The Undead Pool (The Hollows #12)(56)
Author: Kim Harrison

My eyes met Jonathan’s. The nasty man had turned the grill off and was setting everything on a tray to take inside. He smiled evilly at me, and I smiled evilly back. As proper looking in his white-and-blue-striped cooking apron as he was, there was no way I was eating that hot dog now. Too bad, because it looked perfect with chili, mustard, relish, and even a sprinkling of parmesan.

Sighing, I set my plate aside, and as Ellasbeth gracefully took her seat at the large, canopied table, Trent beckoned me over. “Here we go,” I whispered, both eager and dreading Bancroft’s pronouncement.

“Let me help you with that,” Quen said as he took my plate, and I reluctantly passed it to him. I’d get rid of the hot dog somehow.

“Thanks.” Feeling awkward, I crossed the patio as I tried to decide where to sit. There was an empty place beside Trent, but that was out of the question with Ellasbeth smiling thinly at me. The chair beside Bancroft was not a good option. Neither was the chair beside Landon.

“Here, Ms. Morgan,” Landon said as he stood to pour out the wine, and my choice was made for me.

“Rachel, please,” I said as I sat down and pushed my empty wineglass away to make room for my iced tea. “We’re being so informal today.”

At least some of us were, I thought, glancing at Ellasbeth in her swimsuit. Trent was business casual, as was Quen. I didn’t know what Bancroft and Landon were, but they seemed professional. And I, of course, was trying to impress everyone with how businesslike I could be with my black slacks and white top. Boring, boring, boring.

Quen silently slid my plate with my untouched hot dog before me, and I winced.

“Are you perhaps vegetarian?” Landon asked as he set the bottle down. “And no wine?”

My eyes flicked over the table, embarrassed that I’d telegraphed so much. “Just not hungry. And the sulfites in the wine give me a headache.”

“A demon with a sulfur intolerance?” Bancroft said in disbelief, his dramatic drawl temporarily stilling Lucy’s babbling.

Trent reached across the table to take my plate and hand it to Quen to remove from the table. “Rachel is not your usual demon,” Trent said with a smile, and I felt a wash of gratitude. His eyebrows rose almost imperceptibly in question, and I glanced at Jonathan. Frowning, Trent held Ray closer as he watched Jonathan take his apron off. Ellasbeth’s jaw was clenched at our silent communication, and she forced a smile when I noticed.

“What a shame!” Landon pushed back with his glass of red wine and eyed me over it. “To not be able to fully enjoy the fruits of the earth. You must make up for it in other ways.”

His words were innocent enough, but the way he said it made me feel as if I were naked.

Bancroft harrumphed as he settled himself. It was nearing dusk, and the outside lights flicked on. “I appreciate your unique insight into recent events, Morgan,” the man said as he took his cylindrical hat off and set it aside.

“I showed you mine. I’d appreciate if you’d show me yours,” I said, and Landon snorted into his wine.

Bancroft ran his hand over his sparse hair to smooth it. “I beg your pardon?”

I leaned forward, wanting to hurry this up so I might get home before they closed Cincy. “The wave is wild magic. Do you really think vampires have the skill to pull it from my line and then catch it so it doesn’t circle the globe? Just what are they doing with it, anyway?” Bancroft’s expression went closed, and I drummed my fingers. It was going to be like that, eh?

“Wild magic is always leaking from the lines,” Landon offered.

“Not like this it isn’t,” I said, offended they would try to snow me like that.

Stretching, Trent snagged the pitcher of iced tea. “I’ve found Rachel to be circumspect. She knows the value of information and works best when she has it. All of it.”

“She is a demon,” Bancroft said, staring at me. I refused to look away, even when Trent refilled my glass and the ice tinkled to the top.

“She is my associate in this matter,” Trent said, the soft threat in his voice making Ellasbeth sniff. “If you don’t explain the workings of the Goddess, I will.”

Bancroft thought that over as Quen silently cleared the table. It was Bancroft who looked away first, and I drank my tea like a victory draft. Point to me.

“The Goddess is both one being and a thousand,” Bancroft said sourly. “A communal mind. Usually she’s in concert with herself, but as I prayed in Cincinnati this afternoon, I sensed a division. She is two. The subset of mystics being held from her is beginning to separate and take on a new personality. She’s beginning to become insane.”

“I think insane is a somewhat strong term,” Trent said, and a flash of annoyance crossed Landon’s face, fleeting and almost not there.

“She can’t be balanced anymore,” Ellasbeth said dryly, leaning back in her chair with her glass. “Think of a group of people marooned on an island. In a few generations, the lack of genetic diversity begins to show itself.”

“Just so,” Bancroft reaffirmed, reaching for more wine. “When an elf petitions for attention and help, he—”

“Or she,” Ellasbeth interrupted, gently bouncing Lucy on her lap.

Bancroft inclined his head politely. “Or she,” he consented, “is not communicating with the entirety of the Goddess, but only the parts of her that are sympathetic to the petitioner’s aims. The more the prayer resonates with the Goddess, the stronger the connection.”

So the more the Goddess agreed with you, the more likely you were to be heard? “That doesn’t sound very fair,” I said, fiddling with my drink. “What does this have to do with wild magic leaking from my lines?”

“I’m getting to that,” Bancroft said, and Landon coughed dryly. “We call her individual thoughts mystics. They roam freely in reality, leaving her by way of the lines and bringing ideas and concepts back to her, though not usually in the concentrations you’ve been witnessing lately. Several species host them in minute amounts, such as pixies, leprechauns, and Weres. It enables them to access their magic naturally without a connection to a line. It’s the concentration of them in the wave that is unnatural, not their presence.”

I nodded, remembering Jenks once telling me that he was “magic, baby!” I bet it burned the elves’ cookies that they weren’t hosts to their own Goddess when pixies were. It was starting to make sense, and I tapped the table in thought. “Then the wild magic is what’s in the line that witches, elves, and demons get their strength from?”