Книга - The Undead Pool

The Undead Pool
Kim Harrison


New York Times bestselling author Kim Harrison returns to the Hollows with the electrifying follow-up to her acclaimed Ever After!

Supernatural superhero Rachel Morgan must counter a strange magic that could spell civil war for the Hollows in this sexy and bewitching urban fantasy adventure in acclaimed New York Times bestselling author Kim Harrison's Hollows series.

Witch and daywalking-demon Rachel Morgan has managed to save the demonic ever-after from shrinking, but at a high cost. Now, strange magic is attacking Cincinnati and the Hollows, causing spells to backfire or go horribly wrong, and the truce between the races, between Inderlander and human, is shattering. Rachel must stop this dark necromancy before the undead vampire masters who keep the rest of the undead under control are lost and all-out supernatural war breaks out.

Rachel knows the only weapon to ensure peace: ancient elven wild magic, which carries its own perils. And no one knows better than Rachel that no good deed goes unpunished…















Copyright (#ulink_e8486efd-75eb-5deb-851d-d035f5862b38)


HarperVoyager

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2014

Copyright © Kim Harrison 2014

Kim Harrison asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © February 2014 ISBN: 9780007582327

Version: 2015-09-17


Dedication (#ulink_1df9188a-ffa8-582f-8e99-0b5ba9ba6632)

To the man who knows what makes the perfect date night


Contents

Copyright (#ulink_27822fb4-0366-5383-aeb5-40632ff790e3)

Dedication (#ulink_dc81a563-bafe-5513-9323-25e7a06f8a8b)

Acknowledgments (#ulink_55f65d93-1f72-5822-a0e6-d0ecaf74ff01)



One (#ulink_0cd2ffb8-f7d4-5ebf-b239-a073ccad93a7)

Two (#ulink_127745bd-2d4e-5489-965e-fef7fad0e5fa)

Three (#ulink_a4cbf7db-b5f3-5bba-8a37-fbf8c3541165)

Four (#ulink_7990dc04-98fb-5094-9e5e-eecc0378e895)

Five (#ulink_6eccb95c-5f22-5500-9237-a54beebd48d2)

Six (#ulink_b3334f3f-920b-5421-9b34-49e3a2ff19d1)

Seven (#ulink_4fff1f88-39bd-5a1a-9b75-d6cb60bbeefc)

Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)



About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Also by Kim Harrison (#litres_trial_promo)

Credits (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


Acknowledgments (#ulink_1e0f72df-542a-5cc1-bf44-29ab2be3aec8)

I’d like to thank my editor, Diana Gill, for her fabulous insights that make the Hollows the most it can be, and my agent, Richard Curtis, for seeing it before I did.


One (#ulink_f89754a3-a895-5583-951d-3b32fbaf6fbe)

How does the man make checkered shirts and pastels look good? I thought as Trent lined up his drive, head down and feet shifting, looking oddly appealing outside of the suit and tie I usually saw him in. The rest of his team and their caddies were watching him as well, but I doubted they were rating the way his shoulders pulled the soft fabric, or how the sun shone through his almost translucent blond hair drifting about his ears, or how the shadows made his slim waist look even trimmer, unhidden beneath a suit coat for a change. I found myself holding my breath as he coiled up, exhaling as he untwisted and the flat of the club hit the ball with a ping.

“Yeah, the elf looks good in the sun,” Jenks smart-mouthed, the pixy currently sitting on the bottom of my hooped earrings and out of the moderate wind. “When you going to put us all out of your misery and boink him?”

“Don’t start with me.” With a hand held up to shade my eyes, I watched the ball begin to descend.

“All I’m saying is you’ve been dating him for three months. Most guys you date are either dead or running scared by now.”

The ball hit with an audible thump, rolling onto the par-three green. Something in me fluttered at Trent’s pleased smile as he squinted in the sun. Damn it, I’m not doing this. “I’m not dating him, I’m working his security,” I muttered.

“This is work?” Wings humming, the pixy darted off my earring, flying ahead to do a redundant check of the area before we walked into it.

Jenks’s silver dust quickly vanished in the July heat, and I felt a moment of angst as Trent accepted the congratulations of his team. He looked relaxed and easy out here, the calm he usually affected true instead of fabricated. I liked seeing him this way, and feeling guilty, I dropped my gaze. I had no business even caring.

As one, the rest started to the green with a clinking of clubs and masculine chatter, undoubtedly feeling pushed by the next team waiting just off the tee. The big guy in the lime-green pants had been talking loudly the entire time, trying to throw Trent’s game off, no doubt, but Trent had outplotted corporate takeovers, evaded genetic trafficking charges, slipped murder accusations, and survived demon attacks. One overweight man huffing and puffing for him to move faster would not break his cool.

Sure enough, Trent needlessly fussed over the divot as the rest went on ahead, refusing to relinquish the tee area until he was ready. Smirking, I hoisted his bag, the three other clubs he used clinking lightly as I came to take his driver. I wasn’t a caddie, but it was the only way they’d let me on the course and there was no way that Trent would ever be in public without some kind of security.

Even if he could take care of himself, I thought, smiling as I took his club and our separate paces became one. My God, it’s nice out here.

“Subtle,” I said as we found the manicured grass, and he snorted to make me flush, not because I’d seen through him, but because I was one of the few people Trent would drop his mask around. It shouldn’t have been that important. But it was. What am I doing?

“Watch the guy in the green pants,” he said, looking over his shoulder. “He has a tendency to drop his ball into the players ahead of him.”

“Sure.” Head down, I paced beside Trent, his clubs banging into my back, feeling as if I belonged there almost. I’d been working with him the last three months while Quen, Trent’s usual security adviser, was on the West Coast with the girls. This new feeling of . . . responsibility, I guess, bothered me. Jenks’s words, though crass, had been echoing in my thoughts in quiet moments, and I looked at Trent’s hand, wishing I had the right to take it.

“Are you okay?”

I looked up, almost panicking. “Sure. Why?”

Trent’s eyes ran over me as if searching for the truth. “You’re quiet today.”

I was quiet today? Meaning we’d been spending enough time together that he knew the difference. Forcing a smile, I handed him his putter. “Just trying to stay in the background.”

He took it, eyebrows high, and I’d swear I heard him sigh as he turned away. Head coming up, he stepped onto the green and joined in the light banter between the other CEOs. My heart was pounding, and I dragged my melancholy ass out of the way to rest under the shade of the storm shelter.

“Just trying to stay in the background,” Jenks said in a high falsetto. “My God, woman. Your aura is glowing. Just admit you like him, bump uglies, and get on with your life!”

“Jenks!” I exclaimed, then wiggled my fingers apologetically at the man lining up his putt.

Smirking, Jenks landed on the storm shelter’s rafters, his hand carefully going over a small wing tear to even out a raw edge. “That’s how pixies know we’re in love,” he said as he folded his dragonfly-like wings and wiggled out of his red jacket, wincing as something pulled. “If the girl has glow, she won’t say no.”

“Nice.” Arms over my middle, I set the bag down and watched Trent, glad the girls were coming back tomorrow. With Quen taking up security, I’d be able to wrap my head around reality. I was confusing my work with everything else—and I was done with being confused.

“How’s Cookie Bits’s game?” Jenks asked. “He looks as distracted as you.”

Frowning, I raised my hand as if to bop him, but it would never land. Cookie Bits. That’s what Jenks had been calling Trent ever since he caught us sitting in his car outside the church after a job. I’d only wanted to hear the end of the news, but try telling Jenks that.

“Tink’s little pink rosebuds, the local pixies are more stuck up than a fairy nailed to my church’s steeple,” Jenks said, giving up on getting a rise out of me since it wasn’t working. “I’m wearing red for a reason, not because I look good in it. Look! Look what they did to my coat!”

Disgusted, Jenks held up the bright red jacket Belle had made for him, poking his finger through a hole just under the armpit. I stiffened, suddenly seeing his small wing tear in a new way. A pixy wearing red should’ve been given free passage. I’d been seemingly everywhere in Cincinnati with Trent the last couple of months, but the country club was the worst. I hadn’t known Jenks was having issues. He’d probably been too proud to tell me. “You okay?”

Jenks froze, his pale face becoming red and making his shock of curly blond hair look even more tousleable. His wings hummed, sifting a pale yellow dust that colored him from head to toe in working black. He looked like a theater guy, but the sword hanging from his belt was real enough, having had deterred everything from bees bothering his children to assassins bothering me.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, embarrassed. “I just don’t like dodging arrows when I shouldn’t have to. We’re cool as a breath strip.” He squinted at me, head tilting. “You sure you’re all right? I’m serious about your aura glowing. You got a temp or something?”

“Jenks, I’m not in love,” I replied grumpily, ignoring the odd tingle rising through me as Trent crouched to line up his putt. Cincinnati’s ley lines were faint but discernible, the upwellings of power usable even at this distance if not for the course’s ward of no-magic, in place to prevent tampering with the game. I’d found a way around it weeks ago. But it almost felt as if there were a line the next hole over, and I looked back the way we’d come.

That big man in the lime-green pants was standing between the markers with his club. We were too close for them to be teeing off, but even the practice swings were making me nervous. It was only a par three—as in “on the green in one drive.”

“Ah, Rache?” Jenks rose up, hovering by my ear as Mr. Lime-Green Pants swung. There was the crack of a ball, and my heart jumped. “Oh no he didn’t!” Jenks said, and I stiffened, tracking the ball’s path.

“What do you think?” I whispered, skin tingling as if I’d tapped a line already.

“I think it’s going to be a problem.”

“Fore!” I shouted, lurching out into the sun. Heads turned and Trent remained crouched where he was. Instinctively I sent out a ribbon of awareness, easily bypassing the no-magic ward and tapping the nearest ley line. Energy flowed in with an unusual sharpness, burning the inside of my nose as it seemed to come from everywhere, not just the line, as I filled my chi and forced the energy back out through the pathway of nerves and synapses to my hands.

My eyes widened as I tracked the ball’s path, energy burning as it flowed in smaller and smaller channels until it reached my fingertips. Shit, it was headed right for him.

“Derivare!” I shouted, hand moving in the simple gesture that harnessed the ley line charm and gave it direction. It was a small spell, one I’d been using for weeks to tweak Trent’s ball to make him slice as I practiced getting around the course’s no-magic ward. It wasn’t much, but it would divert the ball’s path from the green. I didn’t even need a focusing object anymore.

My intent sped from me with the surety of an electron spinning. I watched, breath held, as it headed for the ball arching down. Men were scattering, but Trent stood firm, confident that I had this.

And then the charm hit the ball, pain flaring simultaneously from my gesture hand.

I yelped, clutching my wrist as a thunderous boom shook the air, flinging me back to land on my butt. Shocked, I stared as chunks of sod and dirt rained down. Men were shouting, and Jenks was swearing, tangled up in my hair. My lips parted, and I blinked at the car-size crater ten feet off the green and in the fairway. “That wasn’t there before, was it?” I said, dazed.

“No fairy farting way!” Jenks said, my tangled red curls pulling as he worked his way out. “Did you have to explode it? My God, woman!”

My hand burned, and I didn’t dare rub at the stinging red flesh. Dirt and grass were still coming down, and people were running in from all points. From the nearby clubhouse came an irritating hooting. “I think I broke the course’s ward,” I said, awkward as I got up and brushed myself off with my good hand.

“You think?” Jenks sifted a glittering silver dust as he darted in excitement. “A little protective, are we?”

Peeved, I frowned. My control was better than this, much better. I shouldn’t have tweaked the no-magic ward, much less exploded the ball, even if I had shouted the word of invocation. The men in their pastels and plaids were clustered together talking loudly. The other caddies were in their own group, staring at me. Arms swinging aggressively, Mr. Lime-Green Pants strode forward, distant but closing the gap. The rest of his team stayed on the tee.

Calm and relaxed as always, Trent meandered over, squinting at me from under his cap. “Are you okay?”

Embarrassed, I brushed a chunk of dirt off him. “Yeah,” I said, hand hurting. “I mean, yes. Does my aura look funny to you?”

“No.” My head jerked up as he took my hand, turning it over to look at my red fingertips. “You’re burned!” he said softly, shocked, and I pulled away.

“I am so sorry,” I said, hiding it behind my back, but I could feel the sensation of pinpricks as Jenks, sifting dust down on it, checked it out himself. “I only tapped it. It shouldn’t have exploded. I didn’t use any more line strength than any other time.”

Jenks snickered and I froze, mortified as I watched understanding cross Trent’s face.

“You . . .” he started, and I flushed. “All last month?”

“Now it’s out, Rache,” Jenks said, then darted away to check out the crater.

Wincing, I nodded, but Trent’s expression was one of amusement, almost laughing as he touched my arm to tell me he thought my messing with his game was funny. That is, until his gaze went past my shoulder to the man in the lime-green pants stomping down the fairway. Trent’s hand fell from me with a reluctant slowness, and his attention shifted to his team, waiting to find out what had happened. “This isn’t going to be pretty.”

The guilt swam up anew. “I’m really sorry. It shouldn’t have happened. Trent, you know I’m better than this!” I said. But it was hard to argue with a ten-foot hole in the ground.

Jenks hummed close to drop the twisted mass of rubber and plastic into Trent’s hand. “Dude, it looks like a giant spider scrotum. Damn, Rache! What did you do to it?”

Trent held the thing with two fingers. “I’ll take care of it,” he said, making me feel small. “Don’t worry about it. No one got hurt. They can use a sand trap on this hole anyway.”

“Yeah.” Jenks landed on Trent’s shoulder, looking right there somehow. “It could have been an assassination attempt, and your charm prematurely triggered it.”

I jerked upright, embarrassment gone. “Excuse me,” I said as I snatched the ball away, wanting to do some postinvocation tests on it later. Eyes narrowed, I turned to Mr. Lime-Green Pants, his pace slowing as he huffed red-faced up the slight rise.

“Rachel . . .” Trent said in warning, and I got in front of him, the ley line humming through me, prickly through the course’s no-magic ward. The alarm had stopped, and the ward was back in place. Not that it mattered.

“He doesn’t look like an assassin,” Jenks said.

“And I don’t look like a demon,” I said, pulse fast. “Do another sweep, will you?”

“You got it.”

“Rachel, it was an accident,” Trent said as Jenks darted away, but there was a new slant to his eyes that hadn’t been there a second ago.

“It blew up,” I said tightly. “Don’t let him touch you.”

Worry crossed his face, satisfying me that he was taking it seriously, and together we turned to the man, puffing and sweating as he stormed closer. “Where the hell is my ball?” the big man shouted, clearly enjoying that everyone was watching him.

Calm as ever, Trent smiled soothingly. “I am sorry, Mr. . . .”

“Limbcus,” the man in the green pants said, and I pulled Trent back a step.

“We had an accident,” Trent said, and one of the caddies laughed nervously. “Please accept my apologies, and perhaps a bottle of wine at the club’s restaurant this afternoon.”

“Bribe? You’re bribing me?” Limbcus shouted, and the first hints of red shaded Trent’s cheeks. “You used magic during tournament play. You interfered with the lay of my ball!”

I couldn’t let that go. “I wouldn’t have blown it up if you hadn’t dropped it into his game.”

Sputtering, Limbcus pointed, focusing everyone’s attention on me. “She admits it!” he said loudly. “She used magic to influence the game! You are out, Kalamack.”

Trent looked up from his phone, the smallest tick of his lips giving away his irritation. “Mr. Limbcus, I’m sure we can come to some understanding.”

Limbcus jerked, shocked when Jenks circled us, silver dust spilling down to tell me that the course was clear. I didn’t know if that pleased me or not. A thwarted assassination attempt might be preferable to having overreacted.

“We’re good,” Jenks said, alighting on Trent’s shoulder instead of mine. My hair was frizzy enough on its own, and seeing it snarling under the club’s ward was scary. “I think it was an honest mistake, but the guy is a class-A dick.”

Limbcus almost had kittens, and the pixy laughed, sounding like wind chimes. Peeved, I made a finger motion for Jenks to knock it off, and he sobered. A black-and-gold cart belonging to the pro shop was careening over the course toward us. I relaxed for almost half a second before tensing up again. I’d broken their no-magic ward. I was going to get banned. The best I could hope for was to not take Trent with me.

“Ah! Aha!” Limbcus said, his bulk quivering as he saw the cart as well. “Now we’ll see! Kevin!” he shouted. “Kalamack altered the lay of my ball! I want him scratched!”

I cringed as Kevin, apparently, brought the electric cart to a halt, the youngish man blanching at the crater as he got out. Knowing what was going to happen, I waved at him. “It was me, actually. Sorry!”

Kevin looked professional in his black slacks and matching polo top, a crackling radio on his hip and a worn cap on his head. “Is everyone okay?” he asked, his few wrinkles bunching up to make him look older.

Trent nodded, and Limbcus pushed to the front. “She tampered with my game!” the red-faced, pear-shaped man shouted. “Magic during tournament play is grounds for disqualification. Kalamack is out! Scratch him. Right now.”

Ever the gentleman, Trent cleared his throat. “I’m afraid this is my fault.”

“Ah, no. Actually it isn’t,” I said. “He dropped his ball into our game and I deflected it.”

“More like demolished it,” Jenks said, snickering, and I wished he’d shut up.

“She admits it!” the heavyset man exclaimed, pointing again. “Scratch him!”

Kevin met Trent’s eyes, and Trent shrugged. Clearly unhappy, the manager nervously pushed in between them. “Mr. Limbcus, is there any way you can see to overlook the lapse? Seeing as it was your ball that instigated the problem?”

“At least let me replace your equipment,” Trent said.

Limbcus’s eyes widened as he realized they’d sided against him. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about the ball! We’re under tournament rules, and your caddie used magic! Your entire team’s scores are suspect, and you should be expelled from the club entirely!”

“Ms. Morgan isn’t my caddie,” Trent said coolly. “She’s my security.”

“I’ll bet.” The man leered at me, and my chin lifted. It didn’t help that I didn’t look the part today, dressed in a pair of shorts, sneakers, and a fashion-deprived polo shirt in an effort to blend in. Oh, I was athletic enough, but when a man like that sees curves, he assumes there’s no brain or skills attached. But the way I saw it was the less you looked like security, the more likely you were to catch them off guard.

The uncomfortable silence stretched. Mistaking it for agreement, the man shifted his bulk aggressively. “Golf is a gentleman’s game. Having women on the course is bad enough, but she doesn’t even know how to play!”

My eyes narrowed. “Easy, Rache,” Jenks warned.

“She’s a demon!” the man bellowed, and there were gasps from the surrounding men. “She’s been fixing the game. Can your ward handle demon magic? You don’t know!”

“Mr. Limbcus,” the golf pro protested nervously.

“Kalamack could be doing his elf magic and you’d never know about it either!”

“Uh-oh . . .” Jenks rose up on a glittering column of blue-tinted black sparkles.

Sneakers silent on the grass, I drifted closer. Trent had gone white—not in fear, but in anger. “You think he’s going to do something?” Jenks said, hovering at my ear.

“Doubt it,” I said, but I felt a chill when Trent took his hat off. If he had been wearing his spelling cap under it, he had just removed temptation. His ironclad cool had been cracking a lot lately, and I didn’t like it.

“His kind shouldn’t be allowed to play with decent folk,” the man said with a sneer.

That did it. Trent might be downplaying his abilities in order to soothe interspecies relations, but I didn’t have to. It wasn’t my job to keep Trent out of the papers for assaulting idiots, but Quen would thank me.

