The Undead Pool (The Hollows #12)(133)
Author: Kim Harrison

Ooooh, ouch.

“Ahhh,” Trent hedged, looking back at Jonathan in the shade of the pergola. In a stiff motion, Jonathan rose, stalking forward with the warmth of a zombie.

“I’ve got this,” I said, reaching into my bag, and Trent fidgeted as I handed over a five. “Oh, for Tink’s toes,” I muttered as I took the ices and handed them to the girls. “You’d think I’d just hamstrung you.”

“It’s not that,” he said as he handed Jonathan the card. “Jon, see what’s going on.”

The girls looked tiny as they clustered about the tall man, and Ray clamped a hand on his pant leg for balance. “Yes, Sa’han,” he said, carefully disentangling Ray’s fingers and transferring them to Trent’s hand.

“I don’t mind paying.” Jonathan was headed for the ATM, and I scanned the courtyard. It suddenly felt exposed, vulnerable. Where is Jenks?

Trent’s tight expression eased and he gave me a surprising sideways hug as he turned us back to the twin stroller parked beside the bench in the shade. “I don’t mind you paying,” he said softly, his words making a tingling path down my entire side since he hadn’t let go. “I simply want confirmation as to why the card isn’t working.”

My thoughts went to the newscasters, their eyes alight and their words fast as they smelled blood in the air surrounding the Kalamack estate. I had a good idea as to why his card wasn’t working. “Maybe it’s just a glitch.”

“Doubt it.” Expression neutral, he let me go to help Lucy up onto the bench before she spilled her cone trying to do it herself. “This might end with burgers at the pool.”

I lifted Ray to sit beside her sister, taking a moment to tug her dress straight over her tights. “That sounds good to me. I missed my Fourth of July picnic.” I sat, straddling the bench so I could watch Jonathan and the courtyard at the same time. Trent, who had to show a more dignified bearing, sat on the other side of the girls, his back to most of the zoo and the long-range scopes of the news vans that had followed us here. They weren’t allowed in without prior arrangements, and I think that was why we were here.

To be honest, I was worried—worried about him and his money. He’d never had to go without it, and the bigger the corporation, the faster it starved to death when the funds were cut off. He was a CEO of billions, but it wouldn’t mean anything if his assets were frozen. He’d be okay, sure, but what about all his employees with no work, no pay for the year or two this was going to take to sort out?

Leaning over and behind the girls, he whispered, “I have insurance for this. Relax.”

Startled, I drew back. “God!” I exclaimed softly. “I hate it when you do that.”

He was smiling, the wind shifting his hair about his eyes, and I felt warm when he helped Lucy, now crying over an ice headache. Slowly his smile faded, damped by Jonathan at the ATM. The tall man had Trent’s card in hand and was on the phone.

“Actually, this took longer than I thought it would.” Concerned, he pulled his phone from a back pocket, elbows on his knees as he pushed a few buttons.

“Sorry.” Ray was distressed at the red dripping down her hand, and I rewrapped the bottom with a new napkin.

“Mmmm.” His brow furrowed even more. “Maybe we should head home.”

Home, I thought, leaning to look at the tiny screen. He’d brought up one of his news sites, which showed a well-groomed woman sitting next to a downward-sloping graph and the words Kalamack Industries. Seeing me looking, he upped the volume.

“ . . . as the Kalamack investigation continues to come up empty. Though employees questioned are denying Kalamack Industries conducts any genetic research outside of legal parameters, allegations of illegal genetic tinkering and trade of genetic products persist. In a related story, claims that the chain of subtropical islands owned by the Kalamack family were really a powerhouse of Brimstone fields have evaporated into the sound of wings. Investigators at the site found only open fields and thousands upon thousands of cocoons of a rare butterfly on the verge of extinction. When asked, Trent Kalamack made this statement.”

The picture shifted to one of Trent, looking calm and collected in his usual suit as he stood beside a podium at his gatehouse media room. “Our intent in replanting the cane fields was twofold, not simply helping a vanishing species to recover, but advancing the local population into more well-paying jobs and fostering new opportunities. Changing the local harvest to a more sustainable product, in this case, the trade of tourism, we would achieve both goals. A cane field will employ a family, but tourism brings in dollars from around the world and employs not just farm workers to maintain the butterflies’ life cycle, but also promotes far more skilled labor and the cottage industries that tourism fosters.”

I looked at Trent, remembering the conversation he and Quen had in my back living room over bugs in the Brimstone field. “Well played,” I murmured, realizing that he had distributed the butterflies to all his fields, effectively eating the evidence.

Trent cleared his throat nervously. “Thank you.”

“Regardless, Kalamack stock continues to plummet,” the newscaster continued as she reappeared, and Trent sighed. “Whether the claims are groundless or rooted in truth, it seems more and more likely that Kalamack Industries has seen the last of its golden years.”

“Sorry,” I said as Jenks’s dust blanked out the screen. I’d heard his wings an instant before he dropped to my shoulder, and a knot of worry eased in me.

“Enks!!” Lucy shrilled, and the pixy darted out of her sticky reach. “Pixy, pixy, pixy!”

“Yeah, I’m buying up Kalamack stock as fast as Rachel’s rent check clears,” Jenks said as Lucy dropped her ice, her hands outstretched as she jumped. “Watch out, cookie maker, or I’m going to own you.”

Clearly amused, Trent put his phone away. Jonathan was still on the phone. Apparently Trent had a lot of accounts to check. Eyes intent, Ray watched Jenks, a brown, icy cold water dripping out the end of her cone unnoticed.

But then my head came up as a familiar scent tickled my nose. “Ah, Jenks? Why do you smell like burnt amber?”

The sound of Jenks’s wings hesitated, but it was Trent’s suddenly bland expression that rang the alarm bells.

“I gotta check the perimeter,” the pixy said, darting off, much to Lucy’s dismay.