The Undead Pool (The Hollows #12)(71)
Author: Kim Harrison

My head jerked up. “Trent’s not going out there if Bancroft is throwing people off the top of the FIB tower.”

“He’s not throwing them off the top floor. They fell during the initial blast.”

“Yeah? You said he’s threatening anyone who gets close. Let the I.S. handle it. It’s their job.”

“In the FIB building?” Quen said, then exhaled heavily. “Rachel . . . Trent is the only person Bancroft personally knows in Cincinnati. The man is the head of the elven religious sect. They can’t just shoot him. Maybe all he needs is an understanding ear.”

Hip cocked, I fumed. “Fine, I’ll tell him.” Ivy was watching me, the rim of brown around her pupils shrinking. “But I’m going with you.”

Quen, though, had already hung up, and I closed Trent’s phone with a snap. From the bathroom, the water turned off. Maybe Trent’s hearing was better than he let on.

“He tried to talk to the Goddess?” Jenks said, landing on my shoulder and sending a worried red dust down my front. “As in, ‘Hi, how you doing, babe. Got any threes?’ ”

Ivy went back to her e-mail. “Sounds like God answered him back.”

“Or he found out something that he didn’t like and is having a tantrum,” I said, feet slow as I went to knock on the bathroom door and tell Trent I was coming with him. If Landon thought I was a black demon, that was his problem. Maybe it would take a demon to keep Trent safe from his Goddess, much less a pissed-off priest who could blow out the entire top floor of a city high-rise.

Sixteen

Well, do your best,” Trent said into his shiny phone as he flipped my car’s tiny visor to block the sun flashing irritatingly through the building-lined Hollows street. He looked tired, overdue for his afternoon nap. Apparently the holes in the Hollows blockades had been closed, and much to Trent’s disgust, the Kalamack name wasn’t opening doors like it used to.

The shadow of the bridge shaded us, and I slowed my little car as we wove past the unattended BRIDGE CLOSED sign. Jenks’s dust shifted to a concerned orange and he shrugged, feet drumming the rearview mirror. I’d left a message for Edden that we were coming in, but if he hadn’t gotten it, I didn’t know how we were going to get past the manned blockade.

“There’s a few days’ pasture at the church before he eats it all,” Trent added, and I slowly crept down the bridge at a meek forty miles an hour. The empty bridge looked odd. One would think that if both Cincinnati and the Hollows were closed, they could be closed together.

“He’s not going to hurt me,” Trent said, giving me an uncomfortable glance. “The man was there at my birth. Quen, Rachel has this.”

Which was why I’d jammed my splat gun and several other nasties in my bag before we left. Yesterday, while eating hot dogs and ribs with the man, I wouldn’t have thought he’d swat a fly, much less destroy an entire floor of the FIB. It would’ve been major news if it hadn’t been shoved below the fold by the rising violence between various vampire gangs and Were packs, all of them looking for Free Vampires.

It was bad and getting worse, and now that I was out of my church, I couldn’t ignore it. Misfires were one thing, but possible vampire-on-vampire violence was far more dangerous. My worry for Ivy layered over everything, and I slowed to look at a damaged pylon. Were graffiti was scrawled among the broken pieces of plastic and cement chunks in clear warning. Six different packs at least.

It had been in the news, but the visual confirmation that Weres were becoming more aggressive in the face of feuding vampires was chilling. Maybe that’s why the blockades between Cincy and the Hollows. The trains, too, weren’t stopping anymore, blowing through the usual stops at eighty miles an hour, horns screaming a klaxon warning. I knew David was working with Edden to find the Free Vampires, but I’d not heard from him since yesterday, more reason to be concerned.

“As soon as I know,” Trent said tersely. “Thank you.” He closed his phone, twisting to tuck it in a pocket. Expression grim, he stared out over the river. The wind brushed through his hair, and I wanted to touch it—to bring him back to me. I’d seen Trent quietly lose his temper before, but seldom when it involved Quen. The passion from our kiss, hardly an hour old, flashed through me and was gone.

“Anything I can do?” I offered as the cop just past the end of the bridge flagged us down. There were four of them, but only one seemed interested.

Trent exhaled, using the motion to hide his frustration. “No. Thank you, though.”

Experience told me he wouldn’t say another word about it, and I put the car in park as the cop came to my window. Jenks darted out of the car, immediately lost in the glare.

“Ma’am?” the officer said, black glasses reflecting me as he pushed his cap up. “Turn your car around and go back, please. The city has been closed. No one in or out.”

It wasn’t a request, and I reached for my ID, already pulled out of my shoulder bag. “Captain Edden asked us to come down,” I said, stretching the truth as I handed it over. I was sure if he knew we were coming, he would have cleared us. “I’m Rachel Morgan.” I turned to Trent. “Give him your ID,” I prompted, then smiled at the cop again. There was no way we were getting in. I could see it already. They’d even diverted the interstate.

“ID?” Trent hedged, and then he brightened. “You know what? I think I have it on me.”

The officer’s eyes were lost behind thick sunglasses as he compared my name to the list on his clipboard. Jenks was hovering over his shoulder, and he shook his head when our eyes met. “Ah, sorry, ah . . . Ms. Morgan,” the cop said as he handed it back. “No one gets over the bridge unless they’re government food or fuel trucks.”

“What about them, huh?” Jenks said, startling the man. “Rache, tell him your name is Dr. Margret Tessel. She’s on the list.”

“Found it,” Trent said, and I held out my hand for his ID, but he leaned across me, flashing a professional smile as he passed it to the cop. “Officer, the man at the top of the FIB building is my friend. I think I can talk him down. Can you please let us through?”

The cop’s stern expression suddenly became wide-eyed. “Seriously?” he said, turning into fan-boy as he looked from Trent’s license to Trent. “Mr. Kalamack?” His glasses came off, and he got that weird smile people have when they meet their idol. “Wow. This is so cool,” he said, shifting from foot to foot. “I got a scholarship because of your dad. It made the difference in which side of the jail cell I was on.”