With a thought, I reached past the country club’s ward of no-magic and strengthened my hold on the ley line. Pissed, I yanked a huge wad of it to me, shattering the annoying ward yet again to make it shrivel up and fold into itself, broken for good this time. In the distance, that warning hoot started up, and Kevin paled, knowing I’d taken out their ward with the ease of a stallion breaking a string. Mr. Lime-Green Pants turned, his anger faltering as he saw me.

“Ah, Rachel?”

I pushed Trent’s hand off my arm. “His kind?” I said, hands on my hips as I came to a stop inches from the man’s bulging middle and looked up at him. “His kind is what kept your momma and daddy alive through the Turn!”

Trent smelled like broken fern. “We’re fine,” he said. “Rachel, I’ve got this.”

“We’re not fine!” I exclaimed, a sliver of satisfaction plinking through me when Limbcus backed up. “That ball would’ve put you in the hospital and he’s griping about me blowing it up?”

“Rachel?”

I leaned in until I could smell Limbcus’s toothpaste. “How about it, Limbcus? You want that I should call the FIB and file an attempted assault form? I have a license that tells me I can do magic any time I damn well please to protect the person I’m working for.” Ticked, I brandished the mass of rubber and burnt plastic under his nose. “I’d shove this ball somewhere nasty if I didn’t need it for evidence!”

“Rachel!”

I blinked, rocking back when I realized I’d shoved Limbcus all the way to Kevin’s cart. Jenks was hovering behind him, grinning, and that, more than the man’s terrified expression, cooled me off. I wasn’t doing myself any favors, and sniffing, I stalked to Trent’s bag, yanking it up and dropping the blown-out ball into a pocket so I could check it out for tampering later. “You need to read your history before someone makes you part of it,” I muttered, jumping when Trent’s hand landed lightly on my shoulder. Jenks was dusting an amused bright gold, and sullen, I hoisted Trent’s clubs onto my shoulder. It might have been a mistake to butt in, but it was harder to swallow the insults when they weren’t aimed at me.

“Mr. Limbcus,” Trent was saying, his voice soothing, but I could hear a thread of satisfaction that had been missing before. “I’m sure we can come to some agreement. This is for charity, after all.”

Mr. Limbcus still hadn’t moved. “If he’s not disqualified, I will withdraw from the event and take my entrance fee with me,” he said, his jowls quivering. “You may own Cincinnati, Kalamack, but you do not own this course, and I will see you expelled before this day is over!”

Actually, his family had owned the property at one point, but I managed not to say it. Kevin stood beside the cart looking unsure, and Trent put his cap back on, taking the moment to think. “I will withdraw from the tournament immediately. Kevin, can we ride back with you?”

Distressed, the manager shifted forward. “Of course, Mr. Kalamack.”

“Figures,” the fat man huffed. “He knows he’ll lose without magic.”

“My pledges will of course remain in force,” Trent said as he put a hand on the small of my back, both possessive and protective as he turned to his team. “Gentlemen? Please excuse me. Lunch is on me.”

Surprised he was letting this go so easily, I glanced at Jenks. The pixy shrugged, but Trent was almost pushing me to the cart. Perhaps the elven slur had caught him off guard. He hadn’t been out of the closet long, and knowing how to react gracefully took practice.

“We’re gonna get banned, aren’t we,” Jenks said, and I nodded.

Satisfied, Limbcus strutted and swaggered, talking loudly with the other players about how to score such a gross breakage of the rules. Trent was on my one side, Kevin the other, back hunched and worried.

Thinking he’d won, the man huffed. “It’s not the money. I want you out of this club! You’ll be hearing from my lawyer, Kalamack.”

Trent stopped dead in his tracks. My worry strengthened at the light in Trent’s eye. I’d seen it before. He was close to losing it.

“On what grounds?” Trent said coldly as he turned around. “My associate deflected your assault in a manner that hurt no one. If anyone should be crying foul, it should be me.”

“Ah, Trent?” I said as Jenks hummed nervously.

“You are loud, overbearing, and quite frankly, a poor dresser,” Trent said, his steps silent on the manicured grass as he strode back to him. “Your game is erratic, and no one wants to play ahead of you because of your history of premature releases.”

There was a titter from the watching men, but I didn’t like that Trent had his hat on again. He didn’t need it to do his magic, but it did impart a level of finesse.

“A true player won’t risk the safety of others in a transparent, passive-aggressive action,” Trent said, eye to eye with the man. “A true golfer plays against himself, not others. Both I and my security apologized for the destruction of your property and offered restitution, which witnesses have heard you decline,” Trent said, the hem of his pants shaking. “If you want to take this to the courts, the only one who will win is the lawyers. But if you want to go that route, Mr. Limbcus, by all means, let’s dance.”

The man was fumbling for words as Trent confronted him, his wispy hair floating and his stance unforgiving and holding the assurance of kings. Everyone in Cincinnati had seen the glowing lights in the night sky when the demons had hunted and killed one of their own, and everyone in Cincinnati knew that Trent had ridden with them, meting out a justice older than the Bible and just as savage.

Jenks’s wings tickled my neck, and I shivered. “Maybe you should rescue him,” the pixy said, meaning Trent. “He’s good at making his point, but not so good making an exit.”

Nodding, I inched forward to stand behind Trent, too close to be ignored. He held the man’s gaze a second longer, and with his lips still compressed in anger, he turned and paced back to the cart. I fell into place beside him, guilt tugging at me. None of this should have happened.

Trent touched the small of my back, and I fluttered inside. A surge of energy passed between us, and I quickly grasped my chi’s balance before they tried to equalize. He was still on edge. Silent, I walked to the back of the golf cart so Trent could have the front with the golf pro.

“Hey, Rache. You want me to pix the sucker?”

It had been loud enough for almost everyone to hear, and I glumly shook my head.

“Thank you, Mr. Kalamack,” Kevin said nervously as he hustled around the cart to drop into the driver’s seat. “If it were up to me, you’d be continuing your game and he would be escorted out, but rules are rules.”

Mood still bad, Trent slid into the front seat, his eyes on his phone again before he tucked it away. “Don’t concern yourself with it. Thanks for the ride back. And please let my office know what the damages are. Not just the tournament, but for the green.”

“That’s most appreciated, Mr. Kalamack. Thank you.”

Flushing, I set Trent’s clubs in the rack at the back of the cart. There was a little jump seat, and I flipped it down, happy to sulk at the back with the clubs on the way to the parking lot. My hand hurt, and I looked at it as we jostled into motion, belatedly reaching for a handhold as we took a dip. The wind pushed through my hair, and I took an easing breath, trying to relax.

Had I really overreacted that badly? I had shouted the word of invocation, but even so . . . Concerned, I eyed my fingertips, tentatively pushing at the swollen red tips. I didn’t like what that might mean. Sure I cared about Trent, but enough to blow up a ball?

A tiny throat clearing pulled my attention up. Jenks was sitting cross-legged on the top of the bag’s rim, an infuriatingly knowing look on him. “Shut up,” I said as I curled my fingers into a fist to hide the damage like a guilty secret. He opened his mouth, sparkles turning a bright gold, and I smacked the bag to make him take to the air. “I said shut up!” I said louder, and he laughed as he darted out of the rattling cart, sparkles showing his path as he flew ahead.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Kalamack. Interspecies intolerance is not tolerated here,” Kevin said, clearly still upset. “I wish you’d file a formal report. There are enough witnesses that Limbcus will be put on probation.”

“Don’t worry about it, Kevin. It’s okay.”

But it wasn’t, and I held on against the unexpected dips, silent as we made our way back. I’d been watching Trent deal with the crap I’d grown up with ever since he’d come out of the closet as an elf. It had caused him to be less confident in himself, more inclined to deliberate before acting, and his usual calm not as sure—and I felt for him. One would think his being wealthy would’ve eased the transition, but it only made people envy, and envy leads to hate.

“Mr. Kalamack?”

Trent looked up, a new pinch of worry at his brow. He was now firmly in the “them” camp, and it wore on you after a while. But as I watched, his professional smile became deeper, almost believable. “Mr. Kalamack, I’m truly sorry about this,” Kevin said as with a last lurch, we found the pavement of the parking lot and slowed to a stop. “You have every right to protect yourself, and as you said, he has a history of dropping his ball into the players ahead of him.”

“We’re fine.” Trent’s hand unclenched from the support bar as he stepped out into the sun, his feet unusually loud in his spiked shoes. “Retreat is better than standing my ground and possibly having him pull his entrance fee. I’m going to need my usual tee time next week. Just myself and one other. No cart. Can you arrange it for me?”

The man’s relief was almost palpable as he sat in the driver’s seat. “Of course. Thank you for understanding. Again, I apologize. If it were up to me, you’d be the one finishing your game and Limbcus would be cooling his heels.”

Trent laughed, and hearing it, Jonathan, Trent’s driver among other things, got out of one of the black cars. I liked the man better when he’d been a dog—Trent’s version of a slap on the wrist for having tried to kill me. Seeing me take Trent’s clubs from the cart, he opened the back of the SUV and waited, a sour expression on his face. I didn’t like the man, his tall personage lean and full of sharp angles.

Uncomfortable, I whispered, “This wouldn’t have happened if you’d gone bowling. They let you use magic in bowling.” Kevin hesitated, and as Trent shifted from foot to foot in an unmistakable signal of departure, I extended my hand to the golf course employee. “Sorry about breaking your field. I can come back this afternoon and help you fix it.”

His smile was uneasy and his palm was damp. “No, our people need to do it,” he said as Trent took his clubs. “Ahh, Mr. Kalamack, I’m really sorry, but . . .”

Jenks’s wings clattered a warning, and I squinted at the regret in Kevin’s tone.

“No, it’s fine,” Trent was saying again, clasping Kevin across the shoulders and clearly trying to make our escape. “Don’t worry. It happens around Rachel. It’s part of her charm.”

“Yes, sir. Ummmm . . . One more thing.”

Kevin wouldn’t meet my eyes, and I slumped where I stood. “I’m banned from the course, aren’t I,” I said blandly, and Trent paused.

Kevin winced, but Jenks was smirking. “I am so sorry,” the hapless man gushed. “I would have done exactly what you did, Ms. Morgan, but the rules say if you do any magic on the course, you’re not allowed back.”

“Oh, for little green apples,” Trent said, but I touched his hand to tell him not to get bent out of shape. I’d been expecting it.

“You’re welcome to wait at the clubhouse,” Kevin rushed. “But you can’t go on the course.” His gaze shot to Trent’s. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Kalamack. We have several caddies licensed for personal security. Your patronage is important to us.”

Trent’s clubs clattered as he swung his bag over his shoulder and squinted up at the sun. “Can an exception be made?” he asked. “Rachel wasn’t playing. She was doing her job.”

Kevin shrugged his shoulders. “It’s possible. I’ll bring it up with the rules committee. You’ve been a member since your dad gave you your first clubs. Heck, my dad sold them to him. You’re good people, Mr. Kalamack, but rules are rules.”

Yes, rules were rules, but I was tired of them never helping me.

Frustrated, Trent ran a hand over his hair. “I see,” he said flatly. “Well, if Morgan isn’t allowed on the course, I won’t be needing that tee time.”

My eyes widened, and I touched Trent in protest. “Sir . . .” Kevin pleaded, but Trent put up an easy hand in mild protest.

“I’m not angry,” he said, and Jenks snorted his opinion. “I’m simply changing my plans. For all his backward thinking, Limbcus is right about one thing,” he said, glancing at me. “If you’re going to be on the fairways, you should know how to play. I was going to teach you is all.”

My heart seemed to catch before it thudded all the louder. “Me?” I stammered, shooting Jenks a look to shut up when he darted backward in glee. “I don’t want to know how to play golf.” He wants to teach me golf?

Undeterred, Trent looped an arm in mine, the bag over his shoulder thumping into me. “I’ve got an old driving range in one of the pastures. I’ll get it mowed and you can practice your drives until this gets worked out,” he said. He turned to Kevin and shook his hand. “Kevin, give Jonathan a call later this afternoon and I’ll courier over the funds for the game.” He winced, but it was clear he was in a better mood. I had no idea why. “This is going to be expensive.”

“Thank you,” the young man said, all nervous smiles as he pumped Trent’s arm up and down. “And again, I’m sorry about all of this.”

Trent touched the tip of his golf cap and turned us around. His cleats clicked on the pavement, and my face felt hot. “I don’t want to know how to play golf,” I repeated, but Trent’s pace remained unaltered as we walked to the SUV he’d bought to cart his kids around in. Why did he want to teach me golf?

Jonathan stared at us from the open back, and I yanked myself out of Trent’s grip. It only made Trent smile all the wider, hair falling to half hide his eyes. Jenks’s laughter as he pantomimed a golf swing as he hovered wasn’t helping. God, I wasn’t stupid! Trent was going to marry Ellasbeth as soon as he was done punishing her for walking away from the altar the first time. But that kiss we’d shared three months ago hung in my memory. He hadn’t been drunk—I’d swear to it—but that didn’t mean it hadn’t been a mistake. You couldn’t be two things. I’d tried, and it didn’t work. And I wouldn’t be his mistress. I was better than that.

Damn it, I’m babbling.

“You don’t have to boycott them on account of me,” I said as we neared the SUV. Jenks darted to my car in the shade, and Trent’s posture relaxed. He liked the pixy, but Jenks was noisy.

“I’m not,” he said softly as he handed his clubs to Jonathan. “I don’t want to be out here without someone watching my back, and I’ve seen their security. That ball shouldn’t have exploded. Not with that little tap you gave it. You’re going to get it checked out?”

I nodded, and reminded it was still in his bag, I went to get it. A chill took me as I held the prickly, twisted mass of rubber and plastic, and I looked out over the overdone green luxury, glad that distance and vegetation hid us from most of the prying eyes. I’d never liked it out here, but I’d thought it was the snobby attitudes. Maybe it was more. “I’m going to ask Al about it.”

Trent jerked at the mention of Algaliarept, a new light in his eye making me wonder if he wanted to come with me. “Sa’han?” Jonathan questioned, and the look died as Trent took the dress shoes he was holding out.

“Just calling it early, Jon,” Trent said, his voice holding a new weariness. “I got a text about a misfired charm in one of the off-site labs and want to check it out personally.”

“You need me?” I asked, and Jenks’s dust sparkled from halfway across the lot. He had very good hearing.

But Trent only smiled. “No, but thanks. Those things are almost foolproof, and I want to talk personally to the man who got burned. Make sure I’m not being scammed.”

I nodded, my creep factor rising at the siren coming from the nearby interstate.

“I heard shouting,” Jonathan prompted, clearly unconvinced as Trent sat on the tailgate and unlaced his shoes.

“We took care of it.” Trent stopped. Hunched over his feet to look both out of reach and totally accessible, he tilted his head and eyed Jonathan, clearly wanting him to leave.

Jonathan’s thin lips screwed up as if he’d eaten something sour. Back ramrod straight, he stalked to the passenger side and got in, slamming the door in protest. Trent’s lips quirked and he went back to his shoes. Jonathan could still hear us but at least he wasn’t staring. The wind was catching in Trent’s hair, making me want to smooth it out.

Stop it, Rachel.

My car was three spaces down and across the lot, but I was reluctant to leave. Trent looked weary, the sun full on his face and his green eyes squinting as he took a cleated shoe off and slipped his dress shoe on. I remembered how he’d stuck up for me, and something in me fluttered. It had been happening a lot lately. Don’t get involved, Rachel. You know it’s because he’s out of reach.

Trent stood, cleats in his hand. “Let me know what you find out.”

“Tomorrow. Unless it’s bad news,” I said, and Trent shut the back of the SUV.

“Tomorrow,” Trent affirmed as he came closer, and my smile froze. I wasn’t sure what he was going to do. “Thanks for today,” he said softly as he gave my hand a squeeze.

“You’re welcome,” I said, wanting to acknowledge it but afraid to, and his grip fell away. Professional. I was professional. He’d been nothing but professional back to me ever since that kiss, his mouth tasting of wine and me breathless and wanting to know how long it took to get him undressed. I knew that he was going to marry Ellasbeth, that he had a standard to live up to that didn’t include a local girl with a crazy mom and pop-star dad.

But he kept touching me. And I kept wanting him to.

Jenks was picking the bugs out of my car grille with his sword and shoving them off with his foot. Meeting my eyes, he made a get-on-with-it gesture, but Trent wasn’t making any motion to leave and I didn’t know what he wanted. “I’ll talk to you later, then,” I said, rocking back a step.

“Right. Later.” Head down, Trent started to go, then turned back unexpectedly. “Rachel, are you available tonight?”

I continued to back up, going toe-heel, toe-heel, not watching where I was going. There it was again. Professional, but not. My first response was to turn him down, but I could use the money and I had promised Quen I’d look after him. Jenks’s dust flashed an irritated red at the delay, and I said, “Sure. Business or casual business?”

“Casual,” Trent said, and I put my hands in my pockets. “Ten okay? I’ll pick you up.”

He was going to want to nap around midnight, so whatever it was, it’d be over by then. Either that, or it was a meeting with someone on a night schedule that couldn’t be tweaked.

“Ten,” I said, confirming it. “Where are we going?”

Trent’s head ducked, and spinning on a heel, he walked to his SUV. “Bowling!” he shouted, not looking back.

“Fine, don’t tell me,” I muttered. It didn’t matter. I’d be wearing something black and professional no matter where we went. The kite show, a horse event, the park with Ellasbeth when she came to pick up or drop off the girls and Trent didn’t want her on the grounds. Even an overnight trip out of state for business. I liked doing stuff with Trent, but I always felt like a cog out of place. As I should—I was his security, not his girlfriend.

“Oh, for sweet ever loving Tink!” Jenks complained when I got to my car. “Are you done yet? I’ve got stuff to do this afternoon.”

“We’re done,” I said softly as I slipped in behind the wheel of my little red MINI Cooper. Trent was backing up, and I waited as he leaned across a stiff-looking Jonathan and shouted out the open window “Let me know what Al says!” before putting it in drive and heading for the interstate. If Quen had been here, he would’ve insisted on driving, but Jonathan could be swayed and I knew Trent liked his independence—not that he had that much.

“Al, huh?” Jenks said, suddenly interested as I sat behind the wheel and watched Trent leave. “You think that’s a good idea?” Jenks asked, now hovering inches before my nose.

I leaned forward to start my car. “He can tell me if there was a charm on it,” I said, and Jenks landed on the rearview mirror, distrust and unease falling from him in an orangey dust. I was tired, annoyed, and I didn’t like the unsettled, more-than-being-said feeling I was getting from Trent. “It shouldn’t have exploded,” I added, and Jenks’s wings slowly fanned in agreement.

If someone was targeting Trent, I wanted to know. It was worth bothering Al over, though he’d just tell me to let the man die.

That ball shouldn’t have exploded.


Two (#ulink_47ba7b18-349c-5495-a40f-da7af79cc077)

The sun was a slow flash through Cincinnati’s buildings as I fought afternoon traffic headed for the bridge and the Hollows beyond. The interstate was clogged, and it was easier to simply settle in behind a truck in the far right lane and make slow and steady progress than to try to maintain the posted limit by weaving in and out of traffic.

