Pale Demon (The Hollows #9)(66)
Author: Kim Harrison

Trent was driving again, had been since getting off 95. He could keep the job for all I cared-even if he bitched incessantly until we cut our bathroom and coffee breaks down to almost nothing. The road between Las Vegas and 80 had been nerve-racking, even though we hadn’t seen anyone. There’d been lights. In the air. Lots of them. And they’d kept pace with us no matter how fast Ivy had gone. Trent and Jenks had slept through it all.

Three eighteen, I mused as the clock changed, and I resettled myself against the door, still achy from hitting the floor, wall, table, and whatever else Ku’Sox had thrown me into. The mercury light of a truck stop flashed over me, then another. I slowed my breathing, trying to seduce sleep back to me. If this was almost Reno, then San Francisco was only about 240 miles away. A spike of adrenaline lit and died. Tomorrow. It would all start tomorrow.

"She’ll get you there in time," Jenks said, his soft voice paced a shade slower than usual, and carrying a hint of both irritation and the altitude sickness he was dealing with. I’d offered him the charm to make him big, and he’d refused, saying the car was crowded enough.

"You keep saying that," Trent said just as softly. I’d never have heard them if I hadn’t been in the front seat.

"Well, you keep pushing the pedal to the floor," he shot back, his voice putting him in the ashtray, not the rearview mirror. "You should trust her. She had every right to dump you on the side of the road for freeing Ku’Sox, and she didn’t. That must have been some conversation you had in the john, because if it had been me, your ass would be under the grass right now."

Sleep vanished, but I didn’t move. Jenks would know I was awake because of my "aura brightening" or some such crap, but Trent wouldn’t, and I worked to maintain my slow, sedate breathing. Vivian, too, must be asleep or Jenks would never have brought up the demon.

"You don’t know when you got it good, elf boy."

It had been a soft mutter, but I knew Trent heard, as there was a creak of plastic and the vent started blowing cold air. "I have my reasons," Trent said.

"You have trust issues is what you have," Jenks said. "And turn the air off. What are you, a friggin’ penguin?"

"You don’t know half of what’s going on."

You got that right, I thought as the air turned warm again. My nose was tickling from a thread on my coat, but I didn’t move, hoping Trent would say more. He might. Jenks and Trent had been spending a lot of time together while the rest of us slept, and Jenks liked to talk. Especially when he was cranky. Anything over 2,500 feet above sea level and he had a hard time flying. Hit 3,000 feet and he was down.

"Well?" Jenks said sarcastically, almost daring him.

A small sound of mistrust slipped from Trent. "You’d tell her."

"So?"

"So I don’t want her sympathy."

Sympathy? I cracked my eyes open enough to see a faint haze of pixy dust in the ashtray, glowing in the predawn gloom. "Come on, Trent," Jenks wheedled as he shoved the doughnut napkin off himself and sat up. "What is so damn important in Seattle? Maybe I can help."

Again came Trent’s huff of disbelief. "You talk too much."

Indignant, Jenks flashed his wings. Making a wobbling flight to the dash, he stood with his hands on his knees, bent over and wheezing. "I helped Quen lift your paperwork from the FIB," he said between breaths. "I never said anything. I can help. It’s allowed. I checked. If you’re really on an elf quest, you’re allowed a pixy. Pixies helped elves on quests all the time."

Elf quest, I thought. It sounded so…undignified, like an overdone renaissance fair show, and I stifled a smile imagining Trent in costume riding through his woods to rescue the imprisoned princess. Crap, is he going to come back to Cincy with Ellasbeth?

"I’m breaking into a high-security location, not riding across the countryside on some fairy-tale adventure," Trent said tightly, his thoughts clearly akin to my own.

"So you’re in a borrowed Buick instead of on a mighty steed, and your pixy sidekick can short out security systems instead of spot orcs. It’s the times, Trent. Roll with it."

Jenks was laughing at him, and though I couldn’t see Trent, I could imagine his tight mouth and red ears when he grumped, "It’s not like that."

"It looks like it to me," Jenks said. "Even got your band of ragtag misfits."

In the seat behind me, Ivy shifted. For a moment, neither one said anything.

"What are you doing?" Jenks whispered. "Scrambling the Withons’ tax returns?"

I let out my held breath, almost missing Trent’s soft, "I’m claiming something. Ellasbeth has it. It’s mine."

He wasn’t after Ellasbeth then. Thank God. And why did Trent have to prove himself? Old traditions? Apart from going into the ever-after for that elf DNA sample, he’d been coasting on his father’s legacy. Was this some way to prove to the remaining elves that he could lead them? As if the cure for the demon curse wasn’t enough?

"I can help," Jenks said. "Tell me what you’re doing."

The car drifted to the right, avoiding traffic by the sound of it. Reno must be close. "Why do you want to help me?" Trent asked as he settled into a new lane. "You don’t owe me anything. I’ve given Rachel nothing but trouble."

"True," Jenks admitted. "But working with Quen got me a church and security for my family," he added, and I slitted my eyes to see him sitting on the dash in front of the wheel, his wings almost blue with cold and altitude. "But mostly it’s because if you get caught, Rachel won’t have you to speak for her at the coven meeting."

There was that…

"That’s not enough to risk your life for me. I want to know why," Trent insisted.

Jenks’s wings hummed, and I lifted an eyelid a bit. Through the windshield, gray buildings passed in the gloom. "Where are you going?" Jenks asked, his tone one of mistrust as the turn signal clicked on again. We were changing lanes, the buildings seeming to tilt as the car moved.

"Seattle."

I bolted upright, stiff muscles complaining. "Hey! We’re going to San Francisco!"

Trent jumped, clearly shocked. But the car was in an exit-only lane. "H-how long…," he stammered, but I was more concerned about the SEATTLE-395 THIS EXIT sign that flashed past.

"We are going to San Francisco!" I hissed, not caring if I woke everyone up. "Get the car back on the interstate!"

Trent stared. "How long have you been listening to us?"

My teeth clenched seeing the broken white line turn solid. "So help me, Trent, if you don’t get back on the interstate, I’m going to, to…hate you forever!"