The Undead Pool (30 page)

“That little coffee shop a few blocks down,” he said, gesturing for us to head for the elevators. “He's got them pinned down but he's alone. I don't know if we can get there before their reinforcements arrive.”

Junior's,
I thought, my mood sobering as we passed the last covered corpse, still uncharred under my protection bubble. Of course.

Seventeen

I
pulled up short as I strode out of the quiet FIB lobby and into the bright sun. It wasn't the sudden wind that stopped me, but the cry of recognition and the surge from the newspeople. They'd seen the explosion at the top of the tower, and they knew Trent's face, even stubbled as it was.

“Whoa! How we going to get through that?” Jenks said in disgust, his dust like needles, holding an unexpected energy as the bright sparkles slid through my aura.

Sighing, I rocked to a stop, unwilling to push through the crowd. “I can't take you anywhere,” I muttered, and Trent looked up from his phone conversation with a frustrated acceptance. The call had started in the elevator, and I was amazed at how he was able to keep his cool when everything was falling apart. But that's what made Trent, Trent.

“I am so sorry,” he said to me, then “Make it work” to Quen before ending the call.

Edden was craning to see over the heads to the car he'd called for, but the reporters had converged, ducking under the plastic ribbon and overwhelming the few officers out front. Backup was at least half an hour out. It would be over by then. Hell, it would be over in ten minutes! We didn't have time for this, and I caught Jenks's eye.

“Go tell David we're on our way,” I whispered, lips barely moving. “Do what you can.”

“You got it,” he said, and I watched enviously as he lifted off, unnoticed as he flew over the tops of everyone.

Trent was watching too, a touch of melancholy in him. “I am so tired of this,” he said softly. Knowing it was a bad idea, I sent my fingers to find his, and he started at the tiny squeeze, returning it full force. But he didn't let go, and I froze at the memory of that last kiss.

“I'll go first,” Edden said, eyes narrowed. “Stick to no comment. I don't know what kind of a spin I have to put on this yet.”

I took a deep breath as the somewhat squat man began waving his arms, dropping down the last few steps to the sidewalk to force a path. My hand slipped from Trent's, and he touched the small of my back, making me go next. I stifled a shiver, something in me rebelling, another part enjoying the sensation I knew I had no right to call mine. Head up against the shouted questions, I fell into place behind Edden. We got about three steps.

“Captain Edden.” Shoved and harried, a woman with her hair pulled back into an unusually informal ponytail fell into the squat man, forcing him to recognize her. “Sorry about that,” she said as she found her feet and gave him a winning smile. “Can you comment upon the most recent explosion and destruction of the top floor of the FIB building?”

Ignoring the mic shoved at his face, Edden kept moving forward. “Not at this time.”

“Captain Edden!” a man at the back shouted, his mic held up over the heads of everyone. “Cincinnati has been closed as well as the Hollows. Give us something, or we're going to start making things up!” There was a light titter, but it wasn't much of a joke.

“Mr. Kalamack! Can you comment on what you and Ms. Morgan were doing at the FIB today? Was that demon or elven magic?”

“We can make stuff up about that, too!” someone else said, getting a more certain laugh.

The cameras were snapping; I wasn't the only one who liked Trent's new look. He took a breath to speak, only to be cut off by Edden. “Another wave is passing through Cincinnati,” the captain said tersely as he tried to get us moving again. “The alarm system is working. I'll make a statement at the arena as soon as we've been over the data.”

“Or like never,” someone muttered. The crush of people was oppressive, and I stifled a surge of panic. Trent's hand landed on me, steadying me with his calm as if I were one of his horses.

“Captain Edden! Any progress on finding the Free Vampires?”

Another officer had reached us to force a path, but it wasn't enough. The sound of pixy wings zipped through me, and Jenks darted down.

“Is David okay?” I said as he landed on Trent's shoulder, and he held up a hand for me to wait, out of breath as he put his hands on his knees and his wings hung flat. We were surrounded by hundreds, but I felt alone. “Is he okay?” I asked again.

“Yeah, but you gotta move,” the pixy panted, and Trent's brow furrowed, having heard him as well. “He's got them pinned down, but he's alone. The pack is at a good old-fashioned Were and vampire riot at the arena. Edden's men are out, too. Whoever gets there first wins.”

