The Undead Pool (The Hollows #12)(101)
Author: Kim Harrison

“I’m telling you, he wouldn’t sanction anything that resulted in the death of an entire demographic!” I said loudly, then calmed down before I accidentally blew something up. Damn it all to hell, he wouldn’t! Not now. I had to believe that. I did.

“And you’d be right,” came Trent’s voice from Ivy’s laptop, and my head snapped up.

Trent? About a dozen mystics dropped their discussion of the reflective surface of copper pots as a thread of adrenaline pulled through me, and my eyes widened when Ivy spun her monitor to face the room. It was Trent. On the screen. Cool.

Ivy frowned at her computer. “About time,” she muttered.

“Sorry for being late,” Trent said, the picture jerky but riveting. “The software wouldn’t load. Rachel is right. I haven’t heard of any such action being put into place, but I seem to have lost most of my voice in the enclave and I never had it in the dewar.”

He looked tired. Behind him, colorful fish swam in a smaller tank. “Can he see us?” I asked, freezing when Trent seemed to look right at me.

“Yes. I’m glad to see you’re recovered, Rachel.”

His attention was on my hair, and I fumbled for something that wouldn’t sound dumb—or interested in the slightest. Singular, echoed in my head, and I clamped a hand over my mouth before I could say it, warming as mystics began arguing over the logic. He was clearly not made of mass, how could he be singular, even if he acted singular. Everyone else was staring as if I had lobsters coming out of my ears, Trent most of all, and I forced my hand down.

“What have I missed?” he said, a slight red along the rims of his pointy ears.

“Nothing you’ve not heard before,” Jenks said, shooed from the monitor when his dust blanked it out.

But Trent hadn’t known about Landon, and I breathed easier as everyone backed off, accepting that as truth until he proved it false. Which he wouldn’t. Looking back over the last three days, the conversations between Trent and Landon were making a lot more sense. It had felt wrong that Trent had lost his voice for something as stupid as not marrying Ellasbeth, when he was in fact being cut out because the powers that be knew he would’ve been able to turn the tide of events to a vote of no-action. The dewar had used our relationship to force him out, and we’d played right along with it until it was too late. God, it was irritating.

Edden cleared his throat. “Trent, Edden here,” he said since he was probably out of sight of whatever camera was transmitting. “Ivy, are you sure we can’t wake the undead? If it’s the mystics, maybe a special room or something?”

“No,” she said, her voice thick with worry. “There’s not enough time. I’ve been in contact with several houses and they tell me they think their masters have less than twenty-four hours before they begin to die of aura starvation. They’re showing the first signs.” Her jaw clenched, and I remembered her mother was among the undead. “We need to evacuate them.”

“They won’t let me. They’re worried about contamination,” Edden said, and Ivy bristled.

“That’s bull, and you know it,” she growled. Her eyes had flashed black, and as Jenks hummed a warning, I leaned to shove the window up more.

“Easy,” David said, standing up and moving to get the last of the coffee. I thought it was more to be up and on his feet than any desire for caffeine. “We’re just trying to figure out the best way to find an end to this.” Megan, too, was watching everyone, and it made me nervous. “I’ve had no luck locating Landon or Ayer. Edden, can you spare anyone?”

Edden shook his head. “Three days ago, perhaps. The FIB and the I.S. aren’t going to be effective in any capacity come sundown.” He glanced at David, now at the empty coffeepot, and shrugged. “If I had the men. I just can’t spare the resources to find them at this point. Fire, emergency, all public services are, for all intents, nonexistent,” Edden continued, and I sucked on my teeth as I noticed Trent wasn’t paying attention, busy with something on his desk. “So far, new medical emergencies are going to the arena, but if something big catches on fire, it’s going to burn to the river.”

Jenks landed on my shoulder, startling the mystics but not me. “And you can forget about any outside help,” Edden said, his voice resolute. “Until the waves cease, we’re considered quarantined. Vivian confirmed it.”

My lips parted. “No government assist? What are they doing with my taxes?”

“Apart from a small advisory group arriving in a few hours, they’ll help contain us only,” Edden said. “No one in or out. Do you have enough feed for that horse of yours?”

“Ah, it’s my horse?” Trent said, giving me a sharp look through the monitor, and reminded of Tulpa, I looked out the window, not seeing him.

“A few more days. I can take him down to a park, but someone might try to eat him.”

Eat a solid? a mystic asked, its voice clear in the somewhat reduced amount of them in my head. Consume a singular mass that can move on its own? This is acceptable?

Not this particular one, I thought, distracted as Edden’s hands rose up only to fall back onto his lap in a helpless gesture.

“If we could get the waves to stop, we might have a chance,” Edden said.

“What about you, Rachel?” Trent asked, and I jerked. “The elves will not help for obvious reasons, but demons are over five thousand years old. They might know something about controlling mystics.”

The arts of war, I thought, my fear kindling a sudden rush of mystics back into me. I held my breath as they flooded in, and everyone jumped when a charm in my cupboard exploded, unable to take the influx of wild, unfocused magic.

“I take it you haven’t discussed this with them,” Trent said, and anger trickled through me.

“Me talking to the demons right now isn’t a good idea,” I said tightly. It was better to be angry than afraid. Even the mystics understood that. Why was he being such a jerk?

“The waves have to be stopped,” Trent argued. “It’s going to require the knowledge the demons have to either destroy the vigilante group or get the Goddess to stop thinking about her missing thoughts.”

He was right, but I was afraid—afraid of the look on Al’s face, afraid of how deep the scar went. “I’d rather not,” I said.

Motion fast, Ivy shifted the monitor slightly. “Rachel said it wasn’t a good idea.”