The Undead Pool (3 page)

“Mr. Kalamack?”

Trent looked up, a new pinch of worry at his brow. He was now firmly in the “them” camp, and it wore on you after a while. But as I watched, his professional smile became deeper, almost believable. “Mr. Kalamack, I'm truly sorry about this,” Kevin said as with a last lurch, we found the pavement of the parking lot and slowed to a stop. “You have every right to protect yourself, and as you said, he has a history of dropping his ball into the players ahead of him.”

“We're fine.” Trent's hand unclenched from the support bar as he stepped out into the sun, his feet unusually loud in his spiked shoes. “Retreat is better than standing my ground and possibly having him pull his entrance fee. I'm going to need my usual tee time next week. Just myself and one other. No cart. Can you arrange it for me?”

The man's relief was almost palpable as he sat in the driver's seat. “Of course. Thank you for understanding. Again, I apologize. If it were up to me, you'd be the one finishing your game and Limbcus would be cooling his heels.”

Trent laughed, and hearing it, Jonathan, Trent's driver among other things, got out of one of the black cars. I liked the man better when he'd been a dog—Trent's version of a slap on the wrist for having tried to kill me. Seeing me take Trent's clubs from the cart, he opened the back of the SUV and waited, a sour expression on his face. I didn't like the man, his tall personage lean and full of sharp angles.

Uncomfortable, I whispered, “This wouldn't have happened if you'd gone bowling. They let you use magic in bowling.” Kevin hesitated, and as Trent shifted from foot to foot in an unmistakable signal of departure, I extended my hand to the golf course employee. “Sorry about breaking your field. I can come back this afternoon and help you fix it.”

His smile was uneasy and his palm was damp. “No, our people need to do it,” he said as Trent took his clubs. “Ahh, Mr. Kalamack, I'm really sorry, but . . .”

Jenks's wings clattered a warning, and I squinted at the regret in Kevin's tone.

“No, it's fine,” Trent was saying again, clasping Kevin across the shoulders and clearly trying to make our escape. “Don't worry. It happens around Rachel. It's part of her charm.”

“Yes, sir. Ummmm . . . One more thing.”

Kevin wouldn't meet my eyes, and I slumped where I stood. “I'm banned from the course, aren't I,” I said blandly, and Trent paused.

Kevin winced, but Jenks was smirking. “I am so sorry,” the hapless man gushed. “I would have done exactly what you did, Ms. Morgan, but the rules say if you do any magic on the course, you're not allowed back.”

“Oh, for little green apples,” Trent said, but I touched his hand to tell him not to get bent out of shape. I'd been expecting it.

“You're welcome to wait at the clubhouse,” Kevin rushed. “But you can't go on the course.” His gaze shot to Trent's. “I'm so sorry, Mr. Kalamack. We have several caddies licensed for personal security. Your patronage is important to us.”

Trent's clubs clattered as he swung his bag over his shoulder and squinted up at the sun. “Can an exception be made?” he asked. “Rachel wasn't playing. She was doing her job.”

Kevin shrugged his shoulders. “It's possible. I'll bring it up with the rules committee. You've been a member since your dad gave you your first clubs. Heck, my dad sold them to him. You're good people, Mr. Kalamack, but rules are rules.”

Yes, rules were rules, but I was tired of them never helping me.

Frustrated, Trent ran a hand over his hair. “I see,” he said flatly. “Well, if Morgan isn't allowed on the course, I won't be needing that tee time.”

My eyes widened, and I touched Trent in protest. “Sir . . .” Kevin pleaded, but Trent put up an easy hand in mild protest.

“I'm not angry,” he said, and Jenks snorted his opinion. “I'm simply changing my plans. For all his backward thinking, Limbcus is right about one thing,” he said, glancing at me. “If you're going to be on the fairways, you should know how to play. I was going to teach you is all.”

