. My unease was thickening. The entire city felt wrong, and it was more than the graffiti.

Traffic was almost nil, but the city
was
closed. Those who were out were driving with little regard for traffic signals, going too fast and treating reds like flashing yellows if no one was coming. In contrast, both of the stadium parking lots were packed.

“There's no game today,” Jenks said as we passed them.

“They're using it as an emergency shelter,” Trent said, pointing at the marquee. “I didn't want to believe it was this bad. How are they keeping a lid on this?”

Apart from the stadium, there was little foot traffic, and those who were out walked furtively fast. Were graffiti was everywhere, covering up and mutilating the new FV symbols. Shops were closed with hand-lettered signs in the window, some of them tagged with territorial graffiti. It reminded me of the chapter on the Turn in my fifth-grade history textbook—the one titled “The Decade's Darkest Hour.”

“Crap on toast, look at that,” I whispered when I tried to make a right turn to get to the FIB's tower, only to find it cordoned off. Beyond it, the street was littered with chunks of cement and glass, the cars at the curb covered in debris. The scent of dust and smoke hung in the air like a haze of sun, and a uniformed man was directing people with FIB business elsewhere when the sign saying to take FIB matters to the arena didn't do the trick. My eyes flicked to the top of the tower, seeing the damage. Hands clenched, I drove past, not wanting to be noticed by the news vans.

“Jenks, you want to do a quick look-see?” I said as I lowered my window, and he whizzed out.

“I don't understand how they are keeping this out of the news,” Trent said as I turned down a side street looking for somewhere to park. Bits of cement littered the road, and an ambulance was parked illegally in a cordoned-off alley. “There's a spot beside the ambulance,” Trent said, pointing, and I stomped on the brake when he reached for the door, not waiting for me to stop before getting out.

“Trent!” I protested, but he was lifting the caution tape, eyeing the street behind me as he gestured for me to get through. I leaned forward as I slowly drove under it, carefully sticking to the curb and parking out of sight beside the ambulance. The front door to the FIB was just a block away. We'd never find a better spot.

“Trent, wait up!” I said as I fumbled for the FIB sign under the seat and shoved it on the front dash in the hopes it would be the difference between being towed and left alone. Grabbing my shoulder bag, I got out, trying to be quiet as I shut the door. It was eerily silent between the two buildings, and the air had an unusual musky vampire scent under the increasingly familiar scent of burning furniture.

Trent was scanning the damaged top floor as he came forward with two hard hats and a clipboard from an abandoned front-end loader, clearly here to get rid of the chunks of building. “It's strange how we need the very thing we fear,” he said as his eyes met mine.

“Beg pardon?”

“The undead vampires.”

“Tell me about it.” I took the hard hat, the glare diminishing as I dropped it on my head. “How do I look?” I asked as we started up the alley, and he gave me a sidelong glance.

“I'd suggest the front door,” he said, his words coming from the back of his throat, and I warmed. Maybe he had a working-girl fetish. My flush deepened as he touched the small of my back, ushering me forward as he lifted the tape for me. Trent was always touching me, but after that last kiss, it felt different. Seeing him in Jenks's jeans and silk shirt along with that hard hat and the thickening stubble of a workingman wasn't helping either.

I breathed easier when his hand fell away. Arms swinging, we strode down the side street to the front, picking our way through the chunks of concrete and glass. Jenks's wings gave me a breath of warning before he landed on my shoulder. “I hope Edden got your call,” he said. “I've been inside, and they aren't letting anyone up there but emergency people. It's creepy, Rache. The entire building is empty.”

“He promised he wouldn't ignore me!” I almost hissed as we slipped in behind the man directing traffic; Trent's small wave and our hard hats said we belonged. Even the news crews didn't notice us.

“Tell them you're Margret Tessel. She's the hostage negotiator,” Jenks said.

“He's taken hostages?” Concern laced his voice as Trent reached to open the door for me.

Worried, I went inside, the sudden calm and coolness of the air conditioner making me shiver. The very emptiness was shocking. There was trash on the scuffed floor, and the orange chairs were empty. The front desk was unmanned, and the metal and magic detector abandoned. Nearly out of sight, three uniformed FIB officers and one plainclothes were helping get a stretcher and an ambulance crew into the elevator.

“Hey!” I called, striding forward and ignoring the beep of the detector as my boots clicked unusually loud on the tile. “Hold the lift!”

But it was too late. The elevator doors closed, leaving only a single uniformed officer and the plainclothes still there as informal gatekeepers. “Top floor, right?” I said, breathlessly as Trent and I halted before them and I pushed the call button, making the plainclothes frown. “Edden is up there already?”

“Ah, who are you, ma'am?”

“Ma'am?” Jenks snickered from my shoulder. “He called you ma'am.”

I tried to turn my grimace into a charming smile with mixed results. “Rachel Morgan and, ah, Trent Kalamack. I called Edden this morning. He was supposed to clear us.”

“Oh yeah!” the uniformed man exclaimed, eyes wide as they shifted from Trent to Jenks and then me. “I heard you came in Wednesday.” Heads down, they both looked at the list on the clipboard. “Neither of you is on the list. Mr. Kalamack, I'm sorry, but I can't let you up there.”

I sighed at how fast Trent became the governing force here, but he
had
once been on the city council and was a major benefactor to the FIB's and I.S.'s pet charities as well as half a dozen others. They knew me only because I caused trouble.

“You should have told them you were Margret Tessel,” Jenks said in a soft singsong.

“I'm sure we can work something out,” Trent was saying, his political voice in top form.

Behind us, the elevator whined to a stop and dinged. I didn't have time for this. “Is that the latest report?” I said as it opened, and their heads snapped up when I took the papers right out of the man's hand. Smiling, I backed into the elevator. His head ducked to hide a smile, Trent quietly got in beside me. Jenks hovered at the opening, and I frantically pushed the door-close button, my smile never wavering.

“Ma'am. Mr. Kalamack. Please get out of the elevator,” the plainclothes said, his hand twitching as if to reach for his cuffs, and Jenks's wings hummed, stopping the man dead in his tracks when he made a motion to reach in and pull us out.