Crap on toast. How was I going to get through this? Trent looked over the crowd, knowing as well as I that we'd never get out of here in time. Finally one of the other officers got to us, face pale as he whispered in Edden's ear. I watched, alarm pooling in me as Edden's expression became even grimmer.

“It never rains but that it pours,” Edden grumbled, starting to push his way through again, our pace faster now that we had help. “We lost everyone headed to the coffeehouse. There's a riot at the arena, which leaves just us. Damn it! We're going to lose them!”

Frustrated, I took Trent's arm as someone jostled us. “Rache . . .” Jenks whined, waiting for direction.

One of the reporters saw me holding Trent's arm and I let go when her eyes lit up. “Mr. Kalamack?” she said, turning her back on Edden and elbowing herself some room. “Tammy Gavin from the
Hollows Gazette
. Are you and Morgan officially a couple?”

Like flowers to the sun, every single face turned from Edden to us. There was a moment of silence, and then the questions started up again. Trent's confusion vanished as he put a hand to my shoulder to give me a gentle shove back the way we'd come. “Go,” he said between his unmoving, smiling lips. “I got your back.”

“I got her back, not you,” Jenks said irately.

“What?” I said, and Jenks took off from his shoulder like a shot.

“It's your job,” Trent said, almost hiding the hint of bitterness as he stepped between me and the crowd. “Go.”

Heart pounding, I edged backward as Trent eased forward, drawing the crowd around me and away. “Tammy, was it?” Trent said brightly. “Ms. Morgan is my security. Who better than a day-walking demon to keep a person safe?”

Jenks was a bright spot of sun in the shade of the building across the blocked-off street, and I took a step back. Trent stood alone surrounded by the cameras and mics, the sun dusty in his hair—and I felt a pang of loss.
He'll be okay,
I told myself, but it was harder than I expected to take another step back.

Seeing me slipping away, Edden began to follow me. That is, until Trent turned to the reporters, smiling as he said, “A wave-induced magic misfire took the life of Sa'han Bancroft this morning.” Edden jerked to a horrified halt, and Trent added, “He was attempting to contact the entity we believe is trying to communicate through the wave. He died a hero's death.”

“Ah, that's not confirmed,” Edden said, but the reporters loved it.

“Sahhon Bancroft. Is that with one H or two?” a reporter asked.

Trent became solemn. “That's Sa'han. Capital S, lowercase A, followed by an apostrophe and then lowercase H, A, and N. It's a nongender-specific elven title commensurate with sir or madam, not a given name. Bancroft was the highest authority in the study of ancient elven religious beliefs, and his wisdom will be sorely missed.”

I was clear of the crowd. Tension vibrated through me as I hitched my bag higher, my head down as I walked for the shadows.

“Then that was elven magic?” Tammy asked, and Edden started waving his hands to get Trent to shut up.

“You know your elven history, Ms. Gavin,” Trent said, beaming.

“Elves have always fascinated me, Mr. Kalamack,” the woman flirted, and I was gone.

The shadow of the building covered me. I felt guilty for leaving Trent behind, but I didn't look back, striding forward in a near run.
Jenks
. . . I thought, then caught a sparkle of pixy dust from the traffic control box at the nearest crosswalk. I quickened my pace. He didn't have to watch for traffic, but I did, and just before I reached the crosswalk, the light suddenly changed.

Horns blew as drivers already distracted and nervous slammed on brakes. There was a sickening crunch of plastic, and I didn't slow down, crossing the street as someone's radiator began to leak and the accusations flew. I swung my hair aside as Jenks joined me, wings a satisfied hum. “You just ruined someone's day.”

“I'll write them a haiku in apology,” he smart-mouthed back. “Mark has cleared the place out but for David and the two guys he's got pinned. They're vamps, all right. Both short, both in military anticharm gear. One's blond, one's brown haired. Other than that you guys—”

“All look alike to you, I know.” The potency of his dust spilling over me was easing, but that unfamiliar tingle worried me. God, I hoped my aura wasn't glowing.

But even as I hustled down the sidewalk toward Junior's, my thoughts were on Trent, not the probable firefight waiting for me. He'd willingly stayed behind, a
distraction
so I could do what we both wanted to. Why? I knew this was what he wanted to be.