My heart seemed to catch before it thudded all the louder. “Me?” I stammered, shooting Jenks a look to shut up when he darted backward in glee. “I don't want to know how to play golf.”
He wants to teach me golf?

Undeterred, Trent looped an arm in mine, the bag over his shoulder thumping into me. “I've got an old driving range in one of the pastures. I'll get it mowed and you can practice your drives until this gets worked out,” he said. He turned to Kevin and shook his hand. “Kevin, give Jonathan a call later this afternoon and I'll courier over the funds for the game.” He winced, but it was clear he was in a better mood. I had no idea why. “This is going to be expensive.”

“Thank you,” the young man said, all nervous smiles as he pumped Trent's arm up and down. “And again, I'm sorry about all of this.”

Trent touched the tip of his golf cap and turned us around. His cleats clicked on the pavement, and my face felt hot. “I don't want to know how to play golf,” I repeated, but Trent's pace remained unaltered as we walked to the SUV he'd bought to cart his kids around in.
Why did he want to teach me golf?

Jonathan stared at us from the open back, and I yanked myself out of Trent's grip. It only made Trent smile all the wider, hair falling to half hide his eyes. Jenks's laughter as he pantomimed a golf swing as he hovered wasn't helping. God, I wasn't stupid! Trent was going to marry Ellasbeth as soon as he was done punishing her for walking away from the altar the first time. But that kiss we'd shared three months ago hung in my memory. He hadn't been drunk—I'd swear to it—but that didn't mean it hadn't been a mistake. You couldn't be two things. I'd tried, and it didn't work. And I wouldn't be his mistress. I was better than that.

Damn it, I'm babbling.

“You don't have to boycott them on account of me,” I said as we neared the SUV. Jenks darted to my car in the shade, and Trent's posture relaxed. He liked the pixy, but Jenks was noisy.

“I'm not,” he said softly as he handed his clubs to Jonathan. “I don't want to be out here without someone watching my back, and I've seen their security. That ball shouldn't have exploded. Not with that little tap you gave it. You're going to get it checked out?”

I nodded, and reminded it was still in his bag, I went to get it. A chill took me as I held the prickly, twisted mass of rubber and plastic, and I looked out over the overdone green luxury, glad that distance and vegetation hid us from most of the prying eyes. I'd never liked it out here, but I'd thought it was the snobby attitudes. Maybe it was more. “I'm going to ask Al about it.”

Trent jerked at the mention of Algaliarept, a new light in his eye making me wonder if he wanted to come with me. “Sa'han?” Jonathan questioned, and the look died as Trent took the dress shoes he was holding out.

“Just calling it early, Jon,” Trent said, his voice holding a new weariness. “I got a text about a misfired charm in one of the off-site labs and want to check it out personally.”

“You need me?” I asked, and Jenks's dust sparkled from halfway across the lot. He had very good hearing.

But Trent only smiled. “No, but thanks. Those things are almost foolproof, and I want to talk personally to the man who got burned. Make sure I'm not being scammed.”

I nodded, my creep factor rising at the siren coming from the nearby interstate.

“I heard shouting,” Jonathan prompted, clearly unconvinced as Trent sat on the tailgate and unlaced his shoes.

“We took care of it.” Trent stopped. Hunched over his feet to look both out of reach and totally accessible, he tilted his head and eyed Jonathan, clearly wanting him to leave.

Jonathan's thin lips screwed up as if he'd eaten something sour. Back ramrod straight, he stalked to the passenger side and got in, slamming the door in protest. Trent's lips quirked and he went back to his shoes. Jonathan could still hear us but at least he wasn't staring. The wind was catching in Trent's hair, making me want to smooth it out.

Stop it, Rachel.

My car was three spaces down and across the lot, but I was reluctant to leave. Trent looked weary, the sun full on his face and his green eyes squinting as he took a cleated shoe off and slipped his dress shoe on. I remembered how he'd stuck up for me, and something in me fluttered. It had been happening a lot lately.
Don't get involved, Rachel. You know it's because he's out of reach.

