The Undead Pool (7 page)

“He'll be okay with minimal hospitalization. The safety measures in place saved his sight, but if it had happened anywhere else it might have . . . taken out a room.” His words trailed off in thought as he reached before me to open the door. “Overstimulated? That makes more sense than misfires. I had a couple more incidents come in this afternoon. Little things, but I sent Quen all the data I could find. He says the misfires are localized into a narrow band that seems to be stemming from, ah . . . Loveland?”

His voice was hesitant, expression doubly so in the faint light from the sign over the door, and I nodded, glad he'd figured it out and I wouldn't have to bring it up. Not many people knew that the ley line just outside the old castle was less than a year old and made by me—by accident. “I asked Al while I was there. We went out to look, and there's nothing wrong with my line.”

“Oh!” His smile was oddly relieved as he pointed his fob at the car at the curb, and it started up. It was one of his sportier two-doors, and he liked his gadgets almost as much as he liked driving fast. “You're already ahead of me on this. Good. That frees up our conversation tonight. I'd like to wedge something to eat into the schedule too.” He hesitated, one step down. “That is, if you don't have other plans.”

I eyed him, not sure why the hint of pleasure in his voice. “I could eat, sure.” He still hadn't told me where we were really going, and I closed the door behind me. We could lock it only from the inside, but who would steal from a Tamwood vampire and Cincinnati's only day-walking demon? Scuffing down the shallow steps, I headed for Trent's car, only to jerk to a halt when he unexpectedly reached before me to open the door with a grand flourish.

We're going bowling,
I thought sarcastically as I got in.
Right.
Trent shut the door, and the solid thump of German engineering echoed down our quiet street. I watched Trent through the side mirror as he came around the back of the car, his pace fast and eager. I fidgeted as he got in, the small car putting us closer than usual. I leaned to put my bag in the tiny space behind the seat, and Trent was holding himself with a closed stiffness when I leaned back. He liked his space, and I'd probably gotten too close.

My damp hair was filling the car with the scent of my shampoo, and I cracked the window. “Seriously, where are we going?” I asked, but his smile faltered when my phone rang from my shoulder bag. “You mind?” I asked as I leaned to get it, and his foot slipped off the clutch. The car jerked, and I scrambled not to drop the phone. His ears were red when I looked up, and I couldn't help but smile as I found my phone. “It's Edden,” I said as I looked at the screen. “He might have something about my car.”

Gesturing for me to go ahead, I flipped the phone open.

“Edden!” I said cheerfully. “What's the good news about my car?”

“Still working on it,” he said, then at my peeved silence, added, “Can you come out tomorrow, say at ten?”

“What about my car?” I said flatly, and he chuckled.

“I'm working on it. I'd like you to talk to our shift change meeting. Tell everyone what happened at the bridge and give us your Inderland opinion.”

Oh. That was different. “That's ten
P.M.
, right?” I asked, fiddling with the vents as Trent drove us down the service roads paralleling the interstate. His usual fast and furious driving had slowed, and I wondered if he was trying to listen in.

“Ah,
A.M.”

“In the morning?” I exclaimed, and Trent stifled a chortle. Yep, he was listening. “Edden, I've barely got my eyes unglued at ten. I'd have to get up by nine to make it.”

“So stay up,” the man said. “Call it a bedtime story. I promise I'll have your car.”

I sighed. The chance to be included in something professional where my opinion was wanted was a unique and cherished thing. And I did want my car. But ten
A.M.
?

“Rachel, I could really use your help,” he said. “Even if these misfires are over, I'm having a hard time getting a handle on the issues they've caused. That misfired charm on the bridge was one of about two dozen that got reported,” Edden admitted. “We're guessing five times that actually happened. I'm down two officers, and with the I.S. scrambling to apprehend the inmates who survived the mass exodus of the containment facility downtown, the vampires at large are taking it as a sign there is no law at all.”

We stopped at a light, and I glanced at Trent. His brow was creased, and I frowned. “What happened at the Cincy lockup?”