My radio was on, but it was all news and none of it good. The misfired charm at Trent’s facility wasn’t the only one this morning, and so far down on the drama scale that it hadn’t even been noticed, pushed out by the cooking class in intensive care for massive burns and the sudden collapse of a girder slamming through the roof of a coffeehouse and injuring three. The entire east side of the 71 corridor was a mess, making me think my sand-trap crater had been part of something bigger. Misfires weren’t that common, usually clustered by the batch and never linked only by space and time.

Jenks was silent, a worried green dust hazing him as he rested on the rearview mirror. But when the story changed to a cleaning crew found dead, the apparent cause being brain damage from a sudden lack of fat in their bodies, I turned it off in horror.

Jenks’s heels thumped the glass. “That’s nasty.”

I nodded, anxious now to get home and turn on the news. But even as I tried not to think about how painful it would be to die from a sudden lack of brain tissue, my mind shifted. Was I really seeing what I thought I was in Trent, or was I simply projecting what I wanted? I mean, the man had everything but the freedom to be what he wanted. Why would he want . . . me? And yet there it was, refusing to go away.

Elbow on the open window as we crept forward, I twisted a curl around a finger. Even the press could tell there was something between us, but it wasn’t as if I could tell them it was the sharing of dangerous, well-kept secrets, not the familiarity of knowing if he wore boxers or briefs. I knew Trent had issues with what everyone expected him to be. I knew his days stretched long, especially now that Ceri was gone and Quen and the girls were splitting their time between Trent and Ellasbeth. But there were better ways to fill his calendar than to court political calamity by asking me to work security—me being good at it aside. We were going to have to talk about it and do the smart thing. For once, I was going to do the smart thing. So why does my gut hurt?

“Rache!” Jenks yelled from the rearview mirror, and my attention jerked from the truck in front of me.

“What!” I shouted back, startled. I wasn’t anywhere near to hitting it.

Pixy dust, green and sour, sifted from him to vanish in the breeze. “For the fairy-farting third time, will you shift the air currents in this thing? The wind is tearing my wings to shreds.”

Warming, I glanced at the dust leaking from the cut in his wing. “Sorry.” Rolling my window halfway up, I cracked the two back windows. Jenks resettled himself, his dust shifting to a more content yellow.

“Thanks. Where were you?” he asked.

“Ah,” I hedged. “My closet,” I lied. “I don’t know what to wear tonight.” Tonight. That would be a good time to bring it up. Trent would have three months to think about it.

Jenks eyed me in distrust as a kid in a black convertible wove in and out of traffic, working his way up car length by car length. “Uh-huh,” he said. “Trent’s girls are coming back tomorrow, right?”

The pixy knew when I lied. Apparently my aura shifted. “Yes,” I said, trying for flippant. “I can use the time off. Trent is more social than a fourteen-year-old living-vampire girl.” And he could text just as fast, I’d found.

Jenks’s wings blurred. “No money for three months . . .”

My grip on the wheel tightened, and I took the on-ramp for the bridge. “I’ve got your rent, pixy. Relax.”

“Tink’s little pink rosebuds!” Jenks suddenly exploded, his wings blurring to invisibility. “Why don’t you just have sex with the man?”

“Jenks!” I exclaimed, then hit the brakes and swerved when the kid in the convertible cut off the truck ahead of me. My tires popped gravel as I swung on the shoulder and back to the road again, but I was more embarrassed about what he’d said than mad at the jerk in the car. “It’s not like that.”

“Yeah?” There was a curious silver tint to his dust. “Watching you and Trent is like watching two kids who don’t know how their lips work yet. You like him.”

“What’s not to like?” I grumbled, appreciating the thinner traffic on the bridge.

“Yeah, but you thought you hated him last year. That means you really like him.”

My hands were clenched, and I forced them to relax on the wheel. “Is there a point to this other than you talking about sex?”

He swung his feet to thump on the rearview mirror. “No. That’s about it.”

“The man is engaged,” I said, frustrated that my life was so transparent.

“No, he isn’t.”

“Well, he will be,” I shot back as the bridge girders made new shadows and Jenks’s dust glowed like a sunbeam. Will be again.

Jenks snorted. “Yeah, he lives in Cincy, and she lives in Seattle. If he liked her, he’d let her move in with him.”

“They’ve got a kid,” I said firmly. “Their marriage will solidify the East and West Coast elven clans. That’s what Trent wants. What everyone wants. It’s going to happen, and I’m not going to interfere.”

“Ha!” he barked. “I knew you liked him. Besides, you don’t plan love, it just happens.”

“Love!” Three cars ahead, horns blew and brake lights flashed. I slowed, anticipating trouble. “It’s not love.”

“Lust, then,” Jenks said, seeming to think that was better than love anyway. “Why else would you explode that ball? A little overly protective, yes?”

My elbow wedged itself against the window, and I dropped my head into my hand. Traffic had stopped, and I inched forward into a spot of sun. I was not in love. Or lust. And neither was Trent, despite that I’m-not-drunk kiss. He’d been alone and vulnerable, and so had I. But I couldn’t help but wonder if all the engagements this last month were normal or if he was trying to get out of the house. With me. Stop it, Rachel.

A horn blew behind me, and I moved forward a car length. Trent had his entire life before him, planned out better than one of Ivy’s runs. Ellasbeth and their daughter, Lucy, fit in there. Ray, too, though the little girl didn’t share a drop of blood with him. Trent wanted more, but he couldn’t be two things at once. I had tried, and it had almost killed me.

My gaze slid to my shoulder bag and the golf ball tucked inside. “The explosion was probably the same thing affecting the 71 corridor,” I said. “Not because I overreacted.”

Jenks sniffed. “I like my idea better.”

Traffic was almost back up to speed, and I shifted lanes to get off at the exit just over the bridge. We passed under a girder, and a sheet of tingles passed over me. Surprised, I looked up at the sound of wings, not seeing anything. Why are my fingertips tingling?

“Dude!” Jenks exclaimed. “Did you feel that? Crap on toast, Rache! Your aura just went white again!”

“What?” I took a breath, then my attention jerked forward at the screech of tires. I slammed on the brakes. Both I and the car ahead of me jerked to the left. Before us, a car dove to the right. Tires squealed behind me, but somehow we all stopped, shaken but not a scratch.

“I bet it was that kid,” I said, my adrenaline shifting to anger. But then I paled, eyes widening at the huge bubble of ever-after rising up over the cars.

“Jenks!” I shouted, and he turned, darting into the air in alarm. The bubble was huge, coated in silver-edged black sparkles with red smears of energy darting over it. I’d never seen a bubble grow that slowly, and it was headed right for us.

“Go!” I shouted, reaching for my seat belt and scrambling to get out of the car. No one else was moving, and as Jenks darted out, I reached for a line to make a protection circle. But I was over water. There was no way.

Turning, I plowed right into someone’s door as it opened. I scrambled up, frantically looking over my shoulder as the bubble hit my foot. “No!” I screamed as my foot went dead. I hit the pavement and fell into the shadow of the car. Suddenly I couldn’t breathe. Brownish-red sparkles flowed into me instead of air, and my ears were full of the sound of feathers. I couldn’t see. There was no sensation from my fingers as I pushed into the pavement. There was simply nothing to feel.

My heart isn’t beating! I thought frantically as the sound of feathers softened into a solid numbness. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. It was as if I was being smothered in brown smog. Panicked, I looked again for a line, but there was nothing. What in hell was it? If I could figure that out, I could break it.

A slow roaring grew painfully loud until it cut off with a soft lub. A sparkle drifted before me, then another. I wasn’t breathing, but I wasn’t suffocating, either. Slowly the roaring started again, rising to a crescendo to end in a soft hush.

It’s my heart, I realized suddenly, seeing more sparkles as I exhaled as if in slow motion, and with that, I knew. I was trapped in an inertia dampening field. There’d been an accident, and a safety charm had malfunctioned. But why had it risen to encompass all of us? I thought, reaching deep into my chi and pulling together the ever-after energy I’d stored there. I couldn’t make a protection circle without linking to a ley line, but I sure as hell could do a spell.

Separare! I thought, and with a painful suddenness, the world exploded.

“Oh God,” I moaned, eyes shut as the light burned my eyes. Fire seemed to flash over me and mute to a gentle warmth. Panting, I cracked my eyes to see it had only been the sunbeam I was lying in. Sunbeam? I’d fallen into the shade. And where are the cars?

“Rachel!” a familiar gray voice whispered intently, and I pulled my squinting gaze from the overhead girders to my hand. Ivy was holding it, her long pale fingers trembling.

“How did you get here?” I said, and she pulled me into a hug, right there in the middle of the road.

“Thank God you’re all right,” she said, the scent of vampiric incense pouring over me. Everything felt painfully sharp, the wind cooler, the sunlight brighter, the noise of FIB and I.S. sirens louder, the scent of Ivy prickling in my nose.

The noise of the FIB and I.S. sirens louder? Confused, I patted Ivy’s back as she squeezed me almost too hard to breathe. I must have passed out, because most of the cars were gone. I.S. and FIB vehicles, fire trucks, and ambulances had taken their place, all their lights going. It looked like a street party gone bad with the cops from two divisions and at least three pay grades mucking about. Behind me was more noise, and I pushed from Ivy to see.

Her eyes were red rimmed; she’d been crying. Smiling, she let me go, her long black hair swinging free. “You’ve been out for three hours.”

“Three hours?” I echoed breathily, seeing much the same behind me at the Cincy end of things. More cars, more police vehicles, more ambulances . . . and a row of eight people, their faces uncovered, telling me they were alive, probably still stuck in whatever I’d been in.

“You weren’t in a car, so I made them leave you,” she said, and I turned back to her, feeling stiff and ill.

My bag was beside her, and I pulled it closer, the fabric scraping unusually rough on my fingertips. “What happened? Where’s Jenks?”

“Looking for something to eat. He’s fine.” Her boots ground against the pavement as she stood to help me rise. Shaking, I got to my feet. “He called me as soon as it happened. I got here before the I.S. even. They’re telling the media an inertia dampening charm triggered the safety spells of every car on the bridge.”

“Good story. I’d stick with that.” I leaned heavily on her as we limped to the side of the bridge and into the shade of a pylon. “But those kinds of charms can’t do that.”

“Rache!” a shrill pixy voice called, and I looked up, blinding myself as Jenks dropped down from the sun. “You’re up! See, Ivy. I told you she’d be okay. Look, even her aura is back to normal.”

Well, that was one good thing, but I was starting to see a pattern here, and I didn’t like it. “You got out okay?” I asked, and he landed on Ivy’s shoulder.

“Hell, yes. That wasn’t multiple spells. I watched the whole thing. It was one bubble, and it came from that black car with the jerk-ass driver.”

Hands shaking, I leaned on the cool railing. Two medical people were headed our way, and I winced. “Oh crap,” I whispered, grabbing Ivy’s arm as they descended on us, medical instruments flopping from pockets and their tight grips.

“I’m okay. I’m okay!” I shouted as the first tried to get me to sit back down, and the second started flashing a light in my eyes. “It was just an inertia dampening charm. I think it was so big ordinary metabolic functions couldn’t break it. I got out using a standard breakage charm. And get that light out of my eyes, will you?”

“A breakage charm?” the one trying to fit a blood pressure cuff on me said, and I nodded, glad that ambulance teams were required by law to have at least one witch on staff and he knew what I was talking about.

“I’m willing to try anything,” the first said, turning to look at the line of people.

“They’re going to wake up thirsty,” I said, but they were already striding back to the people under the sheets with a new purpose. Thankful that Ivy hadn’t let them put me in that horrible line, I gave her arm a squeeze. “Thanks,” I whispered, and her fingers slipped from me.

“It works!” came an exuberant cry, and a cheer rose as a man sat up, groggy and holding a hand over his eyes.

I was so glad that I wasn’t going to be the only one to wake up from this. “Where’s my car?” I asked as I scanned for it, and Ivy winced.

“I.S. impound, I think.”

“Swell.” My keys were still in it, and tired, I looked in my bag to make sure I still had that golf ball. “Okay, who out here owes me a favor?”

Jenks rose up from Ivy’s shoulder, turning in midair to look toward Cincinnati. “Edden.”

Nodding, I gathered myself, and as Ivy hovered to catch me if I stumbled, we shuffled that direction. I was surprised. As a captain of the street force of the FIB, or Federal Inderland Bureau, Edden didn’t get out much, but this had happened six blocks from their downtown tower, and with both human and Inderland Security fighting for jurisdiction, he’d want to make sure the I.S. didn’t sweep anything under the carpet.

The chaos was worse on the Cincy side of things and they were still moving cars out. Unfortunately none of them was mine. Behind the blockade were even more official vehicles, and behind them, the expected news vans. I sighed, trying to hide my face as a helicopter thumped overhead. Three hours?

But the shadows on the road agreed with the lapse of time, and as we looked for Edden, I thought back to that inertia bubble. Safety charms didn’t grow that big, and it wasn’t a cascading reaction of one triggering another, either. It had been a misfired charm in a morning of them. What the Turn was going on?

“Found him,” Jenks said, darting away, and Ivy angled to follow his shifting path through the people. It was tight, and I leaned closer to her, not wanting to be bumped. Everything felt uncomfortably intense, even the sun.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” I said as I pressed into her to avoid a harried medic looking for a sedation charm for some poor woman. Her husband was fine; she was having hysterics.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

No, it was never my fault, but somehow I always got blamed, and upon reaching the blockade, I dug in my bag for my ID. Ivy had already flashed hers, and after comparing the picture to my face, the two officers let me past. Jenks was hovering over Edden like a tiny spotlight, and I limped a little faster. There were definite advantages to being a noncitizen, but only if you were four inches tall.

Captain Edden had put on a few pounds since taking over the Inderland Relations division after his son had quit. His ex-military build made the stress weight look solid, not fat, and I smiled as he took off his sunglasses, his eyes showing a heavy relief that I was no longer out cold on the pavement. Standing beside an open car door, he finished giving two officers direction before turning to us.

“Rachel!” he exclaimed, thick hand finding my shoulder briefly in a heartfelt squeeze. “Thank God you’re okay. That wasn’t you, was it? Trying to stop something worse, maybe? You would not believe my day. The I.S. is so busy with misfired charms that they don’t even care we’re out here.”

“Wasn’t me this time,” I said as we came to a halt in an open patch of concrete. “And why is everything automatically my fault?”

The bear of a man gave me a sideways hug, filling me with the scent of coffee and aftershave. “Because you’re usually mixed up in it somewhere.” His tone was pleased, but I could see the worry. “I wish it had been you,” he said, his eyes flicking to include Ivy and Jenks as he put an arm over my shoulder and moved us away from the news vans. “The I.S. is giving me some bull about it having been a cascading inertia dampening charm.”

Jenks rose up, but I interrupted him, saying, “It was an inertia charm, but it was one charm, not a bunch of them acting in concert. It came from about three cars ahead of mine. Probably the black convertible the kid was driving.” I hesitated. “Is he okay?” Edden nodded, and I added, “Nothing came from my car. If it had, I wouldn’t have been able to get out of it.”

Edden chewed on his lower lip, clearly not having thought it through that far. The I.S. would have, though. Ivy looked tense, and I was glad I had friends who’d sit with me on the hard road and protect me from helpful mistakes. A guy with an armful of bottled water went past, and I eyed it thirstily.

“If anyone would bother to look,” I said, voice edging into accusation, “they could see my safety charm hasn’t been triggered. It’s probably another misfired charm. Have you listened to the news today? No one’s brain dissolved. We got off easy.”

Edden shook himself out of his funk and looked over the surrounding heads. “Yes, we did. Medic!” he called, and I waved the woman off as she looked up from putting an ice pack on an officer’s swollen hand, probably crushed when they were getting the people out of their cars.

“I’m fine,” I said, and Edden frowned. “I could use some water, though. You don’t know where my car is, do you?”

Edden’s frown vanished. “Ahh . . .” he said, looking everywhere but at me. “The I.S. took everything south of the midpoint.”

Jenks’s wings clattered from Ivy’s shoulder. “Hey, hey, hey. Good-bye.”

Tired, I sighed. I was not going to take the bus for the next twelve months while they figured out whose insurance was going to pay for this.

“I can get you home . . .” Edden started.

Ivy put a hand on my arm, pulling me from my souring mood. “It’s okay, Rachel. My car is just off the bridge in the Hollows.”

That wasn’t the point, and I shivered as Ivy’s touch fell away with the feeling of ice. The light was seriously hurting my eyes, and even the wind seemed painful. It was almost as if my aura had been damaged, but Jenks said it was okay. Why had it gone white, and right before the misfire? “Edden, I had nothing to do with it,” I complained, not entirely sure anymore. “I can’t tap a line over the water, and the I.S. knows it. If I could, I wouldn’t have gotten stuck in that . . . whatever it was. It was all I could do to get out. This is the second misfire I’ve been in today, and I want my car!”

Edden jerked, his eyes coming to mine from the man with the water. “Second?” He whistled, and the guy turned. “Where was the other one and why haven’t I heard about it?”

Jenks’s wings hummed—swaggering, if someone flying could swagger—as he landed on Ivy’s shoulder. “Out at the golf course,” he said, and Ivy’s eyes remained steady, telling me he’d already told her. “Someone almost nailed Trent with a ball, and she blew it up instead of deflecting it. Made a new sand trap out on four.”

Edden’s reach for the bottle didn’t hesitate, but he eyed me speculatively as he cracked the cap and then handed it to me. “You’re still working Kalamack’s security?” he said, clearly disapproving.

“If you call that working,” Ivy said, and I felt a chill as the cool water went down. “Edden, I’ve been listening to the radio the past three hours—”

“As she held poor Rachel’s little hand,” Jenks smart-mouthed, darting off her shoulder when she flicked him.

Edden’s brow furrowed, and he looked back to where I’d woken up. “You could hear the radio from there?”

Ivy smiled, flashing her small and pointy living-vampire canines. Her hearing was that good. Almost as good as Jenks’s. “I’ve heard nothing new since the bridge. If I had access to the FIB’s database, I could confirm it, but I’m guessing the misfires are contained in a narrow band that’s moving about forty-five miles an hour, roughly paralleling 71.”

I lowered the bottle, cold from more than the water. Across from me, Edden took a breath in thought, held it, then exhaled. “You know what? I think you’re right.”

Suddenly everyone was looking at me, and my stomach clenched. “This isn’t my fault.”

Edden went to speak, and Ivy cut him off. “No, she’s right. The first incident was just outside of Loveland. Rachel was nowhere near there.”

Head down, I recapped my water, a bad feeling trickling through me. I hadn’t been out to Loveland this morning, but my ley line was out there. Crap on toast, maybe it was my fault.

“So you’re off the hook!” Jenks said brightly, and I lifted my eyes, finding Ivy as worried as me.

Clueless, Edden looked over the heads of everyone as if having already dismissed it. “I don’t like you working for Kalamack,” he muttered.

“He’s the only one who comes knocking on my door looking for something other than a black curse,” I said, worried. Damn it all to hell, I had to talk to Al. He’d know if my line was malfunctioning. Again.

Making a small grunt of understanding, Edden touched my shoulder. It meant more than it should, and I managed a small smile. “Sit tight, and I’ll see if I can get your car before it goes to the I.S. impound. Okay?”

“Thanks,” I whispered as I took a swig of water. It was too cold, and my teeth hurt. Jenks noticed my grimace and the hum of his wings dropped in pitch. Sitting tight sounded fine to me. I wasn’t up to dealing with vampires yet, especially if everything was hitting me twice as hard.