Trent stood, cleats in his hand. “Let me know what you find out.”

“Tomorrow. Unless it's bad news,” I said, and Trent shut the back of the SUV.

“Tomorrow,” Trent affirmed as he came closer, and my smile froze. I wasn't sure what he was going to do. “Thanks for today,” he said softly as he gave my hand a squeeze.

“You're welcome,” I said, wanting to acknowledge it but afraid to, and his grip fell away. Professional. I was professional. He'd been nothing but professional back to me ever since that kiss, his mouth tasting of wine and me breathless and wanting to know how long it took to get him undressed. I knew that he was going to marry Ellasbeth, that he had a standard to live up to that didn't include a local girl with a crazy mom and pop-star dad.

But he kept touching me. And I kept wanting him to.

Jenks was picking the bugs out of my car grille with his sword and shoving them off with his foot. Meeting my eyes, he made a get-on-with-it gesture, but Trent wasn't making any motion to leave and I didn't know what he wanted. “I'll talk to you later, then,” I said, rocking back a step.

“Right. Later.” Head down, Trent started to go, then turned back unexpectedly. “Rachel, are you available tonight?”

I continued to back up, going toe-heel, toe-heel, not watching where I was going. There it was again. Professional, but not. My first response was to turn him down, but I could use the money and I
had
promised Quen I'd look after him. Jenks's dust flashed an irritated red at the delay, and I said, “Sure. Business or casual business?”

“Casual,” Trent said, and I put my hands in my pockets. “Ten okay? I'll pick you up.”

He was going to want to nap around midnight, so whatever it was, it'd be over by then. Either that, or it was a meeting with someone on a night schedule that couldn't be tweaked.

“Ten,” I said, confirming it. “Where are we going?”

Trent's head ducked, and spinning on a heel, he walked to his SUV. “Bowling!” he shouted, not looking back.

“Fine, don't tell me,” I muttered. It didn't matter. I'd be wearing something black and professional no matter where we went. The kite show, a horse event, the park with Ellasbeth when she came to pick up or drop off the girls and Trent didn't want her on the grounds. Even an overnight trip out of state for business. I liked doing stuff with Trent, but I always felt like a cog out of place. As I should—I was his security, not his girlfriend.

“Oh, for sweet ever loving Tink!” Jenks complained when I got to my car. “Are you done yet? I've got stuff to do this afternoon.”

“We're done,” I said softly as I slipped in behind the wheel of my little red MINI Cooper. Trent was backing up, and I waited as he leaned across a stiff-looking Jonathan and shouted out the open window “Let me know what Al says!” before putting it in drive and heading for the interstate. If Quen had been here, he would've insisted on driving, but Jonathan could be swayed and I knew Trent liked his independence—not that he had that much.

“Al, huh?” Jenks said, suddenly interested as I sat behind the wheel and watched Trent leave. “You think that's a good idea?” Jenks asked, now hovering inches before my nose.

I leaned forward to start my car. “He can tell me if there was a charm on it,” I said, and Jenks landed on the rearview mirror, distrust and unease falling from him in an orangey dust. I was tired, annoyed, and I didn't like the unsettled, more-than-being-said feeling I was getting from Trent. “It shouldn't have exploded,” I added, and Jenks's wings slowly fanned in agreement.

If someone was targeting Trent, I wanted to know. It was worth bothering Al over, though he'd just tell me to let the man die.

That ball shouldn't have exploded.

Two

T
he sun was a slow flash through Cincinnati's buildings as I fought afternoon traffic headed for the bridge and the Hollows beyond. The interstate was clogged, and it was easier to simply settle in behind a truck in the far right lane and make slow and steady progress than to try to maintain the posted limit by weaving in and out of traffic.

