The Witch With No Name (The Hollows #13)(39)
Author: Kim Harrison

The vampires around me were an unsettling mix of hope and fear, hope that I had a way to keep them from losing their souls, fear that it might cause them even more pain. Should I give them what they wanted, knowing it might bring an end to their undead existence and plunge the world into chaos until a new balance could be found? One that might have an elven master?

I glanced at Trent as he checked his phone. A power struggle might elevate him back to his original clout, even if he was against the entire thing. Guilt for his drop in status bothered me keenly, but he wouldn’t thank me if I handed it back to him by destroying the current balance. There was no easy answer, and as we waited for Cormel, I began to fidget. I wasn’t the only one anxious, and Jenks bobbed up and down, fidgety.

“Relax,” I said, seeing someone drive a scruffy white dog away. It looked like Buddy, which sort of answered my question of what had happened to the original dog. “It’s just a conversation. No one has ever died from a conversation.”

Jenks’s wings looked silver in the light from Trent’s phone as he landed on the man’s shoulder. His dust blanked out the screen, and Trent blew it away. “Uh-huh,” Jenks said sourly as he took to the air again.

Trent stiffened, his concern obvious. “Ivy’s been taken.”

“What?” I spun, leaning to read his screen. “We were gone only half an hour!” My thoughts went back to the rival vampires, and my heart almost stopped. They had her.

Trent’s expression was grave. “It was Cormel. The girls are fine. Ellasbeth is having hysterics.” Punching a few buttons, he closed his phone. “I told them to stay put.”

My relief was short-lived, and I looked over the surrounding vampires circling us like zombies. Where is the I.S. when you need them?

“Think we’re going to have to fight our way out?” Jenks said, looking ready for it, but I was weary of it all. Three vampires, sure. Four, maybe. Two dozen—not happening.

Trent, too, seemed more eager to solve this by action than words, but his fake, political smile faded at the rising sound of approaching voices. Rynn Cormel was making his casual, unhurried way to the front of the crowd. Jenks’s wings clattered, and with a nod, I sent him up and away for reconnaissance. Bis went with him, and I breathed easier. The farther away they were from me, the safer they were, and my stomach hurt at the ugly truth of it.

Cognizant of my anger and worry—enjoying it, perhaps—Cormel stopped before us, a confident smile on his thin lips. The somewhat small man took his hands from the pockets of his knee-length wool coat, removing his hat and handing it to an aide. His eyes never left us as he fixed his hair, and my skin crawled when Felix’s soulful cry rose to an angry demand before it fell into a sob. Several vampires cringed, and I held my shoulder bag tighter. The bottle with Felix’s soul clinked. Maybe I was overthinking this. If I didn’t give them what they wanted, they’d kill Ivy. What did I care what happened next?

“You shouldn’t have taken Ivy,” I said, and Felix cried out again, the sound chilling.

“You shouldn’t defy me, Morgan.” His voice was even, his Bronx accent obvious. He was angry, but his voice lacked any vampire persuasion.

“It’s a personal choice,” I said flippantly, rethinking my approach when Trent winced. “Cormel, I’m sorry, but giving the undead their souls isn’t a good idea.”

“You might think differently in the morning,” he threatened, and my face went cold. Trent grabbed my arm, and I pushed him off me. Fear mixed with anger, and I watched every vampire’s eyes dilate. Cormel smiled at the titters of laughter. They thought they had me by the short hairs. And they sort of did.

“You just keep thinking this is funny!” I shouted. Damn it, what had happened to my midnight deadline? “If you hurt Ivy, you get nothing. Nothing!”

Cormel smiled. “Oh, I assure you that whatever I do, she’ll enjoy it. And so will you. You shouldn’t have toyed with me, Morgan. Kalamack can’t help you anymore.”

“I beg to differ,” Trent said, and a new fear slid through me. Not him. I couldn’t bear it if my mistakes got him hurt.

“Look,” I said, and Cormel’s eyes narrowed as he realized I was about to make a list of demands. “I just saw Felix with his soul, and it nearly killed him right there. I know I promised I’d find a way for you to keep them, but it totally freaked him out! Listen to him!”

Felix’s wail rose up almost as if on cue, and I shivered at the lost sound of it. I wasn’t the only one. Almost all the laypeople in the crowd were scared. It was only the heavies who maintained their “pound them” attitudes, and some of them were showing doubt.

“Perhaps if you’d been successful, he wouldn’t be so distressed,” Cormel said dryly.

“That is success you’re listening to!” I said. “I’ve got his soul. Are you blind?”

Shock cascaded over Cormel. “You . . . have it?” The upright, polished master turned toward Felix’s raw screams. It sounded as if someone was torturing him. “I thought . . .” His expression hardened. “You dangled his soul before him? Like a toy?”

“Easy,” Trent whispered as I pulled my bag forward.

If that ugly thing touched me, I’d let Felix’s soul out right here and now, regardless of how hard it had been to catch. “We have it,” I said, and my fingers dipped into my bag to find the gritty, cool feel of the bumpy glass. I held it aloft, then jerked it back when Cormel began to shake. “It took all five of us, but we’ve got it.”

“And you call us unfeeling animals,” he rasped, eyes black. “No wonder he grieves!”

Swallowing hard, I held it tight to my middle. Cormel watched as if it was his own soul I held. “I can fix it to him,” I said, but I wasn’t sure he was listening anymore as he stared at the bottle. “But it will send him into the sun.” Please believe me. I don’t want to have to do this.

Felix’s screams had become more insistent, and clearly upset, Cormel leaned to speak to one of his perfectly dressed aides, not a drop of blood on his coat or a scuff on his polished shoes. “Of course he is in pain!” he said when the man scuttled away. “Give him his soul, Rachel, or Ivy will suffer.”

I had known it would be no other way, and as Trent stood behind me smelling of broken leaves and snapped twigs, I pulled myself straight. “Fine,” I snapped, knowing my doubt over Ivy’s condition was a more powerful goad than seeing her here before me tied up. “I’ll do it!” I added, “But I want to see her first.”