Ivy seemed to gain two inches as she scanned for someone wearing an I.S. badge and a tie. Across the cleared pavement, the last of the charmed people were finding their feet. The only one still on a stretcher was the kid. “Mind if I go with you?” she asked Edden. “I don’t recognize anyone, but someone out here probably owes me a favor.” She looked at me as if for approval, and I nodded. I was fine, and if anyone could get my car back, it would be Ivy.

“Great,” Edden said. “Jenks, stay with Rachel. I don’t want anyone from the press bothering her.” He hitched his pants up and tightened his tie. “We’ll be right back. Someone needs a refresher on this sharing information thing we’re supposed to be doing.”

I rolled my eyes, wishing him luck as Ivy looped her arm in his and they started across the bridge to the Hollows end of everything. “They’re just afraid, Edden,” I heard Ivy say as they left, a sultry sway to her hips. “FIB forensics can put them in the ground, and they’re tired of looking bad.”

I couldn’t help my smile as I watched them, her svelte sleekness next to his round solid form, both very different but alike where it counted.

“Ah, ’scuse me, Rache,” Jenks said, a pained look on his face. “I gotta pee. Don’t move.”

I looked around, finding a car I could lean up against. “Okay.”

His wing hum increased as he hovered right before my nose. “I mean it. Don’t move.”

“Okay!” I said, resting my rump against the car, and he darted over the edge of the bridge.

Sighing, I turned to the insistent beeping of the last car being towed off. Most of the news crews had left with the recovering spell victims, and it was beginning to thin out. A man in a trendy black suit drew my attention, up to now hidden behind the Toyota being carted out, and I frowned as he looked at his phone, fingers tapping. It wasn’t his dress, and it wasn’t his haircut—both trendy and unique—it was his grace. Living vampire?

A distant pop across the bridge sounded, and the man started, his eyes scanning until they fastened on mine.

A chill dropped through me as I took in his blond hair shifting in the wind, the grace with which he tucked it behind an ear, the knowing, sly smile he wore as he looked me up and down. Suddenly I felt alone. “Jenks!” I hissed, knowing he was probably within earshot. This guy wasn’t FIB, and he definitely wasn’t I.S., even if he was a living vampire. The suit said he had clout, and confidence almost oozed from him. “Jenks!”

Putting his attention back on his phone, the man hit a few more keys, slipped the phone in a pocket, turned, and walked away. In three seconds, he was gone.

“Jenks!” I shouted, and the pixy darted up, his dust an irate green.

“Good God, Rache, give me a chance to shake it, huh?”

My hands on the warm car burned, and I curled my fingers as I scanned the crowd. Slowly my pulse eased. “Are you sure my aura is okay?” I asked out of the blue.

Hands on his hips in his best Peter Pan pose, he said, “You called me back about that?”

“I think it might be linked to the misfires,” I said truthfully, and he looked askance at me.

“Yeah, but you were nowhere near any of the other ones. It wasn’t you, Rache.”

“I suppose.” Heart pounding, I leaned back against the car, arms wrapped around my middle. I couldn’t tell Jenks I had been spooked by a vampire, not under the noon sun, and not by a living one. He’d laugh his ass off.

But as we waited for Ivy to return with good news about my car, I shivered in the heat, unable to look away from the crowd and a possible glimpse of that figure in black.

He’d looked like Kisten.


Three (#ulink_7043ae43-077f-5d04-8c26-c615190b33e2)

It wasn’t Kisten, I thought again for the umpteenth time as I shook two tiny pellets of fish food into my hand, wiggling a finger at Mr. Fish in his bowl on the mantel. But it had looked too much like him for my comfort, from his lanky, sexy build to his funky sophistication and even his thick mass of blond hair. I’d been so embarrassed I hadn’t even told Ivy. I knew she’d loved him too—loved him long before I’d met him, loved him, and watched him die twice defending me. But those feelings belonged to someone else, and I now knew what vampires were born knowing: those who tried to live forever truly held no future.

The heat from Al’s smaller hearth fire was warm on my shins, and I soaked it in, worried about the betta resting on the bottom of the oversize brandy snifter, gills sedately moving. The wood fire crackled, and I breathed the fragrant smoke, much better than the peat moss fire that stank of burnt amber that he’d had last time.

I dropped the fish food into the bowl and turned, glad to see other hints that Al was pulling himself, and therefore me, out of ever-after poverty. I’d seen other demons’ spelling rooms over the last year or so, and they varied greatly as to the theme. Newt’s looked like my kitchen, which made me all warm and cozy. But Al was a traditionalist, and it showed in the stone floors, the glass-fronted ceiling-tall cabinets holding ley line paraphernalia and books, and the smoky rafters coming to a point over the central, seldom-lit raised hearth fire in the middle of the circular room. We didn’t need the big fire for the spell we were working, and Al sat on the uncomfortable stool at his slate-topped table five feet from the smaller hearth. He liked the heat as much as I did.

The shelves were again full, and the ugly tapestry I’d once heard scream in pain was back on the wall. The hole that he’d hammered between my room and the spelling kitchen had been tidied, and the new solid stone door between the two met with an almost seamless invisibility.

“Mr. Fish is acting funny,” I said as I watched the fish ignore the pellets.

Al glanced from the book he was holding at arm’s length. “Nothing is wrong with your fish,” the demon said, squinting at the print as if he needed the blue-tinted round glasses. “You’re going to kill him if you give him too much food.”

But he wasn’t eating, simply sitting on the bottom and moving his gills. His color looked okay, but his eyes were kind of buggy. Distrusting this, I slowly turned to Al.

Feeling my attention on him, he frowned as he ran an ungloved finger under the print to make it glow. His usual crushed green velvet coat lay carefully draped over the bench surrounding the central hearth, and his lace shirt was undone an unusual button to allow for the warmth of the place. His trousers were tucked into his boots, and to be honest, he looked a little steampunky. Feeling my attention on him, he grimaced. It was one of his tells, and my eyes narrowed. Either it was the fish or the charm I wanted to know how to do.

“He’s just sitting on the bottom,” I said, digging for the source of his mood. “Maybe I should take him home. I think it’s wearing on him.”

Al peered sourly over his book at me. “He’s a fish. What would wear upon a fish?”

“No sun.”

“I know the feeling,” he murmured, apparently not caring as he went back to the book.

“His mouth is funny,” I prompted. “And his gimpy fin is the wrong color.”

Al’s breath came out in a growl. “There’s nothing wrong with that fish. Teaching you how to identify the maker of a spell by his or her aura is a bloody hell waste of time. As you have an interest, I will indulge you, but I’m not going to do it myself. If you’re done playing zookeeper, we can begin.” He looked pointedly at me. “Are you done, Rachel?”

Silent, I took the mangled ball out of the brown lunch bag I’d brought it in and nervously set it on the table beside the magnetic chalk, a vial of yellow oil, and a copper crucible.

Al’s eyebrows rose. “Since when do you golf?”

I knew Al didn’t like Trent. I knew that the source of his hatred was more than five thousand years old and hadn’t lessened in all that time. “I was on a job,” I said. “It exploded under a deflection charm. I think it might have triggered an assassination spell.”

Shoulders stiff, his eyes narrowed. “You were Kalamack’s caddie?”

“I’m his security,” I said, voice rising. “It’s a paying job.”

Standing, Al’s lips curled in disgust. “I said avoid him, and you take a subservient role?” My breath to protest huffed out when he slammed the book in his hand onto the table. “There’s only one possible relationship, that of a slave and master, and you are failing!”

“God, Al! It was five thousand years ago!” I exclaimed, startled.

“It was yesterday,” he said, hand shaking as it pinned the book to the table. “Do you think the fact that there can be no viable children between elf and demon is an accident? It’s a reminder, Rachel. Lose him or abuse him. There is no middle ground.”

“Yeah?” I exclaimed. “You’re the one who offered him a circumcision curse. I thought you two were BFFs.”

Brow furrowed, Al came around the table, and I forced myself to not move. “You’re making a mistake. There’re already concerns that we moved too fast in killing Ku’Sox.”

I drew back. “Excuse me!”

“That we were taken in by elven trickery and lured into killing one of our own.”

“That is so full of bull!” I could not believe this. “Ku’Sox was trying to kill all of you and destroy the ever-after!”

“Even so,” he said as he put a threatening arm over my shoulder. “It would be better if you simply . . .” His words drifted off into nothing, his fingers rubbing together, then opening as if freeing something.

“You spent a thousand years with Ceri. What’s the difference?”

His arm fell away, and I felt cold. “Ceri was my slave. You’re treating Trent as an equal.”

“He is an equal.”

Motions brusque, Al reached for his book. “No, he isn’t,” he growled.

“Yeah? Well, you loved Ceri,” I accused. “You loved her for a thousand years.”

“I. Did. Not!” he thundered, and I cringed when dust sifted from the rafters.

“Fine,” I muttered. “You didn’t.” This had been a bad idea, and I grabbed my golf ball to go home. He was my easy ticket out of here, though, until the sun set and Bis woke up.

Seeing me standing there, chin high and pissed, clearly wanting to leave, Al relented, stiffly pointing for me to take his chair. Relieved and uncomfortable, I did, setting the golf ball back down with undue force before I sat on the hard stool. The spell book was splayed out in his thick, ruddy hand as he came to stand behind me, and I could smell the centuries of ever-after on him, soaked in until it couldn’t be washed off. He’d teach me this, but I was sure our conversation was far from over.

“It doesn’t look like much,” I said as I looked at the spell laid out before us.

His hand hit the table beside me, and he leaned uncomfortably close over my shoulder. “Good curses don’t.”

The slate table shifted as he pushed back up, and still lurking more behind than beside me, he peered at the book over his glasses. “Step one,” he said loudly. “Sketching the pentagram. You can do that, yes?”

I blew across the table and picked up the magnetic chalk. “You need a book for this?”

“No.” He pointedly dropped a colorful square of silk, and I wiped the slate free of stray ions. “I’ve not done it the long way for ages. Any more questions? Then a standard pentagram of comfortable size. The point goes up if the ley lines are flowing into your reality, but down if they are flowing out.” He hesitated, then said sarcastically, “Which way are they flowing, Rachel?”

Hesitating, I tried to guess. We were about four stories deep. “Has the sun set yet?”

He cleared his throat in disapproval, and when I turned, he said, “No.”

“Then it’s point up,” I said, mostly to myself as I began to sketch. I’d only recently found out that the ley lines, the source for most if not all magic, flowed like tides between reality and the ever-after. Energy streamed into reality at night, and flowed out when the sun was up, but since there were lines scattered over the entire globe, it evened out unless a line was unbalanced. And if it was, it wreaked havoc.

I don’t know which is worse, I thought, the soft sounds of the sliding chalk mixing with the snapping fire making a singularly comforting sound. An attack on Trent, or that my line might be wonky. The misfires were coming from Loveland. Damn it, it was my line. I knew it.

“Better” was Al’s grudging opinion as I finished, but I could tell he was pleased. I’d been practicing. “Crucible in the center, ball in the crucible. As you say, simple stuff.” The snap of the book make me jump, and he added, “Step two. Burn the object to ash. Use a spell to avoid contamination.”

The crucible was cold against my fingers as I placed it in the cave of the pentagram, and I tried to fold the ball so it would all fit in the copper bowl. We needed the ash, apparently. “Do I need a protection circle?” I asked, and then remembering having burned my fingers this morning, I wedged a tiny portion of the ball off to use as a connecting bridge.

Al leaned over my shoulder, his lips so close to my ear that I could feel their warmth. “Do you make a pentagram for any other reason?”

I turned to face him, not backing down. “I do, yes.” Maybe bringing Ceri up had been a bad idea, and I looked across the table to the cushy chair that had been hers, still there although the woman was not.

Grumbling, he waved his hand in acquiescence, and using the outer circle linking the points of the pentagram as the circle base, I touched the nearest ley line and set a protection circle. Energy seeped in, connecting me to all things, and I let it flow unimpeded as a reflection of my aura stained the usual red smear of ever-after now making a sphere half on top, half underneath the table. I scooted the stool back a smidge so my knees wouldn’t hit it under the table and accidentally break the spell. As I watched my thin layer of smut skate and shiver over the skin of the molecule-thin barrier, I tasted the energy for any sign of bitterness or harsh discord. It was fine. The lines were fine.

But the fear of being trapped in that inertia dampening charm gave me pause. My nudge to Limbcus’s golf ball had blown it up, and I was gun-shy.

“We’re waiting . . .” Al drawled.

Well, it was in a protection circle, I thought, and maintaining my grip on the line, I held the small bit of the ball I’d peeled off in my hand as I carefully enounced, “Celero inanio.”

A puff of black smoke enveloped the ball, and for a moment, the reek of burning rubber outdid the stink of burnt amber. The heavy smoke rolled upward, curling back as it hit the inside of my small circle until it finally cleared.

In the center of the pentagram and the crucible was a pile of ash. For an instant, relief filled me. My control was fine. And then my mood crashed. Something from Loveland had caused the misfires. If it wasn’t me, what was it?

“Very good.” Book in hand, Al sat down before me in my usual chair, and I wondered if he’d been hiding behind me this entire time to avoid a possible burn if I did it wrong.

Peeved, I eyed him, the length of the table between us. “You’re such a chicken squirt.”

One eyebrow went up, and he pushed the oil across the table at me. “Anoint the ash with oil of marigold,” he said dryly. “Don’t ask me why, but it has to be marigold. Something to do with the linkages in the DNA allowing a hotter burn.”

Unsure, I picked the oil up. “How much?”

Al opened the book back up and peered at it over his blue-tinted glasses. “Doesn’t say, love. I’d use an amount equal to the mass of the ash.”

My palm itched as I broke the protection circle, carefully spilling what I thought was the right amount of oil onto the ash. This was kind of loosey-goosey for me, but demon magic had more latitude than the earth witch magic I was classically trained for, being a mix of earth and ley line and whatever else they cobbled together.

“Burn it using the same charm you use for making a light,” he said, and I touched the oil/ash mixture to make a connection to the slurry so the next curse would act on it and not, say, my hair. But when I reset my circle, he reached out and broke it, shocking me with the reminder that he was still stronger than me—unless I worked really hard at it.

“No protection circle,” he said, and I slumped.

“Why not? Something is causing misfires, and I don’t want to blow you up. I mean, you just got your kitchen looking halfway decent again.”

Al’s grimace as he looked over the space was telling. “Your magic is fine,” he said, but he was edging backward. “You can’t put it in a circle. If you do, then the color of the flame will be distorted from your aura.”

My fingers twitched. That was how it worked, eh?

“But I don’t think it matters,” Al said with a false lightness. “That ball was not charmed by anyone but you.”

Which would mean the misfires were responsible for it. Taking a steadying breath, I renewed my hold on the ley line. “In fidem recipere,” I said, smearing the ash and oil between my fingers for a good connection. One eye squinched shut, I finished the curse and made the proper hand gesture. “Leno cinis.”

The ley line surged through me as the oil and ash burst into flame, and I wiggled at the uncomfortable sensation. Almost two feet tall, the flame burned with an almost normal gold color, hinting at red at the edges, and black at the core. I cut back on the energy flow, and when the flame subsided to three inches, both Al and I leaned over the table to get a closer look.

There was the bare hint of a mossy scent coming from Al, so faint I thought I might have imagined it. I must have done something, because his gaze slid to mine, making me shiver at his eyes, again back to their normal goat-slitted redness thanks to a costly spell. “That’s your aura,” he said flatly, and I began breathing again. “Your aura alone, and very little of it,” he added. “You hardly tapped it, indeed. You say it made a crater?”

“And knocked me on my ass,” I whispered, wishing the black smut wasn’t there at all, but I’d become so used to doing curses that I didn’t even consciously accept the smut anymore. It just kind of happened. “This is dumb,” I said, depressed, and Al snuffed the flame with his hand. “What could you do just knowing the aura of a practitioner, anyway? Even if it did show something, I can’t comb the city with my second sight trying to find a match.”

Al took the still-hot crucible up in his bare hand. “You’re missing the point, itchy witch,” he said, tossing the entire thing into the fire. “Once you know a person’s aura, you simply tune yours to it as if it was a ley line and pop in.”

He was smiling with a wicked gleam in his eye, and I sat up, seeing the beauty in it. “That’s how you always find me,” I said, and his devious expression blanked.

“Stop!” he said, hand up. “Don’t even think to try it. You or your gargoyle don’t have the sophistication to differentiate between auratic shades to that degree. Line jumping is one thing, jumping to an aura is something else. It’s like saying the sunset is red when it’s thousands of shades.”

I could see his point, but hell, I knew Ivy’s aura pretty well. And Jenks’s.

“Student!” I started as his hand hit the table inches from me, and irate, I looked up. “What did I say?” he asked, leaning over me, his smile nasty.

“Not to think about it,” I said calmly, but I was, and he knew it.

Back hunched, he spun away. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Go ahead and burn another line into existence. Let me draw up the papers to annul our relationship first. I’m not paying for another one of your life lessons. Have you seen my insurance premiums? My God, you’re more expensive than a seventeen-year-old working on his third car.”

I had precious little ever-after income from my tulpa at Dalliance—which went to Al, incidentally—but he’d never mentioned insurance before now, meaning it had to be embarrassingly costly. “I’m not thinking about it,” I said softly, and he looked at me over his shoulder, slowly spinning to gather the rest of the spelling equipment and lovingly set each precious piece back in its proper spot.

“So if the ball wasn’t an assassination attempt and I did the diversion charm correctly, then why did it misfire?” I asked as he slid the curse book away and locked the cabinet.

“It didn’t.” He slid the key into a pocket, and I felt a tweak on my awareness as the little bump of fabric vanished. “It was overstimulated, not misfired.”

My lips pursed as I saw the news reports in a new way. Not misfired, but overpowered? “But I’m better than that!” I protested.

His back was to me, and he lined his chalk up with the rest. “Yes, you are.”

It was a soft murmur, and I crouched before the fire to pull the crucible out before it tarnished too badly—since I was the one who’d probably have to clean it. “Then why? Al, we had thirty misfires over a twenty-mile stretch in the span of an hour. Ivy worked it out. Whatever it is, it’s moving almost forty-five miles an hour.”

“Ivy, eh?” he said. “I’ll take that as a fact, then. Perhaps whatever disturbed the energy flow is gone.”

My gut hurt, and I set the fire iron aside. “Al, the misfires are coming from Loveland.”

There was a telling instant of silence, and then Al turned away, his shoes scraping softly. “Your ley line is fine.”

“What if it isn’t?” I stood, afraid to tell him that my aura had gone white. If it was overstimulation, then probably everyone’s had.

“You fixed it.” Eyes averted, he sat in his chair, fingers steepled. “Your line is fine!”

I pulled his coat from the bench, the crushed velvet smooth against my fingers. On the mantel, Mr. Fish swam up and down, his nose against the glass, ignoring the pellets. I didn’t say a word. Just stood there with his coat over my arm.

“You want to go look at it?” he finally asked, and I held his coat out. “Okay, we’ll go look at it,” he conceded, and I quelled a surge of anxiety. This close to sunset, there’d be surface demons, but I was more afraid of what my ley line looked like.

“Thank you,” I said, and he grumbled something under his breath, shoving his arms in the sleeves and leaning to throw another log on the fire to keep it going until he got back.

“There are no monsters under your bed, Rachel, or in your closet.”