My radio was on, but it was all news and none of it good. The misfired charm at Trent's facility wasn't the only one this morning, and so far down on the drama scale that it hadn't even been noticed, pushed out by the cooking class in intensive care for massive burns and the sudden collapse of a girder slamming through the roof of a coffeehouse and injuring three. The entire east side of the 71 corridor was a mess, making me think my sand-trap crater had been part of something bigger. Misfires weren't that common, usually clustered by the batch and never linked only by space and time.

Jenks was silent, a worried green dust hazing him as he rested on the rearview mirror. But when the story changed to a cleaning crew found dead, the apparent cause being brain damage from a sudden lack of fat in their bodies, I turned it off in horror.

Jenks's heels thumped the glass. “That's nasty.”

I nodded, anxious now to get home and turn on the news. But even as I tried not to think about how painful it would be to die from a sudden lack of brain tissue, my mind shifted. Was I really seeing what I thought I was in Trent, or was I simply projecting what I wanted? I mean, the man had everything but the freedom to be what he wanted. Why would he want . . . me? And yet there it was, refusing to go away.

Elbow on the open window as we crept forward, I twisted a curl around a finger. Even the press could tell there was something between us, but it wasn't as if I could tell them it was the sharing of dangerous, well-kept secrets,
not
the familiarity of knowing if he wore boxers or briefs. I knew Trent had issues with what everyone expected him to be. I knew his days stretched long, especially now that Ceri was gone and Quen and the girls were splitting their time between Trent and Ellasbeth. But there were better ways to fill his calendar than to court political calamity by asking me to work security—me being good at it aside. We were going to have to talk about it and do the smart thing. For once, I was going to do the smart thing.
So why does my gut hurt?

“Rache!” Jenks yelled from the rearview mirror, and my attention jerked from the truck in front of me.

“What!” I shouted back, startled. I wasn't anywhere near to hitting it.

Pixy dust, green and sour, sifted from him to vanish in the breeze. “For the fairy-farting third time, will you shift the air currents in this thing? The wind is tearing my wings to shreds.”

Warming, I glanced at the dust leaking from the cut in his wing. “Sorry.” Rolling my window halfway up, I cracked the two back windows. Jenks resettled himself, his dust shifting to a more content yellow.

“Thanks. Where were you?” he asked.

“Ah,” I hedged. “My closet,” I lied. “I don't know what to wear tonight.” Tonight. That would be a good time to bring it up. Trent would have three months to think about it.

Jenks eyed me in distrust as a kid in a black convertible wove in and out of traffic, working his way up car length by car length. “Uh-huh,” he said. “Trent's girls are coming back tomorrow, right?”

The pixy knew when I lied. Apparently my aura shifted. “Yes,” I said, trying for flippant. “I can use the time off. Trent is more social than a fourteen-year-old living-vampire girl.” And he could text just as fast, I'd found.

Jenks's wings blurred. “No money for three months . . .”

My grip on the wheel tightened, and I took the on-ramp for the bridge. “I've got your rent, pixy. Relax.”

“Tink's little pink rosebuds!” Jenks suddenly exploded, his wings blurring to invisibility. “Why don't you just have sex with the man?”

“Jenks!” I exclaimed, then hit the brakes and swerved when the kid in the convertible cut off the truck ahead of me. My tires popped gravel as I swung on the shoulder and back to the road again, but I was more embarrassed about what he'd said than mad at the jerk in the car. “It's not like that.”

“Yeah?” There was a curious silver tint to his dust. “Watching you and Trent is like watching two kids who don't know how their lips work yet. You like him.”

“What's not to like?” I grumbled, appreciating the thinner traffic on the bridge.

“Yeah, but you thought you hated him last year. That means you really
like
him.”

My hands were clenched, and I forced them to relax on the wheel. “Is there a point to this other than you talking about sex?”

He swung his feet to thump on the rearview mirror. “No. That's about it.”

“The man is engaged,” I said, frustrated that my life was so transparent.

“No, he isn't.”

“Well, he will be,” I shot back as the bridge girders made new shadows and Jenks's dust glowed like a sunbeam.
Will be again
.

