The Undead Pool (The Hollows #12)(75)
Author: Kim Harrison

Jenks’s wings hummed. “He’s nuts,” he said. I agreed, but when the officer next to me rested a long-range dart rifle on the desktop, I turned to Edden.

“You’re going to dart him?” I said, appalled.

“Easy now,” Edden said, his eyes on Bancroft. “It can take thirty seconds to work. I don’t want tomorrow’s headlines to read ‘Elven Holy Man Jumps from FIB Tower.’ Wait until he’s away from the edge.”

“He’s not an animal!” I protested, and Edden’s eyes flicked from mine to Trent’s.

“The last person who tried magic on him is dead.”

“Well, thanks for the heads-up,” I said sarcastically, seriously thinking about dropping the line, but I didn’t. A protection circle was fairly innocuous. My skin was prickling. Bancroft had stopped moving and was tugging chairs and chunks of wallboard into a circle around him as if instinctively starting another nest.

“Rache, something wicked is coming,” Jenks said as he tucked back in at my shoulder.

I stifled a shudder as the feeling of cat feet walked through my soul. “I feel it too.”

“It’s coming from Bancroft,” Jenks said, and Trent swore. “Use your second sight,” the pixy suggested. “That’s what your aura looked like, Rache. Right before those waves hit us.”

My lips parted when I pulled up my second sight to find Bancroft’s aura was a harsh white, flaring as if his soul were on fire. A wave? I wondered, and Jenks shook his head at my unspoken question. He was just covered in mystics.

“Is he close enough?” Trent said, and the man with the rifle shook his head, his gaze never shifting from Bancroft as the man dropped a monitor on top of a new wall of trash. Trent tightened his grip on the bullhorn. “Bancroft? We can get you some help.”

Bancroft patted the broken monitor, pleased with where he’d put it. “Help? Nothing can help me. I hear her eyes. All the time. Whispering, prickling through me,” he said, and a chill dropped through me when he looked up, his eyes reflecting the light like a cat’s. “I’m hers,” he moaned, weaving on his feet. “I’m her chattel,” he said, heedless to the tears making shining tracks through his stubble. “It’s too bright. Too bright,” he chanted, and then he wiped his eyes, his face becoming crafty. “She’s coming. I have to be free of them or she’ll kill me to get her eyes back!”

The man with the rifle shook his head, still not having a clean shot.

“Bancroft! Wait!” Trent shouted, but the man was climbing over the broken ceiling and walls back to his larger pile.

“Not enough goats,” the man was mumbling, picking up a ream of paper and dropping it on the pile. “Not enough goddamned goats!”

“Give me the gun.” Trent shoved the bullhorn at Edden. “I can get closer than your men.”

My stomach clenched and Jenks’s wings clattered.

“With all due respect, Mr. Kalamack,” Edden said. “No.”

My heart thudded, thinking first of Trent, angry and unafraid, and then what I’d risk to keep him from doing something dangerous. “I’ll do it,” I said, voice sounding hollow.

“Rache,” Jenks protested, and Edden shook his head.

“Who do you have that’s better than me?” I said. “A splat ball will drop him instantaneously. I’d do it from here, but my range sucks.”

“I’ll do it,” Landon proclaimed as he stood. “Give me the gun.”

Like that was going to happen? Edden’s expression twisted into a sour mess. “Get him downstairs,” he said, gesturing for one of the officers to take him, and Landon protested, head high and eyes wild. “Second thought, we can’t spare the man. Lock him to a pole.”

“You don’t have to lock me up!” Landon demanded, but there was already a zip strip around his wrist making him pretty much helpless. The officer knew what he was doing, carefully manhandling him to a fallen emergency sprinkler system and cuffing him to it.

“Trent?” Bancroft shouted, and a billow of smoke poured out of the nest. “Did you bring your goat? We can stop this now if you brought your goat.”

Jenks’s dust turned gray as he hovered. “What the pixy pus is he talking about?”

Rambling about goats, Bancroft shoved and tripped his way out again. The man with the rifle put him in his sights, and my heart pounded as I found my splat gun. I’d have to get close, dangerously close. It didn’t help that the old elf already distrusted me.

“If you kill your goat, the Goddess won’t become any sicker. We can mend her. You and I. It would be a great thing. Good for publicity. It would bring the unbelievers back to the fold and solidify your standing in the enclave. The Goddess needs adherence!” Bancroft exclaimed, then hesitated as he looked at the small circle of stuff he’d laid out as if not remembering having done it. “She needs obedience. Are you pious, Trent? Your mother was a poser.”

My motion to inch out hesitated as Trent’s hands clenched on the bullhorn.

“She didn’t believe, and the Goddess killed her.” Bancroft staggered to a broken table, almost falling as he set it legs up on the pile. “Her eyes are whispering to me, how your mother asked for guidance and strength and then refused when the Goddess demanded payment.”

Trent’s expression became tight, and I crouched, waving him to stay back. Jenks’s dust was a silver white, the sparkles looking like the beginning of a migraine.

“The Goddess destroyed her,” Bancroft said, oblivious to Trent’s anger. “Drew her forth with promises and abandoned her when she needed her most. She’s a proper bitch, she is. The Goddess, not your mother. We shouldn’t be punished for our weaknesses. She gave them to us.”

My feet found a careful place in the rubble as I eased behind a file cabinet. The papers stuck to it fluttered in the stiff wind, blocking my view. Almost close enough . . . If I had more than one shot, I would have taken it.

But then Bancroft’s eyes found mine and I froze, half hidden, half not. “You brought your goat! Good man!” he shouted. “Bring her to the fire and we’ll slit her throat together.”

“Holy crap!” I exclaimed, bringing my gun up when Bancroft lunged toward me, motions jerky as he fumbled for that huge knife of his, up to now hidden in the folds of his clothes. Jenks was a haze of dust between us, and I pulled the trigger. Like a villain in a fantasy flick, Bancroft waved his hand and the ball exploded three feet from him.