Mood improved, I waited as he checked the buttons on his sleeves and fluffed the lace at his throat. “I found Newt in my closet once.”

He gave me a sideways look and grabbed a mundane oil lamp from a shelf. Nose wrinkling, he did an ignition curse and the lamp glowed. “Damn surface demons. If it’s not the sun burning your aura off, it’s the surface demons harrying you at night.” He stood poised, arms wide. “Well, let’s go! I’ve got things to do tonight that don’t involve you and your pathetically slowly evolving skills.”

I felt better as I came forward to stand with him on the elaborately detailed circle of stone he used as a door. I must have done something right. Sure enough, I felt his satisfaction as the line took us, his kitchen dissolving into nothing as he flung us back to the surface and some place distant from his underground home.

Reality misted back into existence with a gentle ease that made it hard to believe that we had moved. A red-tinted haze struck me, and the gritty wind. Squinting, I turned to the sun still hanging over the horizon. The heat of the day continued to rise from the dry, caked earth, but I could feel a chill in the fading light. Red soil looked as black as old blood in the shadows.

We were at Loveland Castle, and the slump of rock that was all that was left of it here in the ever-after loomed behind us. My ley line hummed at chest height, looking, as Al sourly informed me, as right as rain in the desert, and could we go home now?

Arms about my middle, I spun. Almost unseen in the distance were the crumbling towers of Cincinnati. Nothing but dry grasses and the occasional scrubby tree filled the space between here and there. And rocks. There were rocks. It was the savanna in a decade-long drought.

Except for that odd green circle . . .

“What is that?” I whispered as I realized there was a figure upon the grass, withering on the ground, and Al grunted as he followed my gaze.

“Mother pus bucket,” he muttered, head down as he began stomping toward it. “She’s at it again.”

“She?” But Al hadn’t stopped, and I hastened to catch up. Oh God, it’s Newt, I thought as I saw her unmistakable silhouette standing just outside the circle of green, her arms raised, bare where her androgynous robe had slipped to her elbows. She had short, spiky red hair today, a squat, cylindrical cap done in shades of black and gold atop her head, the colors repeated on her sash and slippers and stained red with the setting sun. A black staff was in her hand as she gestured and chanted at the figure on the living green, crazy as a loon in spring.

“What is she doing?” I said, shocked more from the green grass than anything else.

“Calibration curse,” he said softly. “Maybe she heard about the misfires.” And then he raised his voice. “Newt, love! What has the poor devil ever done to you?”

Clearly knowing we were here, the demon shifted her staff to both hands and held it level before her to pause in her magic. Within the fifteen-foot circle, the surface demon looked up, his thin chest heaving as he panted. His aura looked almost solid, the hatred from his eyes clear. There was a sword at his feet, the red light of the sun gleaming cleanly on it, and as I watched, a sun-brown hand crept out and gripped it.

“It exists,” Newt said, her voice feminine even if the rest of her looked ambiguous. “It’s an affront. What will happen to them when the ever-after collapses? That’s what I want to know. Poor fools.”

Fear rippled through me, and I looked behind me to the ley line. It was collapsing. It was falling apart! I knew it!

“We fixed the line,” Al said, as much for her as for me. “Remember? We had a fine hunt. Rachel’s line is within tolerance.”

Surprise showed on Newt’s face, and a small rock clinked as she turned to the line behind us. The surface demon hammered at the circle to get out, the heavy blade doing no damage, even if it was as tall as he was. “That’s right,” she said, peering at me with her all-black eyes that gave me the creeps. “I forgot, and yet we’re both up here in this putrid filth we wallow in.”

The sun turned me red even as I shivered in the chill of the coming night. “What is that?” I asked, looking at the demon, but what I really wanted to know was how there was living grass.

As distractible as a child, Newt turned, beaming. “It’s a calibration curse,” she said in delight, oblivious to the anger of the surface demon beating upon it. I could almost see clothes, so distinct was he in the low sun.

“It doesn’t look like the curse I know,” I said.

“That’s because it’s calibrating space and time, not balance and skills.”

“Space and time?” I breathed as she began chanting. Immediately the demon dropped his sword and fell to the ground, writhing in pain. Neither Al nor Newt seemed to care. “Al,” I almost hissed. “What is she doing?”

Frowning, Al put a fist to his hip. “She’s moving a bubble of time into the past. The surface demon is caught up in it intentionally, as a marker.”

That explained the green grass, but how far back had she needed to go to find it? “You can do that?”

“She can.” Al pointed with the lantern, the flame pale in the remaining sun. “By comparing the rate of adjusted time to a known span, we can see if anything is out of balance.”

I shuddered when the sun touched the rim of the earth and bled all over it. Newt thought something was wrong, too. “You do this a lot, right? Like a monthly siren test?”

“No,” she said, and the surface demon behind the barrier scrabbled at the edge, his motions becoming erratic. “It hurts.”

“I’ll say,” I whispered.

Newt gave me a sharp look. “Not the demon,” she said sourly. “Me. Pay attention. You might have to do this someday. Each surface demon comes into existence at a specific, known time. This one has a particularly long life: watch now. We’re close.”

With no warning, the surface demon vanished, the grass under him springing up as if he’d never been there. Newt set the butt of her staff on the ground, clearly pleased. Beside me, Al fussed with his pocket watch, making a show of opening it. Not knowing why, I looked at it, glancing up to see Newt had a watch locket on a black chain around her neck.

“Ready?” she said, and Al nodded.

I had no idea what to expect, but as Newt pointed at the bubble and indicated “go,” the demon reappeared. I watched in a horrified awe as he flung himself against the barrier, clearly in pain as the green grass grew sparse about him and the sword that had glittered so beautifully tarnished and became dented. With a sudden shock, I recognized it as the one the gargoyle had dropped when he’d come to find out who’d damaged my ley line.

His aura failing, the surface demon fell and a layer of black ash covered him. A bright light crisped the remaining vegetation to ash. Dead-looking sprigs appeared, and then the twisted figure with the tattered aura vanished.

“Mark!” Newt said, and Al nodded sharply, holding his watch out to Newt as the demon hiked her loose-fitting clothes up and came closer. “Perfect,” she said, and Al closed his watch with a snap. “Time and space are moving concurrently, i.e., not shrinking,” she said, seemingly perfectly sane. “Your line isn’t impacting the ever-after, but it feels odd at times.”

Scared, I spun to Al. “I told you. I told you something was wrong!”

Newt sniffed as Al frowned at me to shut up. “He didn’t believe you?” she said, staff planted firmly before her as the setting sun cast her shadow over both of us. “You should listen to her, Gally. If you had listened to me, we might have survived.”

Al shifted to get out of her shadow, screwing his eyes up at the last of the light. “We’re not dead yet, Newt, love.”

Newt’s expression became sour. “Oh, so we are,” she said, her gaze dropping to her foot nudging a rock deeper into the grit. “I suppose . . .”

Frustrated, I slumped. “Newt, what’s wrong with my line?”

“Nothing is wrong with your line!” Al bellowed.

“He’s right,” she said, and his bluster died in a huff. “There’s nothing wrong with it, but everyone else’s is fine.”

Okay. I rubbed my forehead. Newt wasn’t known for her clarity of decisions, but she was a font of knowledge if you could understand. The concern was in how she might react to whatever she might suddenly remember.

I jumped when Al grabbed my arm and rocked us back a step. “Yes, yes. Everything fine,” he said jovially. “Rachel, ready to go?”

My gaze was fixed on that ring where the grass had been. “That’s what the ever-after used to look like,” I said, stumbling when Al gave me a yank.

Newt turned to look at it. “As I said, it hurts.” Her gaze was empty when she turned back. “Why are you here?”

I gave in to Al’s tugging when Newt suddenly seemed to have forgotten the last ten minutes. “Ah, Rachel wanted me to check under her bed for monsters,” he said, but I’d found the crazier Newt was, the more information you got, even if it was like teasing a tiger.

“I was checking that my line was okay,” I said, stumbling when Al smacked my shoulder.

Newt smiled and linked her arm in my free one, making me feel as if we were on the yellow brick road. “You’ve noticed it too?” she said, having forgotten we’d had this conversation.

“Noticed what?” I asked as Al became visibly nervous.

“Thunder on the horizon,” she said, and Al’s pace bobbled.

“So sorry, Newt!” he said cheerfully as he pulled me away from her. “We have to go.”

I tapped my line and gave Al a jolt. It wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle, but his grip loosened enough for me to pull away. “A simple charm blew up in my face today,” I said hurriedly. “And another one that I had nothing to do with trapped me for three hours. Al says they were overstimulated, but there’s a pattern to them, and they’re coming from my line.”

Newt was staring at the setting sun, just a sliver left. “Thunder like elephants,” she whispered. “Have you seen an elephant, Rachel?”

Al’s fingers gripped my shoulder, but he didn’t yank me back. “We need to go. Now,” he whispered. “Before she decides you’re one of her sisters and kills you.”

I stiffened. “Only in the zoo.”

Newt turned back to me, her eyes black as the sun slipped away. From the slump of broken castle, a rock fell. “We exist in a zoo,” she said, chilling me. “You know that, yes? I hope our funding doesn’t run out. I’d give anything for a better enclosure, one that at least hides the bars.” Her focus blurred, then sharpened on me. “Rachel, would you like me to do a calibration on you? See how long your soul has been aware?”

Blanching, I remembered the demon behind the barrier, twisting in pain as he lived his entire existence backward and forward in ten seconds flat.

“No!” Al said, and this time, I did nothing as he jerked me away. “Newt, we must go. Spells to weave, curses to twist. A student’s work is never done!”

There was alarm under his cheerful words, but Newt gestured as if she didn’t care, turning to look at the red smear where the sun had once been. “Study hard, Rachel,” she said, her staff hitting the earth to pinch the rocks and make them skip. “Come again soon. I’m having a party next week when the purple grass flowers. It’s beautiful then, when the wave hits them and sends them all crashing into one another.”

Al pulled me back another step, and I walked backward, watching Newt sketch out another circle. “How much power does it take to do that?” I asked, pitying her.

“Enough to make you crazy,” Al said. “Go home and leave Kalamack alone.”

My feet were edging my ley line, and I felt its warmth spill into me. “Yeah, whatever,” I muttered, deciding it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to tell him I needed to get home so I could pick out what I was going to wear tonight with Trent.

“Rachel.”

“Ow?” He was pinching my arm, and at my dark look, he let go. Anger had tightened the corners of his eyes peering at me over his blue-smoked glasses. His lips pulled back in a grimace, and I fidgeted, halfway home but realities away. “Give me a break, Al. If I alienate him, I’ll never get the countercurse so you all can escape the ever-after. You can understand he’s a little reluctant after you collectively suggested to off him for the hell of it.”

Behind him, Newt gestured, and another demon contorted on the ground. Al squinted at me, clearly not happy. “You don’t have enough money to survive the fallout if you fail. And neither do I.”

My heart thudded. “Tell me about it.” I stood, waiting for him to jump me home. I could shift realities by myself, but I’d be marooned at Loveland Castle and have to beg a jump home from Bis.

Al shoved me into the line. My anger vanished, turning to worry as I felt the line take me. At least I knew no one was gunning for Trent or me. Almost I wished there was.

Death threats I could handle. Saving the world had always been a little trickier.


Four (#ulink_c0140afb-7d77-5feb-a0b7-01c2ec5d2062)

Ivy?” I shouted as I pushed my socks around in my top dresser drawer. “Have you seen my white chemise with the lacy fringe?” The black slacks and short, snappy matching jacket I’d picked out for tonight’s job needed something to alleviate the stark security look. Finding something that said work without tacking on fashion dork was harder than it sounded.

Jenks flew into my room, his wings clattering loudly. “The last time I wore it, I put it back where I found it,” he said as he came to a pixy-dust-laced halt on my dresser.

Eyeing him sourly, I held up a pair of big hooped earrings, and together we evaluated the effect. They got rid of a large chunk of security, and at Jenks’s thumbs-up, I slipped them on. Not only did they look nice, but with my shower-damp hair back in a hard-to-grab braid, Jenks could use them to do his pixy surveillance . . . thing.

Ivy’s voice filtered back from the kitchen. “Your bathroom?”

Scuffing my flat shoes on, I went to check. Even with a quick shower to get the stink of ever-after from me, I was doing good for time, but Trent was usually early.

“And you think you don’t like him,” Jenks said as he followed me across the hall. “It’s just Trent, for Tink’s toes. Who cares what you look like? No one is supposed to notice you.”

“I never said I didn’t like him,” I said as I remembered Al’s warning.

Wearing security black hadn’t bothered me at first, but after three months of it, being professional had gotten old. If it had been a date, I’d wear my red silk shirt and maybe the jeans that were a shade too snug to eat in. Gold hoops and a white chemise would have to do, and I rifled through the dryer, finally finding it hanging up behind the door.

“Out!” I said firmly to Jenks. “You too, Bis,” I added, and Jenks jerked into the air, leaving behind a flash of black sparkles like ink as he spun to the glass-door shower.

“Bis! Damn it, you creepy bat!” Jenks swore, and the teenage gargoyle made a coarse guttural laugh like rocks in a garbage disposal. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Practicing,” the gargoyle said, his color shifting back to his neutral pebbly gray. Bis hung from the ceiling with his clawlike fingers, his dexterous, lionlike tail with the white tuft wrapped around the showerhead for balance. He was the size of a cat, and I’d be worried about him pulling out the plumbing if he weren’t exceptionally lightweight. He had to be for his leathery wings to be able to keep him in the air. I’d felt his presence the instant I entered the bathroom, easily spotting him in the shower practicing changing his skin tone to the pattern of the tile. The mischievous kid had taken a liking to startling Jenks, knowing it made the pixy mad.

“I mean it,” I said, chemise in hand as I pointed to the door. “Both of you, out.”

Still laughing, Bis swooped out, intentionally making the back draft from his wings spin Jenks’s flight into a dangerous loop before he darted out after him. I couldn’t help my smile as I listened to Jenks complain to Ivy as I put the chemise on instead of the flat cotton tee.

“Much better,” I whispered as I evaluated the results, and grabbing my jacket, I headed for the hall, ambling to the kitchen at the back of the church. Ivy looked up from her slick new laptop as I entered, her eyes skating over my outfit in approval. Her old tower and monitor were gone, and an overindulgent, high-def screen she could plug her laptop into now took up a good portion of the thick country-kitchen farm table pressed up against the interior wall. Her high-tech efficiency went surprisingly well with my herbs and spell-crafting paraphernalia hanging over the center counter. The single window that overlooked the kitchen garden was a black square of night. Al’s chrysalis and Trent’s old pinkie ring sitting under a water glass were the only things on the sill now that most of the dandelions were done. The radio was on to the news, but thankfully there’d been no new reports of misfires. Maybe it was over. I sighed, and as if feeling it, Ivy took the pencil from between her teeth. “Nice balance.”

Pleased, I dropped my jacket onto my bag on the table as I made my way to my charm cupboard. “Thanks. I don’t know why I even bother. I’ll probably be spending the night sitting outside a boardroom door.” Standing before the open cupboard, I fingered my uninvoked charms to find two pain amulets. Both Bis and Ivy were looking at her maps, the gargoyle’s gnarly claws spread wide to maintain his balance on the awkwardly flat surface. He really was a smart kid, and I’d been toying with the idea of giving him my laptop so he’d stop using Ivy’s—but then I’d have to use Ivy’s, and that was no good either.

“What’s up?” I asked, and she stuck the pencil back between her teeth, spinning the topmost map for me to see.

Bis looked worried, and with one hand at my hip, the other on the table, I leaned over the map showing Cincinnati and the Hollows across the river, color coded like a zip-code map to show the traditional vampire territories. Everyone looked to Rynn Cormel as the last word in vampire law, but lesser masters handled their own problems unless things got out of hand. Squabbles were common, but the number of red dots on Ivy’s map wasn’t good. Every section had at least one violent crime within the last twenty-four hours, probably ignored in the current chaos.

“You think it’s connected to the misfired charms?” I asked.

“Could be,” she said as she turned the map back around when I dropped my charms into my bag and went to the silverware drawer for a finger stick. “David called when you were in the shower. He wants to talk to you about some odd activity he’s been witnessing.”

Tension flashing, I took the sticky note she pushed at me with one long, accusing finger, recognizing her precise script and the cell number on it. “Thanks, I’ll call him,” I mumbled as I stuffed it in my pocket. I hadn’t talked to him or anyone from the Were pack since an uncomfortable dinner almost a month ago. It had been to celebrate the addition of a few new members, but everyone except David had treated me as if I was some sort of revered personage. I’d left feeling as if they were glad I’d gone so they could cut loose. Who could blame them? It wasn’t as if I was around that much. My female alpha status was originally supposed to be honorary—and it had been until David began adding members. I hadn’t said anything because David deserved it. That, and he was really good at being an alpha.

“Will you be around for dinner?” she asked, ignoring that I was staring at my open silverware drawer, slumped in guilt.

“Ahhh, I wouldn’t count on it,” I hedged, wincing when Jenks’s kids flowed through the kitchen, jabbering in their high-pitched voices. Circling Bis, they begged him to wax the steeple so they could slide down it, and blushing a dull black, the gargoyle took off after them. “You batching it tonight?”

Ivy set a hand on her papers so they wouldn’t fly up. “Yes. Nina is with her folks tonight.”

Her mood was off, and I put the finger stick in with my charms to invoke them later. Ivy’s control was good, but why put warm cookies in front of someone on a diet? “She doing okay?” I asked, crouching to get my splat gun out of the nested bowls.

Ivy’s smile was wistful when I came back up. “Yes,” she said, and a small knot of worry loosened. Whatever was bothering her wasn’t Nina. “She’s doing well. She still has control issues when heated, but if she can realize it in time, she can funnel the energy into other . . . directions.” Her pale cheeks flushed, and her fingers clicked over the keys in a restless staccato.

Knowing Ivy, I could guess where that energy was being diverted, and I dropped the splat gun into my bag, peering in to see what I’d collected. Pain charms, finger stick, wallet, phone, keys, lethal magic detection charm . . . the usual. “Hey, I appreciate you trying to get my car back. Edden still working on it?” I said, still fishing for what was bothering her.

The irritating tapping of her pencil ceased. “No one out there knew me, Rachel,” she complained, and my eyebrows rose. She is worried about my car? “I worked in the I.S. for almost a decade, all the way from runner to the arcane, and no one out there knew me!”

Ah, not my car, her reputation. Smiling, I dropped my bag on the table, glad no one there recognized her. Maybe now she’d be free to live her life. “Jeez, Ivy, you were the best they had. If they ignored you, it was because they’re still ticked. There’s a difference.”

“Maybe, but I didn’t see anyone I recognized.” Lips pressing, she tapped her maps. “You saw how busy it was. Half of Piscary’s children worked in the I.S., and no one was out there.”

“Maybe they were out at other calls,” I suggested.

“All of them?” Again the pencil tapped, the cadence faster. “Where is everyone?” she said, eyes on the map. “I can see some of them being let go when Piscary died, but Rynn Cormel would still need a foothold in the I.S. Maybe more so since he’s not originally from here. You don’t think he abandoned them, do you? Now that he’s had time to make his own children?”