Jenks snorted. “Yeah, he lives in Cincy, and she lives in Seattle. If he liked her, he'd let her move in with him.”

“They've got a kid,” I said firmly. “Their marriage will solidify the East and West Coast elven clans. That's what Trent wants. What everyone wants. It's going to happen, and I'm not going to interfere.”

“Ha!” he barked. “I knew you liked him. Besides, you don't plan love, it just happens.”

“Love!” Three cars ahead, horns blew and brake lights flashed. I slowed, anticipating trouble. “It's not love.”

“Lust, then,” Jenks said, seeming to think that was better than love anyway. “Why else would you explode that ball? A little overly protective, yes?”

My elbow wedged itself against the window, and I dropped my head into my hand. Traffic had stopped, and I inched forward into a spot of sun. I was not in love. Or lust. And neither was Trent, despite that I'm-not-drunk kiss. He'd been alone and vulnerable, and so had I. But I couldn't help but wonder if all the engagements this last month were normal or if he was trying to get out of the house. With me.
Stop it, Rachel.

A horn blew behind me, and I moved forward a car length. Trent had his entire life before him, planned out better than one of Ivy's runs. Ellasbeth and their daughter, Lucy, fit in there. Ray, too, though the little girl didn't share a drop of blood with him. Trent wanted more, but he couldn't be two things at once. I had tried, and it had almost killed me.

My gaze slid to my shoulder bag and the golf ball tucked inside. “The explosion was probably the same thing affecting the 71 corridor,” I said. “Not because I overreacted.”

Jenks sniffed. “I like my idea better.”

Traffic was almost back up to speed, and I shifted lanes to get off at the exit just over the bridge. We passed under a girder, and a sheet of tingles passed over me. Surprised, I looked up at the sound of wings, not seeing anything.
Why are my fingertips tingling?

“Dude!” Jenks exclaimed. “Did you feel that? Crap on toast, Rache! Your aura just went white again!”

“What?” I took a breath, then my attention jerked forward at the screech of tires. I slammed on the brakes. Both I and the car ahead of me jerked to the left. Before us, a car dove to the right. Tires squealed behind me, but somehow we all stopped, shaken but not a scratch.

“I bet it was that kid,” I said, my adrenaline shifting to anger. But then I paled, eyes widening at the huge bubble of ever-after rising up over the cars.

“Jenks!” I shouted, and he turned, darting into the air in alarm. The bubble was huge, coated in silver-edged black sparkles with red smears of energy darting over it. I'd never seen a bubble grow that slowly, and it was headed right for us.

“Go!” I shouted, reaching for my seat belt and scrambling to get out of the car. No one else was moving, and as Jenks darted out, I reached for a line to make a protection circle. But I was over water. There was no way.

Turning, I plowed right into someone's door as it opened. I scrambled up, frantically looking over my shoulder as the bubble hit my foot. “No!” I screamed as my foot went dead. I hit the pavement and fell into the shadow of the car. Suddenly I couldn't breathe. Brownish-red sparkles flowed into me instead of air, and my ears were full of the sound of feathers. I couldn't see. There was no sensation from my fingers as I pushed into the pavement. There was simply nothing to feel.

My heart isn't beating!
I thought frantically as the sound of feathers softened into a solid numbness. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. It was as if I was being smothered in brown smog. Panicked, I looked again for a line, but there was nothing. What in hell was it? If I could figure that out, I could break it.

A slow roaring grew painfully loud until it cut off with a soft lub. A sparkle drifted before me, then another. I wasn't breathing, but I wasn't suffocating, either. Slowly the roaring started again, rising to a crescendo to end in a soft hush.

It's my heart,
I realized suddenly, seeing more sparkles as I exhaled as if in slow motion, and with that, I knew. I was trapped in an inertia dampening field. There'd been an accident, and a safety charm had malfunctioned.
But why had it risen to encompass all of us?
I thought, reaching deep into my chi and pulling together the ever-after energy I'd stored there. I couldn't make a protection circle without linking to a ley line, but I sure as hell could do a spell.