He said it was my job,
I thought, meaning it wasn't his. He was trying to be who everyone had told him he was—and I didn't like it. I didn't like it a lot.

Deep in thought, I strode down the empty sidewalk, listening to the thunderous booms of antimagic deterrents and mundane tear gas going off at the arena, my mind on Trent's anger when Bancroft had said his mother was a poser, his disbelief and anguish that it might be true. And then his shock when he heard the echo of the Goddess in my mind when Bancroft's magic misfired. I was starting to believe
all
demons could do elven magic but shunned it on the principle of belief. Al was going to be pissed if he ever found out I'd talked to the Goddess.

I jerked, startled when Jenks flew up in my face. His first flash of annoyance turned into suspicion, and he flew backward as I realized we were almost there. Honestly, why did everything seem to happen at Junior's? It was almost as if it were a crossroads to a time continuum or something.

“You'd better get your lily-white ass in there,” Jenks said as he flew backward before me. “They're getting itchy.”

My heart gave a quick pound. Adrenaline was a cool stream behind it, spilling through my muscles and clearing my mind. David needed me, and I wanted to talk to some Free Vampires and find out why they were messing with the undead. Not to mention what in
hell
they thought they were doing imprisoning mystics.

“Thanks, Jenks,” I said as I yanked the door open and the bells jingled against the glass. His dust was an eager silver as the door closed behind us, sealing us in a shop smelling of spicy Were, angry vampire, and really good coffee. Junior, or Mark, rather, was pale as he stood behind the counter in an uninvoked circle he'd had etched in the floor. Trouble followed me like a puppy, and he knew it. But apart from that, the place was empty.
Thank you, Mark.
I'd impacted his life enough for him to know the drill.

David stood almost in the middle of the store, and I sauntered to him, surprised that he was in a suit, albeit a rumpled one. The Were was the model alpha with his dark wavy hair slicked back into a ponytail and his face holding a bare hint of stubble. The expensive fabric mirrored his pelt as if he had been on four paws instead of in a pair of designer dress shoes, the black-and-silver smoothness a definite contrast to his hard expression.

“Sorry I'm late,” I said, but never looked from the two men he was holding unmoving at a corner table at the wrong end of a sawed-off shotgun. It was his favorite, a vamp killer. He could hit both of them with the barest shift of barrel at this distance, and though Free Vampires promoted a quick second death, I didn't think any of them were in a hurry for it. Anyone else would look wrong with the ugly thing tucked atop their arm, but not David.

“What took you so long?” David asked, shifting to make room.

Jenks's blade was catching dust, making a steady stream fall from the tip in threat. “We ran into the press,” the pixy muttered, clearly still peeved about it.

The black-eyed vampires shifted, and David lifted his gun. Slowly they eased back, hands on the table. I couldn't help my smile. The confidence needed to stand against two living vampires wasn't small, and feeling the pheromones tingling over my skin like silk, I wasn't sure even David would've been able to best them if he hadn't had the power of the focus shimmering just behind his eyes. “Press?” David questioned, and I tapped the nearest line, wishing my splat gun wasn't covered in sleepy-time charms.

“Trent took care of it,” I said, eyeing the tissue-box-size device in the dark-haired vampire's grip.
Mystics?
I wondered, deciding it had to be for the strength he held it with. Two vampires, three of us. It wouldn't be easy, but we could do this.

“Good,” David said, the slant of his lips catching my attention. I knew he didn't trust Trent, probably because a possible friend had committed suicide in Trent's lockup rather than divulge the location of the focus, the same curse now residing happily in David.

I tightened my grip on the nearest ley line and put a foot on a chair, shoving it to a nearby booth. Both vampires jerked, telling me they were versed in the arts of security, not the bedroom—if their uniforms hadn't given it away. “I wish you'd get off Trent's case,” I said as I sent the small table to join it. I wanted room to work, and dodging around tables and chairs slowed me down. “He's not as bad as you think.”

David glanced at me, a weird light in his eye. “You mean he's not that bad anymore. You probably saved his life, you know.”

“Today?” I blurted, and he shook his head. There was one last chair between us and the two vampires, and they began paying attention when I shoved it to join the others.