“No. He wouldn’t do that,” I said, trying to reassure her, but the truth of it was I didn’t know. That Rynn Cormel had taken Piscary’s children in when he became Cincy’s new top master vampire had been unusual, even if the vampire hadn’t had any of his own at the time. It had prevented a lot of heartache, because vampires without masters usually didn’t last long, succumbing to blood loss and neglect as they worked their way backward through the citywide hierarchy.

“I’m sure they were just on other calls,” I said when the huge farm bell we used as a front doorbell clanged. My heart gave a pound, and my motion to get the door faltered when Jenks shouted that he’d get it. A sprinkling of pixy dust drifted down in the hallway, and I wondered how long he’d been eavesdropping. He worried about Ivy, too.

“That’s probably Trent,” I said, breath catching at the easy sound of his voice.

Ivy froze, her eyes flashing a pupil black as she looked up from under a lowered brow.

“What?” I asked, liking Trent’s voice, especially when it was soft in quiet conversation.

Exhaling, Ivy dropped her eyes. “Nothing. I’ve not felt that in a long while, is all.”

“Felt what?” I said defensively when she arched her eyebrows cattily. “Oh, hell no,” I said as I slung my shoulder bag. “I’m not falling for him. It’s the excitement of a job. That’s it.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, and realizing I’d forgotten to put my jacket on first, I took my shoulder bag back off. “And that’s why you put your best perfume on?”

Motions jerky, I jammed first one arm, then another into the jacket. “Give me a break, Ivy,” I muttered, hearing Trent’s voice become louder. “You know how hard it is to get rid of the stink of burnt amber? I might be having dinner with the mayor.”

Trent walked in with Jenks on his shoulder, and my next words caught in my throat. He was in jeans and a casual top. My eyes traveled all the way down. Tennis shoes? “Or maybe something a little more casual,” I said, feeling overdressed.

His smile was as informal as his clothes, and he nodded to Ivy as she pushed back from her laptop, that pencil of hers twirling around her fingers instead of tapping on the table. “Ivy. Rachel,” he said in turn, then glancing at his watch. “You look nice. Are you ready?”

“Sure,” I said, cursing myself as that same quiver went through me. I saw it hit Ivy, her eyes going even darker. Damn it, I wasn’t going to do this. “Ah, give me five minutes to change into some jeans.”

His impatience was barely suppressed and I smiled, taking the show of emotion from the usually stiff man as a compliment. “You look fine. Let’s go. I have to be back by two.”

“But . . .” I said, words faltering as he nodded at Ivy and turned, his steps fast as he vanished back the way he’d come.

“Better get moving,” Jenks said, hanging in the air right where he’d been sitting on Trent’s shoulder.

“You’re not coming?” I asked, and he shook his head.

“Nah-h. Trent told me his plans. You don’t need me.”

Brow wrinkled in confusion, I turned to Ivy. “See you later, I guess.”

She was already bent back over her work, hiding her eyes. “Take it easy out there. There haven’t been any more misfires, but it doesn’t feel over.”

It didn’t feel over for me, either, and bag in hand, I followed Trent out. He was waiting for me at the top of the hall, his expression sheepish as he fell into step with me.

“Did I set Ivy off?” he whispered, and my eyes widened. That’s why the abrupt departure. But then I flushed. He thought he had set her off. Crap on toast, he thought he had set her off—meaning . . .

Stop it, Rachel. “Um, she’s fine,” I said, not wanting to say no and have him guess that I had set her off, not him. “You don’t mind driving, do you? My car is in impound.” His eyes went wide in question, and I added, “Long story. Not my fault. I’ll tell you in the car.” He almost laughed, and I could have smacked him. “So where are we going, anyway?”

“I told you. Bowling.”

“Fine. Don’t tell me.” He was still smiling and I lagged behind as we passed through the sanctuary, the light from the TV a dim glow as Jenks’s youngest watched a wildlife documentary. Bowling. Was he serious? What kind of contacts could he make bowling?

Trent’s pace was graceful and smooth, his fingers trailing along the smooth finish of the pool table. It was all I had left to remind me of Kisten, and I watched Trent’s fingers until they slipped off the end. “So what did Al say?” he asked.

To leave you alone, I thought, and seeing my frown, Trent added, “It was tampered with, wasn’t it?”

“Oh!” I forced a smile. “No,” I said as we entered the unlit foyer, pulse quickening when the scent of wine and cinnamon seemed to grow stronger in the dark. “It was fine,” I murmured. “Al says the charm was overstimulated, not misfired. I’m guessing it is the same thing that caused the rest of the misfires today. How’s your employee?”

“He’ll be okay with minimal hospitalization. The safety measures in place saved his sight, but if it had happened anywhere else it might have . . . taken out a room.” His words trailed off in thought as he reached before me to open the door. “Overstimulated? That makes more sense than misfires. I had a couple more incidents come in this afternoon. Little things, but I sent Quen all the data I could find. He says the misfires are localized into a narrow band that seems to be stemming from, ah . . . Loveland?”

His voice was hesitant, expression doubly so in the faint light from the sign over the door, and I nodded, glad he’d figured it out and I wouldn’t have to bring it up. Not many people knew that the ley line just outside the old castle was less than a year old and made by me—by accident. “I asked Al while I was there. We went out to look, and there’s nothing wrong with my line.”

“Oh!” His smile was oddly relieved as he pointed his fob at the car at the curb, and it started up. It was one of his sportier two-doors, and he liked his gadgets almost as much as he liked driving fast. “You’re already ahead of me on this. Good. That frees up our conversation tonight. I’d like to wedge something to eat into the schedule too.” He hesitated, one step down. “That is, if you don’t have other plans.”

I eyed him, not sure why the hint of pleasure in his voice. “I could eat, sure.” He still hadn’t told me where we were really going, and I closed the door behind me. We could lock it only from the inside, but who would steal from a Tamwood vampire and Cincinnati’s only day-walking demon? Scuffing down the shallow steps, I headed for Trent’s car, only to jerk to a halt when he unexpectedly reached before me to open the door with a grand flourish.

We’re going bowling, I thought sarcastically as I got in. Right. Trent shut the door, and the solid thump of German engineering echoed down our quiet street. I watched Trent through the side mirror as he came around the back of the car, his pace fast and eager. I fidgeted as he got in, the small car putting us closer than usual. I leaned to put my bag in the tiny space behind the seat, and Trent was holding himself with a closed stiffness when I leaned back. He liked his space, and I’d probably gotten too close.

My damp hair was filling the car with the scent of my shampoo, and I cracked the window. “Seriously, where are we going?” I asked, but his smile faltered when my phone rang from my shoulder bag. “You mind?” I asked as I leaned to get it, and his foot slipped off the clutch. The car jerked, and I scrambled not to drop the phone. His ears were red when I looked up, and I couldn’t help but smile as I found my phone. “It’s Edden,” I said as I looked at the screen. “He might have something about my car.”

Gesturing for me to go ahead, I flipped the phone open.

“Edden!” I said cheerfully. “What’s the good news about my car?”

“Still working on it,” he said, then at my peeved silence, added, “Can you come out tomorrow, say at ten?”

“What about my car?” I said flatly, and he chuckled.

“I’m working on it. I’d like you to talk to our shift change meeting. Tell everyone what happened at the bridge and give us your Inderland opinion.”

Oh. That was different. “That’s ten P.M., right?” I asked, fiddling with the vents as Trent drove us down the service roads paralleling the interstate. His usual fast and furious driving had slowed, and I wondered if he was trying to listen in.

“Ah, A.M.”

“In the morning?” I exclaimed, and Trent stifled a chortle. Yep, he was listening. “Edden, I’ve barely got my eyes unglued at ten. I’d have to get up by nine to make it.”

“So stay up,” the man said. “Call it a bedtime story. I promise I’ll have your car.”

I sighed. The chance to be included in something professional where my opinion was wanted was a unique and cherished thing. And I did want my car. But ten A.M.?

“Rachel, I could really use your help,” he said. “Even if these misfires are over, I’m having a hard time getting a handle on the issues they’ve caused. That misfired charm on the bridge was one of about two dozen that got reported,” Edden admitted. “We’re guessing five times that actually happened. I’m down two officers, and with the I.S. scrambling to apprehend the inmates who survived the mass exodus of the containment facility downtown, the vampires at large are taking it as a sign there is no law at all.”

We stopped at a light, and I glanced at Trent. His brow was creased, and I frowned. “What happened at the Cincy lockup?”

Edden’s sigh was loud enough to hear. “Apparently the high-security wing was in the path of whatever that was, and it unlocked. Most of the inmates are either dead or gone—”

“They killed them?” I said, aghast.

“No. Anyone using magic to escape died, probably from a misfire. They got it locked down, but I hate to think what would have happened if the sun hadn’t been up. At least the undead stayed put.” The background noise became suddenly louder as Trent turned us down a quiet street.

“The I.S. isn’t handling anything right now,” Edden said, and a ribbon of worry tightened about me. “Rachel, I don’t know the first thing about why a spell shop would explode or what would make a witch’s apartment fill with poisonous gas and snuff the entire building. I’ve got a sorting charm at the post office that took out the back wall of the Highland Hill branch and killed three people. Two construction workers in intensive care from an unexpected glue discharge, and a van of kids treated and released for something involving cotton candy and a hay baler. Even if nothing more goes wrong, I’m swamped. Is there an Inderlander holiday I don’t know about?”

“No.” My thoughts went to Newt’s space and time calibration curse. She didn’t think it was over. “Okay, I’ll be there, but I want coffee.”

His sigh of relief was obvious. “Thanks, Rachel. I really appreciate it.”

“And my car!” I added, but he’d already hung up. I closed the phone and looked at it sitting innocently in my hands. “Thanks,” I said as I glanced at Trent, the streetlights flashing on him mesmerizingly. “You heard all that, right?”

He nodded. “Most of it. It’s a mess.”

“I’ll say. I doubt I’ll come away with anything we don’t already know, but I’ll let you know if I do.”

Again he smiled, a faint worry line showing on his forehead. “I’d appreciate that. We’re here.”

I looked up from putting my phone away. Surprised, I blinked. It was a bowling alley, the neon pins and balls on the sign flickering on and off. Lips parted, I said nothing as Trent pulled his shining car into one of the parking spots beside a dented Toyota. Jenks staying home resounded in me, and the tension from Edden’s call vanished as Trent turned the car off.

“Trent, is this a date?”

He didn’t reach for the key still in the ignition. “You never told me how your car got impounded.”

“Is this a date?” I asked again, more stridently.

Silent, he sat there, his hands on the wheel as he stared at the front door and the flashing neon bowling pins. “I want it to be.”

My face felt warm. A couple was getting out of a truck a few spots down, and they held hands as they went in. A date? I couldn’t imagine holding Trent’s hand in public. Kisten’s, yes. Marshal’s, yes. Not Trent’s. “This isn’t a good idea.”

“Normally I’d agree with you, but I’ve got a valid reason.”

Valid reason. His voice had been calm, but my skin was tingling, and I fidgeted with my shoulder bag until I realized what I was doing and stopped. “Nothing has changed in the last three months.”

“No. It hasn’t.”

I took a breath, then thought about that. He’d kissed me three months ago, and I’d kissed him back. Nothing has changed.

I heard the soft sound of sliding cotton as he turned, and I felt his attention land on me. Looking up, I read in his eyes the question. “Nothing?” I said, my hands knotting in my lap. Things felt different to me. We’d been all over Cincinnati together the last three months, me doing everything from getting him coffee at the conservatory’s open house to discouraging three aggressive businessmen who wouldn’t take no for an answer. We’d developed an unwritten language, and he’d gained the knack of reading my moods as easily as I knew what he was thinking. I’d seen him laugh in unguarded moments, and I’d learned to be gracious when he paid my way into events that I’d never be able to afford. I’d been ready to defend him to the pain of unconsciousness, and I wasn’t sure anymore if it was a job or something I’d do anyway.

But he had another life, one coming in tomorrow on a 747 that didn’t include me.

“I can’t be like Ceri, showing the world one face and my heart something else,” I said, gut clenching.

“I’m not asking you to.”

I looked up from my hands, my breath catching at his earnest expression. “Then what are you asking?”

His lips twisted, and he turned away. “I don’t know. But Ellasbeth is coming back with the girls tomorrow—”

I pounced on that. “Yes, Ellasbeth.” He winced. A second couple was going in, and I looked at the glowing sign. Couples night. Swell. “Trent, I will not be a mistress.”

“I know.” His voice was becoming softer, more frustrated.

“Yes, but we’re still sitting here,” I said, my anger building. “Why are we here if we both know it’s not going to work?”

“I want to take you bowling,” he said as if that was all there was to it, and I flung my head back, staring at the roof of the car.

“Rachel,” he said tightly, and I brought my head down. “Tonight is my last night before the girls come home and my world shifts back to them. I’ve never had time for myself like this. Ever. Quen will be there evaluating me though I know he doesn’t mean to, and until she leaves, Ellasbeth will be doing the same. The girls will be front and center as they’re supposed to be, and that’s okay. But I’ve spent the last three months with you and this incredible freedom that I’ve never had before, and I need to know if . . .”

His words trailed off, and my heart hammered at his expression, both pained and wistful.

“I need to know,” he said softly. “I want to know what a date with you is like so I can look at it and say that was a date. This was business. One date. One real date, with a good-night kiss and everything. One date so I can honestly say to myself that the others were not . . . dates.”

I couldn’t seem to catch my breath, and I looked back down at my hands, all twisted up again. Slowly, deliberately, I opened my fingers and splayed them out on my knees. I knew what he was talking about, and it might not be a bad idea—having a reference and all. But it sounded dangerous. “Bowling?” I questioned, and the worry wrinkle in his brow eased.

“Sure,” he said, his hands falling from the wheel. “You can’t get banned, so there’s no reason for them to kick us out.” He hesitated, then added, “Or I can take you back home.”

I didn’t want to go home. Knees wobbly, I yanked the door handle, grabbing my shoulder bag as I got out of the car. “No kiss,” I said over the car. “Not all dates end with a kiss.”

His smile hesitant, Trent got out and came around the front of the car. “If that’s what you want,” he said, and flustered, I put my hands in my pockets so he wouldn’t be tempted to take them, flashing him a stilted smile when he reached to get the heavy oak door for me.

Though clearly disappointed about the kiss stipulation, Trent seemed happy that I hadn’t said no outright, and he stood behind me as I shifted to the right of the door, breathing in the stale smell of beer and really good burgers. The crack of the pins followed by an exuberant call of success was relaxing, and the sappy couples music made me smile. “I’ve not been bowling in ages,” I said, and Trent fidgeted his way out from behind me.

“This is okay?” he said hesitantly, and I nodded. The soft touch of his hand on the small of my back jolted through me, and I scrambled to catch my energy balance before it tried to equalize between us. I felt overdressed as we approached the counter, and I set my bag down on the scratched plastic to take my jacket off to turn me from security to professional woman coming right from work. Under the plastic top were perfect bowling scores, and I glanced at the bar in the corner, my stomach rumbling at the smell of greasy, salty, wonderful bar food. Yes, this is okay. God help me if Al ever found out.

“Two games, please,” Trent said as he reached for his wallet. “You have a fast lane?”

The guy behind the counter turned from changing the disc on the music they were piping through the place. He looked old, but it was mostly life wearing him down. “Three is fast,” he said, then blinked as he saw me. Crap, had I been recognized? “You, ah, need shoes?”

Trent nodded. “Size 8 women’s, and a men’s 10.”

The bowling guy’s chair was on casters, and with a practiced move, he shoved backward to the honeycomb wall behind the counter, grabbing two pairs and shoving himself back. “Ah, with the shoes, that will be forty-three, unless you want to include two burger baskets. They come with two complimentary beers each.”

It was couples night after all, and Trent turned to me. “Okay with you?”

“Sure.” Oh God, what was I doing? This felt more risky than anything I’d ever done with Trent before, including the time we’d stolen elf DNA from the demons. Nervous, I turned to the bar again. The TV was spouting today’s recycled bad news to counteract the love songs, but the love songs were winning.

“I got this,” Trent said as I made a motion to get my wallet from my shoulder bag. He was grinning as he counted out the cash. “We’re on a date,” he told the man proudly as he handed the bills over, and I flushed.

The guy behind the counter glanced at me, then Trent as if he was dense. “I can see that,” he said. “Let me sanitize your shoes.”

Setting both pairs on a scratched pentagram behind the counter, he muttered a phrase of Latin. My internal energy flow jumped as a flash of light enveloped the shoes. I knew the light was just for show, but it was reassuring, and I took my shoes as the man dropped them before us. The leather was still warm, stiff from having been spelled so often.

“Enjoy your game,” he said as he handed us a scorecard and a tiny pencil. “All food stays at the bar.” Slumping, he fumbled in a plastic bin. “Here’s your food and beer coupons.”

Trent was smiling, looking totally out of place despite his jeans and casual shirt as he took his shoes. “Thank you. Lane three?”

Nodding, the man hit a button on a panel, and it lit up, the pinsetter running a cycle to clear itself.

“This is so weird,” I said as I fell into place behind Trent.

“Why?” He looked over his shoulder at me. “I do normal things.”

Pulling my gaze from him, I scanned the ball racks for a likely candidate. “Have you ever been here? Doing normal things?”

Trent stepped down from the flat carpet to the tiled floor and our lane. “Honestly? No. Jenks suggested this place when I asked him. But the burgers smell great.”

Jenks, eh? Thinking I was going to have a chat with the pixy when I got home, I dropped my shoes on one of the chairs and went to pick out a ball. Trent was tying his shoes when I came back with a green twelve-pounder with Tinker Bell on it. Clearly it had been someone’s personal ball at some point, and therefore might have some residual spells built in, charms I could tap into if I guessed the right phrase. Trent eyed it in disbelief when I dropped it on the hopper, but the first feelings of competition stirred in me, and I looked down the long lane and the waiting pins in anticipation. This might be okay. I’d had platonic dates before.

“You’re kidding,” he said as I sat down and slipped my shoes off to tuck them under the cheap plastic seats.

“They say you can tell a lot about a man by the ball he uses.”

His eyes met mine, and feeling spiked through me. Okay, it didn’t have to be completely platonic. Not if we both knew it was the only date we’d ever have.

“Is that what they say?” he asked, head tilted to eye me from under his bangs, and I nodded, wondering why I’d said that. The shoes were still warm, and I felt breathless as I leaned to put them on. Trent slowly rose, his motions out of sync with the sappy love song, but oh so nice to watch. I fumbled my laces and had to start over when he stopped at a rack and lifted a plain black ball with an off-brand logo. “This one looks good.”

Good. Yeah. What I liked was the way his butt looked, clenched as he held the extra weight of the ball. Slowly I shook my head, and he replaced it.

“Better?” he asked, hefting a bright blue one, and I shook my head again, pointing at one way down on the bottom of the rack. Trent’s expression went irate. “It’s pink,” he said flatly.

I beamed, tickled. “It’s your choice. But it’s got a charm or two in it, I bet.”

Looking annoyed, he hefted the pink monstrosity, his expression changing as he probably tapped a line and felt the energy circulating through it. Saying nothing, he came back to our lane and set it beside mine. “I am so going to regret this, aren’t I?”

I leaned forward, heart pounding. “If you’re lucky. You first.” Feeling sassy, I stood, almost touching his knees as I edged into the scoring chair. The masculine scent of him hit me, mixing with the smell of bar food and the sound of happy people. My heart pounded, and I focused on the scorecard, carefully writing Bonnie and Clyde in the name box in case anyone was watching the overhead screen.