Edden's sigh was loud enough to hear. “Apparently the high-security wing was in the path of whatever that was, and it unlocked. Most of the inmates are either dead or gone—”

“They killed them?” I said, aghast.

“No. Anyone using magic to escape died, probably from a misfire. They got it locked down, but I hate to think what would have happened if the sun hadn't been up. At least the undead stayed put.” The background noise became suddenly louder as Trent turned us down a quiet street.

“The I.S. isn't handling
anything
right now,” Edden said, and a ribbon of worry tightened about me. “Rachel, I don't know the first thing about why a spell shop would explode or what would make a witch's apartment fill with poisonous gas and snuff the entire building. I've got a sorting charm at the post office that took out the back wall of the Highland Hill branch and killed three people. Two construction workers in intensive care from an unexpected glue discharge, and a van of kids treated and released for something involving cotton candy and a hay baler. Even if nothing more goes wrong, I'm swamped. Is there an Inderlander holiday I don't know about?”

“No.” My thoughts went to Newt's space and time calibration curse. She didn't think it was over. “Okay, I'll be there, but I want coffee.”

His sigh of relief was obvious. “Thanks, Rachel. I really appreciate it.”

“And my car!” I added, but he'd already hung up. I closed the phone and looked at it sitting innocently in my hands. “Thanks,” I said as I glanced at Trent, the streetlights flashing on him mesmerizingly. “You heard all that, right?”

He nodded. “Most of it. It's a mess.”

“I'll say. I doubt I'll come away with anything we don't already know, but I'll let you know if I do.”

Again he smiled, a faint worry line showing on his forehead. “I'd appreciate that. We're here.”

I looked up from putting my phone away. Surprised, I blinked. It was a bowling alley, the neon pins and balls on the sign flickering on and off. Lips parted, I said nothing as Trent pulled his shining car into one of the parking spots beside a dented Toyota. Jenks staying home resounded in me, and the tension from Edden's call vanished as Trent turned the car off.

“Trent, is this a date?”

He didn't reach for the key still in the ignition. “You never told me how your car got impounded.”

“Is this a date?” I asked again, more stridently.

Silent, he sat there, his hands on the wheel as he stared at the front door and the flashing neon bowling pins. “I want it to be.”

My face felt warm. A couple was getting out of a truck a few spots down, and they held hands as they went in.
A date?
I couldn't imagine holding Trent's hand in public. Kisten's, yes. Marshal's, yes. Not Trent's. “This isn't a good idea.”

“Normally I'd agree with you, but I've got a valid reason.”

Valid reason.
His voice had been calm, but my skin was tingling, and I fidgeted with my shoulder bag until I realized what I was doing and stopped. “Nothing has changed in the last three months.”

“No. It hasn't.”

I took a breath, then thought about that. He'd kissed me three months ago, and I'd kissed him back.
Nothing has changed.

I heard the soft sound of sliding cotton as he turned, and I felt his attention land on me. Looking up, I read in his eyes the question. “Nothing?” I said, my hands knotting in my lap. Things felt different to me. We'd been all over Cincinnati together the last three months, me doing everything from getting him coffee at the conservatory's open house to discouraging three aggressive businessmen who wouldn't take no for an answer. We'd developed an unwritten language, and he'd gained the knack of reading my moods as easily as I knew what he was thinking. I'd seen him laugh in unguarded moments, and I'd learned to be gracious when he paid my way into events that I'd never be able to afford. I'd been ready to defend him to the pain of unconsciousness, and I wasn't sure anymore if it was a job or something I'd do anyway.

But he had another life, one coming in tomorrow on a 747 that didn't include me.

“I can't be like Ceri, showing the world one face and my heart something else,” I said, gut clenching.

“I'm not asking you to.”

I looked up from my hands, my breath catching at his earnest expression. “Then what are you asking?”

His lips twisted, and he turned away. “I don't know. But Ellasbeth is coming back with the girls tomorrow—”

I pounced on that. “Yes, Ellasbeth.” He winced. A second couple was going in, and I looked at the glowing sign. Couples night. Swell. “Trent, I will not be a mistress.”

