Into the Woods: Tales from the Hollows and Beyond(88)
Author: Kim Harrison

Immediately the pixy brightened, a bright silver dust slipping from him to pool in the sink to look like mercury floating on the running water. "The biker? What are we doing, anyway? Stealing your grandma’s wedding ring back?"

Trent stifled a surge of pique. He wasn’t used to being questioned, especially by someone who was four inches tall. "I can’t move forward until that sniper is gone." He turned the water off and shook his hands. "Is he coming in or waiting for me to come out?"

"I’ll check."

The attendant, an older man with a mustache and a uniform that looked vaguely like a train conductor’s, watched Jenks fly out, his eyes widening. Coming closer, Trent wrangled his belt pack open. Most of what he needed was in that package under the courier’s arm, but money went a long way. Giving the man a twenty, he said, "Can I borrow this?" as he pointed at the glass jar of packaged mints. It looked like an old-fashioned caboose lantern and was heavy enough to do some damage.

"Sure, governor." The man fingered the bill as Jenks darted back in, the green dust sifting from him telling Trent all he needed to know.

"He’s coming," the pixy said breathlessly. Trent, his heart pounding, hefted the glass container and moved to stand right beside the archway. "What can I do?" Jenks asked.

"Stay out of the way." Trent took a breath, reaching out to tap a line in case he needed it. Energy tasting of fish and cracked rock seeped into him, making the tips of his hair float. The Goddess help him, but the lines were awful in the earthquake-prone West Coast. No wonder his parents had never returned.

Teeth clenched at the uncomfortable sensation, Trent lifted the jar high, listening to the soft scuff of fine leather on stone, hardly audible over the calling of another train’s numbers. The attendant’s eyes widened.

"No, wait!" Jenks shouted, but Trent was already swinging at the brown shadow passing through the marble archway.

The impact reverberated up Trent’s arms. His hands went numb, and the jar of mints hit the tile floor, shattering. Panic shocked through him as the round-faced man in a suit turned to look at him, his eyes rolling up into the back of his head as he collapsed.

Damn it, it is the wrong man!

"It’s the wrong man, cookie farts!" Jenks exclaimed, his wings clattering. "Did I say now? Did I! Tink’s little pink dildo, save me from amateurs!"

Trent stared at the man on the floor, his legs twisted under his briefcase. Now what?

"Behind you!" Jenks shrilled, and he spun, heart pounding as a man in jeans and a too-large coat came in. His eyes flicked to the man on the floor, then Trent. In a smooth, unhurried motion, he reached behind the fold of his coat.

Adrenaline was a slap. Grabbing the attendant’s metal chair, Trent swung it around and up, knocking the man’s arm aside. Snarling, the assassin watched his pistol arc through the air to clatter into a distant corner, but Trent was still moving, dancing forward over the fallen businessman. The chair landed squarely on four feet, and Trent used it to lever himself up, teeth clenched as he smashed his feet into the assassin’s chest.

Arms flailing, the man fell back, grunting as he hit the marble wall, his head meeting it with a dull thwap.

Trent followed the man down, hand aching with power and ready to stun him into submission with a blast of ley line energy.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Mr. Kung Fu!" Jenks shouted, silver sparkles dusting. "I think you got him!"

His fisted hands sprang open, and Trent let go of the line. Shaky, he pulled himself to his full height, staring down at the assassin as the twin feelings of elation and revulsion flowed through him. I am not my father, he thought as he lifted the man’s eyelids to see that they both dilated properly. But it was hard to argue with the thrill coursing through him as the man slumped at his feet, bleeding from his nose.

Jenks whistled long and loudly, as Trent, his hands shaking, moved the chair back where it belonged. The attendant was wide-eyed, his mints scattered and the two men at his feet. The distinctive odor of sea and rock that all West Coast elves had was growing stronger. Sort of surfer meets sandbar, with a bit of red wine thrown in to keep it happy.

"What the hell did you do that for?" the attendant mumbled, edging back as Trent searched the downed man’s pockets. "Is he a mugger?" he added as Trent tossed the cartridge of bullets into the trash and slid the two-way radio into his belt pack. "You want me to get security?"

Shaking his head, Trent stood, and dipping into his belt pack, he handed the man five one-hundred-dollar bills. "The first man fell into your table, breaking the jar, and the second tripped on him," Trent said, and the man took them. "What a shame."

The man’s alarm evolved into pleasure as he turned the bills over as if never having seen one before. "Yes, sir, they did," he said loudly, pulling his arthritic back more erect. "You have a nice day, now. Mind your step. Those mints are slippery!"

Relieved, Trent gave him a sharp nod and sidestepped the next man coming in. Ignoring the cry of "What happened?," Trent exited, breathing in the cooler air of the huge lobby. One down, a hundred to go. From behind him, the attendant was already deep into his story, enthusiastically explaining what had happened and telling the man to watch his step until he got the mints swept.

The clatter of pixy wings brought Trent’s hand up, and he almost smacked Jenks, mistaking the sound as an attack.

"It’s only me, moss wipe," Jenks grumbled, easily evading him and coming to a halt on his shoulder. "You’re kind of jumpy, you know that? Nice going. You could have avoided most of it if you would’ve listened to me."

"I’ll do better next time," Trent grumped, relieved when he saw that his contact was still waiting.

"If you don’t, you’re going to be dead," Jenks grumbled back. "And another thing," he said as he preceded to run down a list of do’s and don’ts.

Ignoring him, Trent started for his contact, his feet finding a familiar, confident pace. He wove gracefully around the people who dismissed him, noting the ones who made eye contact and slid out of his way. His stomach was knotted, and he had to work hard for a casual expression. It was an odd feeling, being on his own after a lifetime spent with someone generally within earshot. His billions would be of little help today. If he failed, the Withons would kill him and stuff him in a sea grotto, but what had him worried was what would happen if he succeeded.

"Are you even listening to me?" Jenks said, tugging at the hair behind Trent’s ear, and Trent frowned.

"Yes, of course. I appreciate you being here, and I’ll let you know when I need your help," he said, nodding to the bike courier as he closed the gap.