Pale Demon (The Hollows #9)(37)
Author: Kim Harrison

The heat and light hit me, and I carefully let the door slide off me and close. This time-zone jumping got to a person. Two hours in one day was hard. Squinting, I shuffled to the car, now parked under the gas station overhang with a hose stuck into it. Trent wasn’t anywhere, but Ivy was standing halfway across the lot, confronting a heavy, grungy trucker who looked not scared but concerned.

Her long hair, wet from her shower, glinted, and I paused at the car to set my coffee down and sigh at how much it took to fill the tank. Ivy had changed her clothes, her long legs managing to make the retro bell-bottoms look work. Her white shirt set off her figure nicely, and the short sleeves were going to make her day a lot cooler. She looked upset, and a faint feeling of unease tightened in me.

"Ivy?" I called, and she spun, the fear on her face striking me cold. She was moving fast-vampire fast-and her eyes were fully dilated in the bright sun.

"He’s gone," Ivy shouted across the lot, and the fear dropped and twisted.

"Who?" I said, already knowing.

"Jenks," she said, eyes wide.

Coffee forgotten, I ran across the lot, squinting when the sun hit me. "Gone! Where?"

The trucker looked forlorn in a bearish sort of way, clearly wanting to help us but not understanding why we were upset. "I’m sorry, ma’am," he said, holding his hands like a fig leaf. "I don’t pay much attention to the little winged critters unless they hit my windshield. They’re a bitch to get off."

God help me, I thought, panicking.

"I don’t know if it was pixies or fairies," the man said, "but a whole mess of noise of ’em just rose up, taking a little fella in red with them. He didn’t look like he was hurt any."

My heart was thudding, and I backed up, sharing a terrified look with Ivy. Oh God, we were in the desert. There was nothing between me and the horizon but wind, sand, and scrub. Pixies could fly faster than I could run and in every direction.

We’d never find him.

Chapter Nine

"Trent!" I shouted, hammering on the bathroom door. It was thin and hollow, and I could hear the water running in the shower. He had to have heard me, but he didn’t answer.

Fidgeting, I hammered on it again. "Trent! We have to go!"

"I’ve been in here two minutes!" he shouted back.

My breath came fast, and I looked out the open door to the parking lot. Ivy was still talking to the trucker, explaining the difference between pixies and fairies to hopefully narrow down who had taken him. We’d never find him if fairies had taken him. Not in time.

I should have insisted that he use that curse to make him big, I thought. I should have made him safe. "Get out!" I shouted, my voice muffled by the low ceiling and faded curtains. "We have to go." Go? Go where? I had no idea, not even in which direction.

"I just got in here," Trent muttered.

My eyes narrowed to slits. I looked at the door, took a deep breath, grabbed the chintzy fake-brass handle, and twisted. It wasn’t locked, and the door cracked open. A moist, foggy warmth spilled out over my feet and then my face. I peered into the tiny room, grimacing. It was clean but old. An ugly toilet was right before me. A simple pedestal sink on two spindly, rusted legs was beside that. There was a small, tidy bathroom kit open on it with clean stuff laid out. The tiny window had peeling self-stick privacy film. The tub/shower combo was to my right, with a masculine shadow moving behind the thin curtain.

"Trent," I said, and the shadow jumped with a half-heard oath.

"What are you doing in here?"

My heart pounded. "They took him," I said, reaching through the curtain to turn the water off. Trent protested, but he moved to the back of the tub. "They took him, and we have to get moving," I said, handing in a large towel.

The curtain shifted open, and I jerked my attention up to Trent’s face. He was rubbing it dry with the towel. Don’t look down. Don’t look down, I thought, though I don’t know why. He’d seen me naked in Fountain Square.

Hair still dripping, he draped the towel around his hips and tucked the end in the folds to hold it there, looking more appealing than if he’d been stark naked. "Took who?" he said calmly.

Flustered, I stared at his face, avoiding his damp, taut skin sliding easily over his muscles. His hair still looked pale, plastered to his face. The tub gurgled as the last of the water drained away, and still I stood there.

"Who did they take, Rachel?" he asked again, and I shook myself.

"Jenks." My eyes suddenly started to swim, and I looked away. "You have two minutes to get dressed and get in the car, or we leave without you. They took Jenks." My throat closed, and I choked out, "The longer I’m standing here, talking to you, the farther away they’re getting." Damn it, I was almost crying. "It’s a desert out there!" I shouted, pointing. "He can’t fly at this altitude. I have to find him!"

Trent’s head dropped. "Okay…," he said tiredly, and I just about lost it.

"It’s not okay!" I yelled. "Get moving!"

Trent stepped from the shower, and I flung myself back, jumping when his shower-wet hand gripped my arm and propelled me toward the door. "Okay. Get out so I can get dressed."

"Oh." Heart pounding, I blinked. "Okay." Only now did I look at his feet. Nice feet.

Trent cleared his throat, and I backed out of the bathroom. "Two minutes," I affirmed.

"Two minutes," Trent said, and the door shut between us.

I backed up until my calves found the bed. Not looking, I sat on it. The air was cool and dry out here, and I nervously smoothed the coverlet, my fingers catching where the stitching had pulled. It smelled, and I stood, arm around my middle as I looked out the door to Ivy and the trucker. I could hear Trent moving around, and I wiped my eye. Damn it, I was crying. I had to find Jenks. He had saved my life so many times. I couldn’t imagine a day without him.

"Rachel, are you still in here?"

I spun, finding the door cracked, a slip of fog drifting out like Trent’s irritation given substance. "Yes."

"Hand me my clothes, will you? Or leave. One or the other."

I scanned the room, finding a pile of dark clothing on the chair beside the window. Moving fast, I strode to it, hardly feeling the softness of the fabric as I tried not to mess up the folds of his shirt and pants. "Here," I said awkwardly. The door creaked open a little more, and the flush of warmth and steam rolled out.

"Thank you," he said, and the door shut, leaving the clean scent of his deodorant.