What am I doing? I asked myself, but Trent had already picked up his pink bowling ball, giving me a sideways smirk before he settled himself before the line, and made a small side step, probably to compensate for a slight curve.

I exhaled as I watched him study the lane, collecting himself. And then he moved in a motion of grace, the ball making hardly a sound as it touched the varnished boards. Trent walked backward as the ball edged closer to the gutter, then arced back, both of us tilting our heads as it raced to the pins to hit the sweet spot perfectly.

“Boohaa!” I cried out, since that’s what you are supposed to do when someone pulls a gutter ball back from the edge, and Trent smiled. My heart flip-flopped, and I looked away, scratching a nine in the first box. “Ah, nice one,” I said as he waited for his ball to return.

“Thanks.” His fingers dangled over the dryer. “But I swear, if you tweak this ball like you do my golf balls, I’ll put fries in your beer.”

My head snapped up, and his smile widened until he laughed at me. “Leave my game alone,” he said, the rims of his ears going red.

“You’re going to regret that statement. I promise you that,” I said, and he smirked as he took his gaudy pink ball and set himself up to pick up the spare. Damn it, this was so not smart, but I couldn’t help but watch him. My fingers were trembling as I wrote down his score and stood for my first roll. I enjoyed flirting, and to be honest, it was almost a relief after biting back so many almost-said comments the last month.

And after all, it was only one date. One night of freedom so we both had something to compare the last three months with and know that they were not dates.

Just one night. I could do one night.


Five (#ulink_1680fc5a-3769-5cb7-93af-833bda6c55d1)

He eats his fries with mustard? I thought, watching Trent put the yellow squeeze bottle down and pull his basket closer as we sat at the bar and finished our dinner. The burgers had been heavenly and the conversation enlightening, even as it had been about nothing in particular.

Happy, I made a final notation on the scorecard and let the tiny pencil roll away. “Okay, okay, I’ll give you that last one, but only because I’m nice.”

“Nice, smice.” Trent dipped a fry and pointed it at me. “I took that pin fair and square. I can do magic while bowling.” He ate his fry and lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “You not knowing the charm doesn’t make it illegal.”

“Well, no, but it was kind of cheesy.”

“Cheesy?” He chuckled, looking nothing like himself but having everything I liked about him. I’d had a great time, and I’d been watching the clock with the first hints of regret. It had been unexpected, that feeling of forgetfulness, free for a time of who I was, and who he was, and what was expected of us. I didn’t want it to end. “Where did you learn to bowl?”

Trent watched his fingers, carefully picking out his next fry. “University. But you can’t use magic at the West Coast lanes. It’s not illegal, but it’s too unpredictable. How about you?”

I chuckled, glad when the music turned off. We were closing them down, and it felt good. “My brother belonged to a young bowlers’ league. When my mom worked weekends, he had to watch me. If I promised to leave him and his friends alone, he’d buy me a lane at the outskirts where I could mess around.”

Trent’s gaze went behind me to the last of the bowlers finishing their games. The cleaning staff was making inroads, but they wouldn’t shut the door for almost an hour. “Sounds lonely,” he said, dipping a fry.

“Not really.” But it had been. He was looking at my mouth again, and I wondered if he wanted to kiss me.

I dropped my head, and he shifted on the bar stool, the motion holding frustration.

“That was the best burger I’ve ever had to pay for,” he said to fill the silence. “I’m going to have to stop in the next time I’m in the area.”

“When do you ever get out here?” I could look at him now that he wasn’t looking at me.

“Never,” he admitted, his attention falling from the TV. “But I’d drive for this. Mmmm. The fries are good, too.”

“You should try them with ketchup,” I said, and then not knowing why, I pushed my basket toward him. There were a few fries in it, but it was the puddle of ketchup I was offering.

“I have,” he blurted, eyes wide to look charming. “I mean, I do, but not in public.”

I looked at his pointy ears, and he actually blushed.

“Right,” he said, then dragged his fry through my ketchup, not meeting my gaze as he chewed.

He used my ketchup, I thought, and something in me seemed to catch. “The good with the bad, yes?” I said, and when I lifted my pop, we clinked bottles. “Hey, I’m sorry about losing it today at the golf course. I should have handled that better. Bullies get the best of me.”

Absorbed with his fries, he shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. It surprised me when he brought up my background. I’ll do better next time. I’ve got a response now and everything.”

I took a swig of my drink and set it down. “Good luck remembering it. I always forget.” I wasn’t hungry, but I liked the idea of sharing a puddle of ketchup with him, and I ate one last fry. “It’s worth it, though, don’t you think? Not hiding?”

“God yes. I’ve not had to make any ugly decisions since Lucy came home.”

His voice had softened, and it was easy to see the love for his child. I knew he loved Ray just as much even though she didn’t have a drop of his blood. Ray was Quen and Ceri’s child. Trent had only repaired her damaged DNA, but the girls were being raised as sisters, especially now that Ceri was gone.

“So they come back tomorrow,” I prompted, wanting to see more of that soft look.

Trent nodded, the beer he’d nursed the last hour hanging between two fingers an inch above the bar. There was only one couple left at the lanes, the cook scraping the grill, and the guy at the shoe counter cleaning each pair before calling it a night. I liked Trent like this, relaxed and thinking of his kids, and I quashed a fleeting daydream. I couldn’t picture him in my church, living with the pixies, waking up in my bed. Stop it, Rachel.

A siren wailed in the distance. It felt like a warning, one I needed to heed. I wasn’t attracted to Trent because Al told me to leave him alone. I liked Trent because he understood who I was and would still sit at a bar with me and eat french fries. And it ends tomorrow.

“I’ll be glad when Quen gets back,” I said, eyes down.

“Oh? Has watching my back been that onerous?”

“No. It’s just that you take up a lot of my time.” And after tonight, I’m not going to have a damn thing to do.

Trent set my basket atop his and pushed them both to the side, making no move to leave. “You definitely have a different style than Quen. But you did a wonderful job of it. Thank you.”

Almost depressed, I watched the cook through the long thin pass-through. “Thank you,” I said, meaning it. Again we clinked bottles, and we both took a swallow. I was going to miss it. Miss everything. But the girls would be going back to Ellasbeth in three months. I could wait.

And then what, Rachel?

“I had a good time tonight,” he said as if reading my mind. “If things were different—”

“But they aren’t,” I interrupted. “Besides, you don’t pass my underwear test.” I needed to leave before I started to cry or break things. This really sucked.

“Your what?” Trent said, his eyes wide.

I couldn’t help the mental picture of him in tighty whities, then boxers, wondering which way he went. “My underwear test,” I said again, then added, “I can’t imagine folding your underwear week after week. That’s it.”

Seeming annoyed, Trent turned away. “I have people who do that for me.”

“That’s just it,” I said, fiddling with my pop bottle. This isn’t how I wanted to end this evening. “Even if you didn’t have this big thing you’re going to do with Ellasbeth, I can’t see you living in my church, or anywhere other than your estate, really, doing normal stuff like laundry, or dishes, or washing the car.” I thought of his living room, messy with preschool toys. I hadn’t ever imagined that, either. “Or trying to find the remote,” I said slowly.

“I know how to do all those things,” he said, his tone challenging, and I met his eyes.

“I’m not saying you don’t. I’m just saying I can’t imagine you doing those things unless you wanted to, and why would you?”

He was silent. In the kitchen, the cook began putting the food back into the big walk-in fridge. Trent’s jaw was tight, and I wished I’d never brought it up.

“Forget I said anything,” I said, touching his knee and pulling my hand back when his eyes darted down. “Laundry is overrated. I really enjoyed tonight. It was nice having a real date.”

Trent’s annoyance, startled away from that touch on his knee, evolved into a sloppy chagrin. Nodding, he spun his bar stool to take my hands and turn me to face him. It was ending. I could feel it. It was as if our entire three months together had been building to this one date. And now it was over.

“It was, wasn’t it?” Trent’s grip on my hands pulled me closer. My heart pounded. I knew what he wanted. There wasn’t a hint of energy trying to balance between us, but the tips of my hair were floating, and a sparkling energy seemed to jump between us. Trent’s eyes were fixed on mine, and I swallowed. He was feeling it too, a slight pressure on his aura, as if passing through a ley line.

Passing through a ley line?

“Do you feel that?” I said, remembering the same sensation on the bridge this afternoon.

“Mmmm,” he said, oblivious to my sudden disconcertment as he pulled me closer.

Oh God, he’s going to kiss me, I thought, then jumped at the bang at the shoe counter.

Trent jerked, a flash of energy balancing between us as he reached for a line.

My eyes darted to the shoe counter. A dusky haze hung over it. Under the smoke was a hole blown clear through the counter, the plastic melted, and above, an ugly stain on the ceiling. “What the fuck!” came from behind the remains of it, and the two people still on the lanes turned as the counter guy rose up, his beard singed and his eyes wide as he saw what was left of his desk. “Where the fuck are my shoes? Shit, my beard!”

It was smoldering, and he patted the fire out as a big man with suspenders came from a back room, a napkin in one hand. “What happened?” he said, then stopped short, staring at the counter. “What did you do?”

“The fucking shoe charm blew up!” the man said indignantly. “It just blew up!”

My heart pounded. Sparkly feeling, charm reacting with uncontrolled strength: it was starting to add up, and I looked at the couple returning to their game. Not every ball was charmed, but most were. Shit. “Stop!” I yelled as I slid from the stool, but it was too late, and the woman had released the ball. I watched it head for the gutter, then make a sharp right angle as if jerked by a string, bouncing over six lanes to bury itself in the wall with a bone-shattering thud.

It was happening again, and the woman turned to her boyfriend, white-faced. “Charles?” she warbled.

“No one do any magic!” I said, voice stark as it rang out. “You in the kitchen! Nothing!”

Everyone stared at me, Trent included, and my pulse rushed in my ears. Silence pooled up, and from outside we could hear pops and bangs followed by screams. The sirens we’d heard earlier took on a different meaning. A cold feeling slithered from the dark spaces between the realities, winding about my heart and squeezing. It was happening again, and it was worse.

“All right then,” the manager said, his expression determined as he crossed the bar. Reaching behind the demolished shoe counter, he grabbed a rifle, checking to see if it was loaded before striding to the door. The shoe guy followed, still patting at his beard. The couple from the lanes broke the rules and walked on the carpet with their borrowed shoes, and the cook came out from the back, hands working his stained apron to clean them as he walked.

Trent slid from his stool, but when I didn’t move, neither did he. It was happening again. Why? Was it me? Trent took my hand. Our eyes met. He looked worried.

Gun ready, the manager pushed open the door, everyone clustered behind him. Behind him, the sky was a ruddy red. “Good God Almighty,” he said, and I realized it was fire reflecting on the low clouds. “Greg, call 911. The Laundromat is on fire!”

People pushed outside around him, and Trent reached across me to take my shoulder bag. “Maybe we should leave,” he said, and I numbly nodded as he handed it to me.

Trent left a healthy tip on the table, and we headed for the door. The feeling of security, of a place set aside, was gone, and I tensed at his hand on the small of my back. We had to go sideways between the people to get out, and the smells hit me as I got too close: aftershave, perfume, grease, adrenaline.

My gaze went up as we got free of them, and my pace faltered. One street over, a three-story building was on fire, gouts of flame and black smoke rising through the empty shell, windows showing as bright squares and stark black lines. It reminded me of the ever-after, and I stared, listening to sirens and people shouting. Less than a block away, a car was on fire. The nearby apartment building reflected the light as a dozen people tried to put it out with a garden hose. People were coming from everywhere to help, even the sports bar half a block down.

Across the river, huge swaths of Cincinnati were dark from a power outage, and the gray buildings glowed with the reflected red light against the ruddy night sky. More sirens sounded faintly over the river, and I cringed at the imagined chaos. If it was bad here, it would be worse there.

Cars were starting up, the frightened jerky motions of the people showing their fear. “It’s not me,” I protested as Trent got me moving. “Trent, Al says my line is fine. It’s not me!”

“I believe you.”

His voice was grim, and I waited by his car as he pointed his fob and reached for my door. The car fire seemed under control, and Quen wouldn’t thank me for hanging around.

“Trent—” I started, gasping when the flaming car exploded. I dropped, pulling Trent down with me. I watched, mouth hanging open as chunks of burning car hit the ground to flicker and go out. A man’s high-pitched scream went to the pit of my being, terrifying as he fell to the ground, but the hose was already on him and the flames were out.

More people poured into the streets, the high flames and screams bringing the last of the diehards out of the bar to gawk and shout helpful advice. The man’s screaming had shifted to a gasping, pained cry, and the discarded hose spilled forgotten into the gutter. That this was happening all over the city was horrifying. Cincy couldn’t handle this. No city could.

“Do you think we can help?” I said, and Trent pulled his phone out.

“I have no signal,” he said, dismayed, and then we both turned to the dark street behind us at a terrified scream. It had come from the sports bar, and Trent’s grip on me tightened at the masculine shout following it, telling her to shut up and that she’d enjoy it.

My blood ran cold as a woman pleaded that she didn’t want to be a vampire.

Shit. My mind went to Ivy’s map. Were the misfires and violent crimes connected, or were the vampires simply responding to the overlying chaos? And where in hell were the masters?

“Let me go!” a woman screamed, her frantic cries muting at the slamming of the door. Behind me, people tried to keep the burned man alive. I was starting to get ticked. Living vampires didn’t just go bad, but there was a lot of fear in the air. Maybe it was too much for the masters to redirect. Pushing past Trent, I started across the street, swinging my bag around and digging through it. I couldn’t do anything to help the burned man, but by God I wasn’t going to walk away and leave that woman.

“Rachel, wait.”

If the woman was still screaming, we had a little time. Even so, I didn’t slow down. She’d said vampire, and they usually played with their food. “I’m not walking away,” I said as he fell into step beside me. “We both know what will happen if I do.”

“No,” he insisted. “Can I borrow your splat gun?”

I jerked to a stop, the woman’s frightened pleading a horrific backdrop. Shocked, I looked at Trent, my pulse pounding. He wanted to help? “Didn’t you bring anything?”

He shifted from foot to foot. “No. I was taking you on a date, not a stakeout.”

Yeah, I knew how that felt. I started for the building with a quick pace, an eye out for anyone else lurking in the shadows. “What am I supposed to use? You saw what happened to the ley line magic. Go back to the car. I’ll be right back.”

“Your magic is fine,” he said as he walked fast beside me.

“You call this fine?” I said, and he pulled me to a stop.

“Listen to the noise,” he said calmly, and my frantic pulse slowed. “It’s moving off. I felt whatever it was right before things went haywire, and it’s gone. Whatever it is, it’s past us. Try a spell. Something that won’t explode.”

The woman’s cries cut off with a startling smack of flesh on flesh. I had no time. I’d have to trust he was right. Breaking into a jog, I tossed my bag to Trent. “It’s in there. Don’t let them take her outside. If they get her alone, she’s dead or worse.”

Our feet scuffed on the sidewalk outside, but I didn’t care if they knew we were coming. “Got it,” Trent said, and I jerked the door open. I would have rather kicked it, but the hinges went only one way and I would’ve broken my foot. I’d learned this the hard way.

Trent came in behind me, my eyes going to the ceiling before returning to the three vampires at a back table: one woman, and two men, eyes blacker than the sky outside. The woman pinned to the table was in a bartending uniform. Her eyes met mine, her sobs punctuating the dwindling taunts as the vampires turned to us. My breath came easier. They were living vampires. Trent and I had a chance.

“Is this a bring-your-own-can-of-whoop-ass party?” I said, copping an attitude and pulling enough ever-after through me to make the strands of escaped hair float. The line felt normal, bolstering my confidence. “I got enough to pass if you three didn’t bring any.”

My gun in hand, Trent gave me a quizzical look. “Seriously?”

Shrugging, I shot him an annoyed look. “I’m kind of winging it here.”

The largest vampire let go of the woman, and the female vampire in pink-and-blue tights pulled her to herself, whispering in the terrified woman’s ear, her grip so tight it made the flesh between her fingers white.

The leader turned, running his eyes up and down my body, hopefully deciding I was too difficult to add to his evening’s entertainment, but the other, a cowering nervous man now that they had witnesses, tugged at his sleeve like a little boy.

“Vinnie. Vinnie!” he said, hunched as he looked at Trent and me. “It’s them free vampires. We got to go. Let’s go!”

Free vampires? I wondered, watching the leader, Vinnie, apparently, breathe deep, taking in the scents of the room and smiling as he realized we were nothing of the kind.

“Shut up,” he said, shoving the smaller man off him. “They aren’t vampires. That’s a witch and an elf. You ever tasted elf blood before? They say it tastes like wine.”

“And you’ll never know,” I said, finding my balance and pulling heavier on the line. “In fidem recipere, leno cinis,” I shouted dramatically, making a glowing ball hang right before me. My pulse raced, but it was perfect, the size I wanted and its construction without fault. It wouldn’t hurt them, but if I could cow them into leaving, I wouldn’t have to spend the rest of my night filling out forms. “You need to let her go,” I said boldly. Beside me, Trent took aim.

The show of force made the smaller vampire jiggle on his feet. “Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Vinnie, that’s Morgan!” he hissed, and the woman vampire finally quit her soft crooning. “Cormel’s demon. Come on. Let’s go!”

But Vinnie shoved the frightened vampire back, arrogant as he came forward three steps. “Cormel don’t scare me. Don’t let that woman go. This will only take a second.”

I pulled harder on the line, and the light glowed brighter, making the woman vampire hiss and drag the silent, tear-streaked bartender back. “Let’s try this again,” I said, and the largest vampire laughed. “You are going to let her go, and sit at a table. Pick one. It’s seat-yourself night. Otherwise, I’m within my rights to kick your collective ass until you’re unconscious. You know who I am, and that’s all the warning you’re going to get.”

The head vampire flicked his eyes to Trent, vamp pheromones rising like musky desire to make my neck tingle. He dropped back a step, and when I relaxed, he leaped at me, the other vampire screaming as he did the same a heartbeat behind.

“Celero dilatare!” I screamed, and the charm acted on the light curse already going, expanding it in a flash of light to blow them back.

The first vampire hit the floor, his head meeting it with a sodden thud. The smaller one handled it better, and he scrambled up as the woman vampire holding the bartender howled her anger. Even before regaining his feet, he fell, taken out by Trent’s first shot. His second hit the larger vampire, still dazed. His head fell back and hit the floor again. Two down, one to go.

“Help me!” the woman screamed as the last vampire dragged her away, and then all hell broke loose when the bartender began to wiggle wildly, thrashing out and clawing until the vampire threw her across the room and spun to run out the back.

“I’ve got her!” I shouted, hoping Trent didn’t down me with my own spell as I launched myself at her.

My breath exploded from me as I hit her and we went down, the vampire shrieking in anger and affront. Grabbing her luscious hair, I slammed her head into the floor. “This is why . . . you never leave . . . your hair loose!” I shouted in time with my motions.

“Rachel! You got her!” Trent cried out, jerking back when he touched me and I almost hit him. “You got her,” he said softer. “It’s over.”

Panting, I stopped. I was shaking, and I scrubbed a hand over my face before I slipped my hand in his and he helped me rise. My elbow felt like it was on fire, and I stood over the downed woman and twisted it to see. I had a floor burn, but if that was all I walked away from here with, then I’d done good.

No, we’d done good, I amended, seeing the gun still in Trent’s hand. He didn’t seem to know what to do with it, and I understood.