Separare!
I thought, and with a painful suddenness, the world exploded.

“Oh God,” I moaned, eyes shut as the light burned my eyes. Fire seemed to flash over me and mute to a gentle warmth. Panting, I cracked my eyes to see it had only been the sunbeam I was lying in.
Sunbeam? I'd fallen into the shade. And where are the cars?

“Rachel!” a familiar gray voice whispered intently, and I pulled my squinting gaze from the overhead girders to my hand. Ivy was holding it, her long pale fingers trembling.

“How did you get here?” I said, and she pulled me into a hug, right there in the middle of the road.

“Thank God you're all right,” she said, the scent of vampiric incense pouring over me. Everything felt painfully sharp, the wind cooler, the sunlight brighter, the noise of FIB and I.S. sirens louder, the scent of Ivy prickling in my nose.

The noise of the FIB and I.S. sirens louder?
Confused, I patted Ivy's back as she squeezed me almost too hard to breathe. I must have passed out, because most of the cars were gone. I.S. and FIB vehicles, fire trucks, and ambulances had taken their place, all their lights going. It looked like a street party gone bad with the cops from two divisions and at least three pay grades mucking about. Behind me was more noise, and I pushed from Ivy to see.

Her eyes were red rimmed; she'd been crying. Smiling, she let me go, her long black hair swinging free. “You've been out for three hours.”

“Three hours?” I echoed breathily, seeing much the same behind me at the Cincy end of things. More cars, more police vehicles, more ambulances . . . and a row of eight people, their faces uncovered, telling me they were alive, probably still stuck in whatever I'd been in.

“You weren't in a car, so I made them leave you,” she said, and I turned back to her, feeling stiff and ill.

My bag was beside her, and I pulled it closer, the fabric scraping unusually rough on my fingertips. “What happened? Where's Jenks?”

“Looking for something to eat. He's fine.” Her boots ground against the pavement as she stood to help me rise. Shaking, I got to my feet. “He called me as soon as it happened. I got here before the I.S. even. They're telling the media an inertia dampening charm triggered the safety spells of every car on the bridge.”

“Good story. I'd stick with that.” I leaned heavily on her as we limped to the side of the bridge and into the shade of a pylon. “But those kinds of charms can't do that.”

“Rache!” a shrill pixy voice called, and I looked up, blinding myself as Jenks dropped down from the sun. “You're up! See, Ivy. I told you she'd be okay. Look, even her aura is back to normal.”

Well, that was one good thing, but I was starting to see a pattern here, and I didn't like it. “You got out okay?” I asked, and he landed on Ivy's shoulder.

“Hell, yes. That wasn't multiple spells. I watched the whole thing. It was one bubble, and it came from that black car with the jerk-ass driver.”

Hands shaking, I leaned on the cool railing. Two medical people were headed our way, and I winced. “Oh crap,” I whispered, grabbing Ivy's arm as they descended on us, medical instruments flopping from pockets and their tight grips.

“I'm okay. I'm okay!” I shouted as the first tried to get me to sit back down, and the second started flashing a light in my eyes. “It was just an inertia dampening charm. I think it was so big ordinary metabolic functions couldn't break it. I got out using a standard breakage charm. And get that light out of my eyes, will you?”

“A breakage charm?” the one trying to fit a blood pressure cuff on me said, and I nodded, glad that ambulance teams were required by law to have at least one witch on staff and he knew what I was talking about.

“I'm willing to try anything,” the first said, turning to look at the line of people.

“They're going to wake up thirsty,” I said, but they were already striding back to the people under the sheets with a new purpose. Thankful that Ivy hadn't let them put me in that horrible line, I gave her arm a squeeze. “Thanks,” I whispered, and her fingers slipped from me.

“It works!” came an exuberant cry, and a cheer rose as a man sat up, groggy and holding a hand over his eyes.