The Undead Pool (The Hollows #12)(113)
Author: Kim Harrison

Jenks’s wings hummed as he came to sit on my shoulder as I took it and sat down on the couch. Ivy shut her laptop with an accusing snap. “Ooooh, figures and data!” I said sarcastically, and then brightened as I flipped the page of chemical compounds, numbers, and graphs over to see a fussing infant. “Oh! The Rosewood babies!”

Trent was smiling when I looked up, and a warm feeling kindled in my middle. The infants’ continued survival was the first decision we’d come to together, one that would need decades to see through. I knew it meant a lot to him, even if I’d chosen the path he hadn’t wanted.

Seeing my expression, Quen slumped in exasperation.

“Don’t start,” Jenks said, his wings tickling my neck. “I think this is a good thing.”

Did we have to talk about this? So we had had sex. So what? We’d been “dating” for almost three months. They all knew my track record. Where was the big surprise here?

“That’s because pixies think with their hearts,” Quen said, ignoring Trent’s peeved expression. “This decision is already causing problems.”

“Most warriors think with their hearts,” I said, telling the mystics to back off and that I wasn’t angry with anything they could crush or explode. “It’s what keeps them alive through the crap they have to deal with to keep the rest of you safe.”

For a long moment, no one said anything, then Trent cleared his throat. “The Rosewood babies are doing fine, both in development and security. So far, no demon activity has been noticed, but I think all of them have been marked. If you think it prudent, I’ll move them again. I don’t want to rely on good luck to keep them safe.”

Good luck would be a nice change, I thought, which started a new line of argument among the mystics. I figured I was probably glowing like a friggin’ lightbulb by the way Jenks was looking at me, but at least I wasn’t speaking in tongues.

Trent reached for the papers as I nodded, and I handed them over. “Watch this one,” he said to Quen as he flipped through and circled something. “I don’t like his levels. Try that new permutation, see if we can’t even out his metabolism a little more. If there’s no dramatic shift, I want a detailed report in three months. If it works on him, it might boost self-repair in the others.”

“Yes, Sa’han.”

Trent handed it back to me, and I smiled at the pictures. This was much better than gravestones—until the demons came for them and I’d have to fight for every single one of their lives. My smile faded. Difficult future or not, it had been a good decision. Nothing would change my mind. Their parents would back me up.

“And here’s the latest on the issue you wanted to move forward with,” Quen said, pulling a sheaf of paper from the small stack. “Your groves in Madagascar have been overrun with a rare species of butterfly that have taken a liking to Brimstone leaves.”

Trent’s brow furrowed, making him charming in that silk shirt of Jenks’s. “Oh. Very nice. Yes.” His frown deepened. “Quen, there’s coffee in the kitchen. Help yourself.”

Quen put his hands behind his back and stared at the fireplace. “Without intervention, their larvae can eat an entire field down to the roots in two days. Since it’s a rare species, we’ve been relocating rather than destroying, but if their numbers continue to increase, we’ll have to resort to chemical warfare to maintain a minimal harvest.”

Yep, my boyfriend was a drug lord, and I leaned to see if there was a picture, but it was all figures and data.

“Mmmm,” Trent hummed, clearly preoccupied. “Maintain current suppression methods.”

Quen nodded. “One last thing that arrived this morning,” he said, taking an envelope from his jacket’s inner pocket. “It’s an enclave decree to desist from all contact with Rachel Morgan.”

Shocked, I jerked my head up. “Beg pardon?”

“Seeing as she is a day-walking demon,” Quen finished, handing it to Trent.

Ivy’s incessant tapping ceased, and she looked up as Jenks rose on a column of silver sparkles. His dust left a glowing trail as he hovered over the paper Trent was now unfolding, and I watched the silver sparkles make a shadow where the watermark was.

“Well, I’ll be Tink’s Great-Uncle Bob. Lookie there, Rache. You’re an undesirable citizen.”

Trent finished scanning the letter and let it fall to the table. Leaning back, he steepled his fingers and stared at nothing.

“That is so unfair!” I said. “They can’t tell you who you can . . . talk to!”

Trent’s eyes flicked to mine, a surprising flash of pleasure crossing him at my outrage. “No, it’s okay. I expected this.”

“But how did they find out so fast!” I exclaimed, then flushed. This wasn’t because we had done the horizontal fandango, as Jenks would have said. It was because Trent had walked away from his voice in their enclave to have a voice in my life. Not to mention I’d survived where their highest authority, their grand pooh-bah of their religion, had died. They were scared. And Trent was the one taking the hit.

Quen jerked the paper out of Ivy’s reach when she leaned forward for it, the man stoically folding it and putting it back in the envelope. “You’re under investigation for collaboration with her in endangering the stability of the Goddess and threatening the religious power structure. You’ve been requested to appear at a summons next week to explain yourself. Shall I bring Charlie into this?”

Charlie was his species-law lawyer, and I huffed, arms over my chest. They’d be lucky if we even had a next week.

“Well?” Jenks said, landing on the table before me. “Isn’t that kind of what you are doing? Collaborating?”

He was right, but it wasn’t as if we had any choice. No one else could do anything about the mystics, and since it was my aura they were attracted to, I felt responsible.

“Quen, here’s what I want done,” Trent said, and the smaller man seemed to come to attention. “Abandon the relocation efforts at the Brimstone fields. Let them have it. I’d rather have one less endangered species than a Brimstone field anyway. Besides, with Cincinnati’s and the Hollows’ master vampires out for the week, demand has taken a hit. No layoffs, just shift everyone over to the secondary output.” His focus blurred. “The world needs more windmills.”

“Yes, Sa’han.”