The Undead Pool (The Hollows #12)(103)
Author: Kim Harrison

“You don’t want,” I interrupted, searching his eyes until I found the focus in him, so deep and entrenched that I didn’t think it would ever leave him. I hoped it never would. “It’s too late for what you want,” I said, unhappy that this wasn’t working out. Seeing him and his pack rallying together under a common goal made it very clear this wasn’t working. “You need. You need an alpha who is there, focused on the same thing you are. Clearly I can’t do it.”

“Rachel.”

“I’m not a Were,” I said, interrupting him. “David, Megan needs the clout that goes with the job she’s doing.” My job, the one I neglected so badly that I hadn’t even met the woman doing it. “Maybe if you were just an ordinary alpha this could work, but you’re not. Not anymore.”

“Maybe if you were just an ordinary witch,” he said ruefully, and my shoulders eased as he began to understand. We were both being pulled in different directions. It was time to let go.

My throat closed up, and I braced myself against the questioning mystics. “Don’t think this is easy,” I said, and he nodded, taking my hand and giving it a firm squeeze. “What do we have to do?” Head high, Megan came closer, her breath held in hope.

David let go, his fingers finding hers, a new, eager look in his eyes. Yes, I was doing the right thing. “You’re not leaving our pack,” he said, and Megan nodded.

“No, but I can’t be alpha.” But I knew this was the first step out. I wasn’t a Were, and to pretend so would only lead to more grief. I never should have tried in the first place. But who knew it would lead to all this? I looked at Megan, who was almost glowing. “We don’t have to fight or anything, right? I’m really tired.”

David ducked his head in a chuckle. “A handshake will do it. The paperwork is only for the registry.”

A handshake. The mystics clustered close to my uppermost thoughts, trying to figure out why I was both upset and happy as I held out my hand. “Megan, all good things to you,” I said as our hands met.

“Go shake death until you win,” she said, and I sighed in regret. Coulda, shoulda.

“I’ll do that. Thank you.” I let go, and the mystics hummed their confusion.

I made her single voice count more, I thought at them.

A single voice can’t have more merit than many voices, they thought in unison.

It can if that single voice sees more than others, I thought back, then caught my breath as a flood of them left me, fueled by the concept. I hid my sudden unbalance by giving Megan a hug. It was the right thing to do, and David was beaming when I rocked back. Steps silent, they headed for the front door, their soft words twined and falling over each other. It was good. I’d finally done something good.

“That’s nice,” Jenks said as he came back in and landed on my shoulder. “So you think cookies are going to keep Al from busting you up?”

I looked at Ivy’s empty corner, relishing the new quiet of my kitchen. “No, but I think you, me, Bis, and Ivy working together can,” I said softly, and the dust spilling down my front turned an alarmed red. “I just hope they find either Landon or Ayer before sunset. Al is going to be pissed, but he won’t turn me in. He’d be broke.”

Jenks’s dust turned a dismal brown, and I exhaled. “Maybe Al can get them out of me,” I said as I turned to the fridge. I was starved, and the last thing I wanted to do was fight demons on an empty stomach.

But as Jenks and I discussed the leftovers in the fridge and the likelihood of food poisoning, I wasn’t sure I wanted Al to get them out. I was starting to become used to them . . . and the tingle of wild magic they brought to me.

Twenty-Two

Chocolate-chip-scented air rolled out, shifting my hair as I opened the oven door. They’d been frozen dough fifteen minutes ago, thawed by a charm Ceri had taught me and baked as a quick bribe to distract Al while I explained why he should think about his bank account before his pride.

This is so dumb, I thought as I set the pan on the counter and rummaged in the drawer for the spatula. I was going to end up in an ever-after jail cell for uncommon stupidity. If Al didn’t go for it, I’d be spending the next precious twenty-four hours trying to explain to a bunch of demons why I was hosting bits and pieces of the goddess of the species who had enslaved them, warred upon them, imprisoned them in an alternate reality, and then cursed them so their children would be stunted shadows of themselves.

Maybe they had a point, I mused as I looked up, forcing a smile as Jenks darted in, a horsehair in one hand, his crying daughter in the other.

“Rache, tell her that horse is going to eat her,” he said, frustrated sparkles sifting from him when he let go of her and darted into the utensil rack where he kept the wing tape. “I swear, I should just let the stupid animal snap your wing clear off.”

“Tulpa did that?” I said, and he pulled the girl down to stand on the counter where his dust pooled with hers in a beautiful kaleidoscope of silver, gold, and green.

“No, she snagged it when she darted away from him. Hold still. Hold still!” he exclaimed as his daughter awkwardly looked behind herself and held her wing so her dad could fix it. A tiny cut leaked silver dust, mirroring the twin tracks of tears spilling down her face. “Tink’s little pink rosebuds,” he grumbled as he finished and rubbed the sticky stuff from his hands. “Was it worth it?”

Beaming through the tears, she nodded, taking to the air and snitching the horsehair from the counter in passing. In half a second, even the sound of her wings was gone.

“Darn kids grew up so fast,” he whispered, and I felt a flash of guilt for including him in my madness.

“Ah, Bis and Ivy will probably be enough help tonight,” I said, and he spun.

“Bull,” he said, taking a crumb from the counter. “Al doesn’t scare me.”

“He scares me,” I admitted, and Jenks nodded, silent as he nibbled the pixy-size cookie crumb. “I mean it,” I said, pushing a warm cookie off the spatula. “You and Ivy both. This might be too much for Al to stomach.”

“All the more reason to come,” he said, looking toward the street and rising up at the revving of a distant engine and a tinny horn. “Face it, Rachel. You’re stuck with us.” A second horn joined it, and then more engine, closer this time.

“Kids,” I said, hoping that was all it was. “Isn’t there enough going on without getting into an accident?”