“I know.” His voice was becoming softer, more frustrated.

“Yes, but we're still
sitting
here,” I said, my anger building. “Why are we here if we both know it's not going to work?”

“I want to take you bowling,” he said as if that was all there was to it, and I flung my head back, staring at the roof of the car.

“Rachel,” he said tightly, and I brought my head down. “Tonight is my last night before the girls come home and my world shifts back to them. I've never had time for myself like this.
Ever.
Quen will be there evaluating me though I know he doesn't mean to, and until she leaves, Ellasbeth will be doing the same. The girls will be front and center as they're supposed to be, and that's okay. But I've spent the last three months with you and this incredible freedom that I've never had before, and I need to know if . . .”

His words trailed off, and my heart hammered at his expression, both pained and wistful.

“I need to know,” he said softly. “I
want
to know what a date with you is like so I can look at it and say
that
was a date.
This
was business. One date. One real date, with a good-night kiss and everything. One date so I can honestly say to myself that the others were not . . . dates.”

I couldn't seem to catch my breath, and I looked back down at my hands, all twisted up again. Slowly, deliberately, I opened my fingers and splayed them out on my knees. I knew what he was talking about, and it might not be a bad idea—having a reference and all. But it sounded dangerous. “Bowling?” I questioned, and the worry wrinkle in his brow eased.

“Sure,” he said, his hands falling from the wheel. “You can't get banned, so there's no reason for them to kick us out.” He hesitated, then added, “Or I can take you back home.”

I didn't want to go home. Knees wobbly, I yanked the door handle, grabbing my shoulder bag as I got out of the car. “No kiss,” I said over the car. “Not all dates end with a kiss.”

His smile hesitant, Trent got out and came around the front of the car. “If that's what you want,” he said, and flustered, I put my hands in my pockets so he wouldn't be tempted to take them, flashing him a stilted smile when he reached to get the heavy oak door for me.

Though clearly disappointed about the kiss stipulation, Trent seemed happy that I hadn't said no outright, and he stood behind me as I shifted to the right of the door, breathing in the stale smell of beer and really good burgers. The crack of the pins followed by an exuberant call of success was relaxing, and the sappy couples music made me smile. “I've not been bowling in ages,” I said, and Trent fidgeted his way out from behind me.

“This is okay?” he said hesitantly, and I nodded. The soft touch of his hand on the small of my back jolted through me, and I scrambled to catch my energy balance before it tried to equalize between us. I felt overdressed as we approached the counter, and I set my bag down on the scratched plastic to take my jacket off to turn me from security to professional woman coming right from work. Under the plastic top were perfect bowling scores, and I glanced at the bar in the corner, my stomach rumbling at the smell of greasy, salty, wonderful bar food.
Yes, this is okay.
God help me if Al ever found out.

“Two games, please,” Trent said as he reached for his wallet. “You have a fast lane?”

The guy behind the counter turned from changing the disc on the music they were piping through the place. He looked old, but it was mostly life wearing him down. “Three is fast,” he said, then blinked as he saw me.
Crap, had I been recognized?
“You, ah, need shoes?”

Trent nodded. “Size 8 women's, and a men's 10.”

The bowling guy's chair was on casters, and with a practiced move, he shoved backward to the honeycomb wall behind the counter, grabbing two pairs and shoving himself back. “Ah, with the shoes, that will be forty-three, unless you want to include two burger baskets. They come with two complimentary beers each.”

It was couples night after all, and Trent turned to me. “Okay with you?”

“Sure.” Oh God, what was I doing? This felt more risky than anything I'd ever done with Trent before, including the time we'd stolen elf DNA from the demons. Nervous, I turned to the bar again. The TV was spouting today's recycled bad news to counteract the love songs, but the love songs were winning.

“I got this,” Trent said as I made a motion to get my wallet from my shoulder bag. He was grinning as he counted out the cash. “We're on a date,” he told the man proudly as he handed the bills over, and I flushed.