“Where’s the bartender?” I said, and we spun when she came out from behind the bar, a big-ass rifle in her hand. Her face was wet from crying, but her expression was of hate and fear. The sound of it cocking shocked through me, and I put my hands in the air.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! It’s okay! We got ’em!” I said, and Trent shoved the gun behind him into his waistband and out of sight.

Hunched, she came closer, the gun pointed at the largest vampire. “They tried to take me!” she screamed, and the adrenaline was a slap, clearing my thoughts. “They were going to turn me into a doll! I’m going to kill them! This is my place, and I’m going to kill them!”

Her eyes were darting between all three, and I let my arms come down. I nudged Trent, and he did the same. “Look, they’re all unconscious,” I said softly. “It’s over. You’re safe.”

“The hell I am! We have laws against this! Where are the master vampires! They’re supposed to protect us! I called the I.S. and no one came! If I ever see another vampire in my place, I’m going to shoot them on sight!”

I totally understood, but I edged closer, trying get between her and the vampires. “It’s over. You’re okay,” I said, hands out in placation. “You’re not marked or bitten, you’re okay. Tomorrow will be the same as today. Put the gun down. They aren’t getting up.”

“Rachel!” Trent shouted, and I turned, seeing the last female vampire I’d knocked unconscious coming at me.

“No!” I shouted, then dropped as the rifle went off.

“Leave me alone!” the bartender screamed, shaking as she stood with the smoking rifle in her hand. “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!”

Yep, she killed her, I thought. The female vampire had a hole in her chest big enough to put your fist in. The hole in her back would be bigger, and I thought the woman would look better with less makeup as she sighed her last breath and her pale hand fell against the scratched floor.

“Give me that,” Trent said, jerking the gun from the bartender’s slack grip as she stood, a shocked expression on her as she watched the vampire die her first death. Collapsing to the floor, the bartender began to sob, rocking back and forth with her knees drawn to her chin.

Gunpowder pricked in my nose. I got up as Trent took the last shell from the rifle, tucking it in his pocket before gently setting the weapon on the nearest table. There was no blood on me. No blood on Trent. There was a growing puddle of it on the floor under the woman vampire, and I looked at the clock over the jukebox. They’d want to know what time she died to better estimate her rising, though by the look of it, it might be weeks.

Silent, Trent eased to stand beside me. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say that a date with you is nothing like having you work security. Let’s not tell Quen about this, okay?”

I slowly looked him up and down. He seemed to be taking this rather well, but then again, I’d seen him kill a man in his office. Flashing me a mirthless smile, he started scanning the place. “You see a tablecloth anywhere?”

To cover the dead vampire, I thought, shaking my head. The woman was still crying. I knew I should comfort her, but I was kind of pissed at her right now. Leaving her to cry, I found my shoulder bag and dug out my phone.

“How come you got a signal?” Trent said, grunting when he checked his phone and found the towers were back up. Unfortunately the 911 circuits were busy, with a recorded message saying to hold for a thirty-minute wait time.

“Nuts to that,” I said, thinking I wasn’t going to spend my night here with a dead vampire. Hanging up, I called Edden’s direct line. “Edden,” I said as soon as his deep, low voice came clear over the sound of ringing phones and tense voices.

“Rachel? I don’t have time right now.”

Impatient, I pressed the phone to my ear. “I’m in a bar on Hostant Drive. I’ve got two vampires under sleep charms and another dead, possibly twice from a hole in her chest.”

Edden went silent, and the woman stopped crying at the sound of Trent locking the front door. “Oh,” Edden finally said. “Did you call 911?”

“Duh! There’s like a thirty-minute wait time. Edden, is there a vamp war going on? They mentioned something about free vampires.” Suddenly itchy, I turned to the door, wanting to leave.

“If there is, it involves all of them.” Edden’s voice went distant for a moment, then came back stronger. “My God, it’s a mess. The I.S. is completely down. Looks like one of your misfire waves came through again. Hold on.”

“It’s not my wave,” I grumbled, one arm across my middle as Trent finally got the woman to get up off the floor and into a chair facing away from the blood and violence. “Edden,” I started when I heard the phone picked back up.

“Do you have the situation contained?” he asked, and my eyes met Trent’s. He probably didn’t want to be seen here with a corpse on the floor.

“Unless their friends show up. Yes.”

“Okay. Good. I’m sending someone right now. There’s a fire a few blocks from you, so it won’t be but five minutes. Just sit tight. Can you do that?”

I looked at the woman sobbing quietly to herself. It was more gentle, broken almost, but I remembered her fear and her outright decisive lethal action. Forty years of carefully built coexistence gone in five terrifying minutes. We were that close to losing it all.

“I’ll be here,” I said softly. “We could really use an ambulance while you’re at it. Someone was burned very badly at the fire. And thanks.”

Muttering something, he hung up. Not closing the phone, I called David’s number, but there was no answer and I didn’t leave a message. Trent was standing behind the bar, pouring vodka into a single glass when I texted Ivy that I ran into some difficulty but was okay and would be home a little later than planned. No need to tell her that vampires were behaving badly. She probably already knew that. I hoped Nina was okay. The safe houses would be busy tonight.

“You ever hear of free vampires?” I said as I went to the bar to sit and wait. Head shaking no, Trent set the vodka beside the woman and returned to stand beside me and lean against the bar, his entire body stiff with tension. “That was fun,” I said sarcastically, then noticed a darker anger in him, one deeper than the mess before us would warrant. “You okay?”

“I called to tell Quen that I was all right, and he informed me Ellasbeth is refusing to bring the girls home.”

Lips parting, I reached out. “What? She can’t do that! Ray isn’t even hers!”

My eyes darted to the dead vampire, unsure if that sigh had been caused by a muscle release or voluntary.

“Ellasbeth says that with the misfires impacting Cincinnati she has every right not to bring them into a dangerous situation,” he said. “That the estate is outside of the area doesn’t seem to matter.”

Worried, I gave his arm a squeeze. “I’m sorry. You know you’ll get them back. She can’t do this.”

His expression eased as his attention came back to me, and I suddenly realized we were inches apart. “Yes, I will,” he said softly. “How are you? Still shaky?”

Feeling the warmth between us, I looked at my skinned elbow. “Fine. Edden’s sending someone. You can go if you want. We’ll be okay.” Unless the bartender had another gun stashed somewhere.

He glanced over at the bar, gaze settling on the rifle with his prints on it. “I’ll wait. Besides, this is the most excitement I’ve had in three months.” His smile went right through me, warming me from the inside. “I’m glad we did this,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

“The date, right?” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “Not the . . . this?”

Eyebrows high, he brushed me as he leaned over the bar for a bottled water. Tingles raced up my arm, and I didn’t move. “I can honestly say that a date is nothing like working with you,” he said as he cracked the top of it and handed it to me.

I took a swig before handing it back. I was curious to see if he’d drink from it as well. My skin was still tingling, and my heart pounded when he looked at his watch, smiled, and then leaned in to kiss me.

My first flash of annoyance evaporated in a puff. His hands pulled me closer, and the sensation of fire dove through me, plinking every single trigger I had. The scent of cinnamon and vampire pheromones rose, and a soft sigh escaped me. This wasn’t enough, and uncaring of tomorrow, I slid from the stool. Our lips parted as he stumbled, and then I pulled him to me, arms going around him and up into his hair.

I had spent the last three months looking at his hair, wondering what it would feel like in my fingers again. Three long months I’d watched him move, seen him in every possible piece of clothing and wondered what he’d look like out of them and how he might move against me when the darkness was velvet and the sheets were cool. Three months of saying no, be good, Rachel, be smart, Rachel.

I wanted one damn kiss, and I was going to have it, by God.

“You are fucking animals!” the woman at the table exclaimed, and when Trent’s lips threatened to slip from mine, I sent the barest dart of tongue past his lips to recapture his attention. It worked. His breath caught, and I swear the man growled. His arm crushed me to him, and it was all I could do to not wrap my legs around him. Bar stools could hold that much weight, right?

“There are three dead vampires on my floor, and you are making out?”

Energy darted between us, and breathless, I pulled back, the sound of our lips parting sparking through me. Trent’s eyes smoldered. I held their heat, tasting him on my lips. It wasn’t the vampire pheromones in here. It was three months of saying no.

“Relax,” I said to her, never dropping Trent’s gaze. My heart was pounding, and I still didn’t care about tomorrow. “Only one of them is dead, and I think she’s going to make it. You probably won’t even have any jail time.”

“Jail time! They tried to blood rape me!”

“Like I said. No jail time.”

Trent was still silent, but he was smiling at the sound of boots and the flash of cop lights on the front sidewalk. The woman made a tiny sound and ran to unlock the door. We slowly parted, his hand slipping from me in a sensation of tingles. My smile faded as I looked at his hand and realized I’d never hold it again.

That hadn’t been our first kiss, but it had been our last.


Six (#ulink_c1d798c1-65c1-5cbd-866c-e6757a7bd07a)

And there are no indications it will be any better tonight,” Edden said, his hand smacking the podium with a loud pop.

My head snapped up at the sharp sound, but not before my chin slipped off my palm and I did a classic head bob. Jerked awake, I looked over the FIB’s shift change meeting to see if anyone had noticed. The dream of purple, angry eyes and spinning wheels lingered, and I thought I could still hear the sound of wings beating upon me in punishment.

Sheepish, I resettled myself. I wasn’t surprised I’d nodded off, having come in early to the FIB to first fill out a report about the bar incident and, second, to get my car out of impound. Sleep had been a few hours on the couch, fitful and not enough of it. Coffee had lost its punch, and a vending machine no-doze charm wasn’t going to happen. Those things could kill you, especially now, maybe. It was starting to become really clear what might be going on, and even though there were more questions than answers, it didn’t look good.

Edden was up front between a podium and a big map hanging from the dry erase board. The city was cordoned off like one of Ivy’s maps, little red stickers showing vampire crimes, blue ones the misfired charms. There was an obvious pattern to the misfired charms, but the vampire crimes were widespread within the confines of Cincy and the Hollows, with no recognizable linkage to the sporadic waves other than they seemed to start at the same time.

Edden was hiding a smirk, clearly having caught my head bob, but his voice never faltered. There were rows of officers between me and him, and you could tell which officers were going off shift by the fatigue.

“I need some coffee,” I whispered to Jenks, tickling the roof of my mouth with my tongue to try to wake up.

“Yeah, me too,” he said, rising up with an odd blue dust. “You know what they say. You can tell a human by how many meetings he has. I’ll be back. I gotta get me some of that honey.”

“Honey!” I whispered, but he was gone, flying right down the center aisle and turning heads as he went for the coffee urn set to the side at the front of the room. Oh God, he was going to get drunk, right when I was trying to show them all how professional I was.

“We’re all pulling the occasional double shift until we’re sure this is over,” Edden said as Jenks saluted him and landed by the little packets of honey there for the tea drinkers.

“Captain,” one of the more round officers complained as a general air of discontent rose.

“No exceptions, and don’t trade with anyone,” Edden said, then hesitated as Jenks stabbed a honey packet with his sword, his dust shifting to a brilliant white when he pulled a pair of chopsticks from a back pocket and started eating. “Rose is doing the schedule so no one gets two nights in a row. I say again—no trading.”

The officers not griping were watching Jenks, and the pixy looked up, his chopsticks lifted high over his head as the honey dribbled into him. “What?” he said, his dust cutting off in a reddish haze. “You never seen a pixy before? Listen to Edden. I’m eating here.”

Edden cleared his throat and stepped from the podium. “As for our last item, I know it was a rough night, but before you go, I’d like those of you who dealt with something . . . ah, of an Inderland nature to share what you did and how it worked for those coming on shift.”

“Inderland nature,” an older cop with a raspy voice and belligerent attitude complained. “I was almost eaten last night.”

Snickering, Jenks dribbled more honey into his mouth, but I didn’t see anything funny. Whether he knew it or not, the craggy officer probably wasn’t exaggerating.

“I didn’t see you complaining at the time,” said the cop next to him, and the first officer turned to stare him down.

“Callahan!” Edden said, shouting over the sudden ribbing. “Since you volunteered. Let’s hear what happened on your Inderlander encounter and how you dealt with it.”

“Well, sir, I believe the woman bewitched me,” he said slowly. “My partner and I were responding to a misfired charm up by the zoo when we spotted two suspects outside a window, trying to break in. I politely asked them if they had lost their keys. They ran; we followed. One got away. When I tried to apprehend the other, she got all . . . sexy like.”

Hoots and whistles rose, and Jenks, deep into his honey drunk, gyrated wildly.

“Eyes black and coming on to me like one of those legalized prostitutes down in the Hollows,” he continued. “It was enough to embarrass a man.”

Jenks almost spun right off the table and I hid my eyes, mortified.

“I don’t see an arrest,” Edden said as he leafed through a clipboard.

“You get yourself some vampire ass, Callahan?” someone shouted, and the man cracked an almost-not-there grin.

“When I turned around, she was gone,” Callahan said.

A woman made a long “awwww,” and I smiled. They had a good group. I missed that.

“She wasn’t going to bang you, she was going to smack you into next week,” I said, and Edden hid a cough behind rubbing his mustache. “That is, if you were lucky.”

Callahan turned in his chair to give me an irritated look. “And you would know how?”

I shrugged, glad everyone was looking at me and not Jenks making a wobbly flight to the podium. “Because when a vampire gets sexy, they’re either hungry or mad. Cornering her was a mistake. You’re lucky. You must have left her an out. She was smart and took it.”

They were silent. Slowly the tension rose. But I wasn’t going to keep my mouth shut if a little information might keep someone out of the hospital.

“Everyone, if you don’t recognize her, this is Rachel Morgan,” Edden said, and I could breathe again when they turned away. “I asked her to come in and give us some ideas on how to handle the issues falling to us right now as the I.S. takes care of an internal problem.”

There was a rising muttered complaint, and Edden held up a hand, then scrambled to catch Jenks as he slipped backward down the slanted podium. “Morgan is a former I.S. runner, and if she says you’re lucky, Callahan, you’re lucky. Rachel, what should he have done?”

I sat up, glad I’d pulled something professional from my closet today. “Not follow.”

They all protested, and my eyes squinted. You can lead a troll to water . . .

“She’s right!” Jenks shrilled, cutting off most of the grousing. “The woman is right! Righter than . . . a pixy in a garden.” He belched, wings moving madly as he tilted to the side.

I wondered if I should stand, then decided to stay where I was. “If you don’t have the skills or strength to back up your badge—and I’m sorry, but your weapons won’t do it—it’s best to just let them go. Unless they’re threatening someone, that is. Then you’re going to have to work hard to distract them until they remember the law can put them in a cage.”

Damn, even the women cops were looking at me like I was a hypocrite. “I don’t care if you don’t like it,” I said. “One vampire is enough to clear this entire room if he or she is angry enough. The master vampires will bring them in line.”

“But they aren’t,” said a woman who had clearly, judging by her bedraggled appearance, come in off the night shift. Around her, others nodded. “No one has been able to contact an undead vampire within the Cincinnati or Hollows area since yesterday afternoon.”

Surprised, I looked at Edden, becoming uneasy when he nodded. “How come this is the first I’m hearing about it?” I said, suddenly very awake. If the master vampires were incommunicado, that’d explain the increase in living-vampire crimes. For all the loving abuse the masters heaped upon their children, they did keep the bad ones in line when no one else could.

Edden straightened from his concerned hunch over Jenks. “Because we agree with the I.S. that it would cause a panic. The masters aren’t dead, they’re sleeping, and so far, it’s confined to the Cincy and Hollows area. The I.S. tried bringing in a temporary master vampire from out of state to handle things yesterday, and she fell asleep within five hours.”

I bit my lip, processing it. All the undead sleeping? No wonder the I.S. was down.

“Which brings me back to you, Rachel,” he said, and my head snapped up. “I originally asked you here to give us options for dealing with aggressive Inderlanders, but I think we’ve gone beyond that. What’s your Inderland take on the situation? Are the misfired charms and the sleeping undead vampires linked?”

Silence descended as everyone looked at me. That they were linked was obvious. The real question should be, was any of this intentional or simply a natural phenomenon, and if deliberate, was the goal to put the masters out of commission, create havoc with misfired charms, or both? If someone was creating the wave, it could be stopped. If it was a natural effect, it was going to be up to me—seeing as the wave was coming from my line.

Nervous, I picked up my shoulder bag and got to my feet. Jenks saw me coming, trying to sit up as his one wing refused to function, swearwords falling from him as his heels flipped up and he toppled backward down the podium. “Upsy-daisy,” Edden said as he caught him slipping off the edge, and Jenks giggled, his high voice clear in the dead air.

“Why would she help us? She’s a demon,” someone muttered, and Edden frowned.

“Because she’s a good demon, Frank,” he said, voice iron hard as he held Jenks gently in his cupped hand. Giving Edden a wry smile, I held my bag open and he dropped Jenks inside.

“Hey!” the pixy protested, and then, “Tink’s little pink dildo, Rache! Haven’t you gotten rid of those condoms yet? They got a shelf life, you know.”

I flushed, handing the bag to Edden as I turned. That awful map was behind me, and I shifted until I wasn’t behind the podium, not liking the feeling of separation I got behind it. “That the waves, the sleeping undead, and the vampire violence are linked is obvious,” I said, half turning to glance at the map. “I don’t know how to stop the waves, but until we figure it out, there are a few things that can be done to minimize the damage from the superpowered waves.”

“Superpowered?” someone in the back questioned, and I nodded.

“According to, ah, a reliable source, the misfires are actually an overexpression of what the charm is supposed to do, so a charm intended to clean grease removes the fat not just from the counter but from the person who invoked it. Fortunately, the waves appear to impact only charms invoked right when the wave is passing over them. Those already running aren’t affected.”

Most of them were staring at me in bewilderment. It was frustrating. Another witch would know exactly what I was talking about, and I wondered how charismatic Edden’s public relations person was. This was going to go down hard in the Inderland community. “You might want to work with the I.S. and get an early warning detector out to Loveland where the waves are originating. If you tell people not to invoke any magic ahead of a wave, that will probably minimize or eliminate probably ninety percent of the magic misfires.”

“What about the vampires?”

Good question. “Which brings me to the vampires. It’s a good bet that the increase in crime is simply a combination of the heightened fear brought on by the misfires and the masters being asleep and unable to curtail it. Take out one of the three legs, and the stool will fall. If you wake the undead up, the violence will stop. Curtail or eliminate the misfires, and the violence will probably diminish. Fear is a trigger to bloodlust, and the fewer misfires, the less fear there will be to trigger a twitchy vampire.”

Again silence fell, but it was the quiet of thinking. “So who’s making the waves?” someone asked.

Good question number two. “I’d guess someone who would benefit from the chaos. Someone trying to hide a crime? Or a firm specializing in disaster recovery?”

Or a demon, I thought, thinking this was just the thing to amuse a bored sadist. Newt, though, had seemed genuinely concerned. Damn it to the Turn and back, I didn’t have enough clout to work another deal with the demons. I’d barely survived the last one.

Edden rubbed his face, starting at the feel of his bristles, and I wondered how long he’d been here. The officers, too, were getting fidgety, and it felt as if I should wrap this up.

“In the meantime, it might be a good idea to block off access to some of the smaller parks to minimize large gatherings. Or better yet, Edden, have you given any thought to installing a curfew? