The Undead Pool (The Hollows #12)(82)
Author: Kim Harrison

Trent got out of the largest van, and something in me twisted when he extended a hand to help a woman to the pavement. His eyes met mine through the glass, and my heart gave a thump at the relief he hid behind a cheerful, half-heard banter.

“You have the luck of the damned,” Ayer swore, turning on his heel and heading for the back door.

“I guess you’ll get me next time,” I muttered, and Ayer hesitated, giving Mark a dark look before running his gaze over me once—and then following his men out the back as the front door opened with a cheerful jingle. They had the mystics, and I didn’t care.

Head down, I limped to David, not believing that I was glad to see reporters as they poured in with their cords, cameras, lights, and noise—all of them waving their hands before their faces and commenting loudly on the vamp pheromones and fallen tables. “You okay, Jenks?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I must be getting old. He caught me in a net. Like a three-year-old.”

I gave Mark a thankful look and got a trembling thumbs-up before he shuffled to the counter to take an order. He was shaky, but he looked okay. He’d know to keep his mouth shut, too. Smiling in relief, I helped David to his feet, the blinking Were looking decidedly sheepish. “How about you?” I asked. “You hit the counter pretty hard.”

“I have a thick head,” he said, rubbing it as he turned his back on the cameras. “You mind if I . . .”

“Go,” I said, knowing he wanted to check on his pack—our pack—at the arena riot. “But will you call me tonight?”

“Call?” He touched my arm, very aware of the watching people. “You’ll be lucky if I don’t sleep on your doorstep. That vampire is crazier than Goldilocks on bane.”

Smiling, I gave him a quick hug. David headed for the door, righting a table before he slipped unnoticed out the front door, now propped open to air the place out. Unnoticed that is, except by Trent, and a weird feeling slipped through me at the silent look they exchanged before he limped away. I’d saved his life, eh?

“There she is!” Trent said brightly, as if he’d discovered the Mona Lisa in a scavenger hunt, his mask already back in place. “Rachel, I promised them an exclusive with you about what it’s like to be my security. Over lunch, perhaps? Now that you got your coffee?”

“Sure. Coffee,” I said as I limped to my shoulder bag. He was here—not for lunch and an interview, but to save my ass. My smile wasn’t faked, but the distance between us felt larger than the four feet he stopped at, his hands behind his back and a false lightheartedness to him. The ending would have been different if he’d been with me, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. Not when he was finally doing the right thing for his girls and himself.

“I thought perhaps Carew Tower?” Trent eased up beside me, noting my slight tremor. “We can have a quiet interview there. Unless you want to do it here?”

“Carew Tower is great.” I was tired. Tired and hungry. Crap on toast, I hadn’t eaten yet.

“Capital!” His hand slipped behind me as he pulled me close, playing to the cameras but supporting me in a way that looked like he wasn’t. “They’re closed due to the curfew, but I know one of the cooks and she said she’d come in.” He brightened as he led me to the door. “Shelly, perhaps we could simply carpool over there in your vehicle?”

“Yes, of course!” a blonde with a hundred-dollar hairstyle said, beaming as she shoved her cameraman out the door ahead of us. “Well, make room!” I heard her tell him as we followed. “Get a cab! Mr. Kalamack wants to see the inside of my van!”

Jenks landed on my shoulder to tend his torn wing, and Trent’s fingers at the small of my back almost lifted. “Are you okay?” he asked softly. “What happened? Was it the Free Vampires? Did they have the mystics?”

“Yes to all, and I’m okay,” I said, and his shoulders relaxed. “If you hadn’t shown up, it would have gotten ugly. Thanks.”

“It was the least I could do,” he said, words holding a tinge of frustration, but it wasn’t aimed at me. Thankfully he beat my reach for the door, and I kept my mouth shut as he guided me out of it. It was like a party behind us as everyone enjoyed the lingering pheromones, and I squinted as we came out of the noise and into the sun. Shelly was at the van, yelling at her camera guy to make room for us.

“What did you find out?” he asked, and I met his eyes, letting him see my worry.

Besides them wanting to force me to talk to their Goddess splinter? “They’re using the mystics to intentionally kill the masters. Maybe they think the living will toe the line once they realize there won’t be a second life waiting for them.”

“Mmmm.” Focus distant, Trent helped me to the van. “That’s what I was afraid of. It still feels odd to me that vampires are doing this, but even so it’s unacceptable and will be curtailed.”

Curtailed? I’d prefer crushed into a paste, myself. But I couldn’t help but wonder. Would he have cared six months ago? Or simply adjusted his long-term goals accordingly. “This guy, Ayer, is nuts. He thinks that because I can’t control her that elven magic is stronger than demon.”

Trent said nothing, and I looked up, another layer of worry coating me. “It is?” I prompted, and he grimaced, his grip on my elbow tightening as he helped me into the van.

“Mmmm,” Trent whispered again, his breath tickling my ear. “Why do you think the demons tried to exterminate us?”

Swell. Just swell. No wonder Al didn’t like him.

Eighteen

A depressingly few spots of light glowed in the graveyard, flitting about at the edges and looking like lost souls. Jenks’s kids were down to a bare handful. I honestly didn’t know how he managed to maintain his hold on so big a space, unless it was because Jumoke and Belle both were ruthlessly savage with intruders. That, and Jenks was arguably the oldest pixy on the continent and perhaps his reputation was keeping both the pixies and fairies at bay.

The soft snuffing of Trent’s horse was soothing, rubbing out tension caused from the occasional siren and the ominous red glow on the bottom of the clouds over Cincinnati. Curfew was in effect, so of course everyone not human was outside dodging cops. It wasn’t as if the I.S. or FIB could stop them. Tomorrow’s Fourth of July fireworks had been canceled, but the occasional rocket went up in a show of defiance in bright sparkles and noise. Sleep was impossible, and I was in the garden with Bis brushing out Tulpa.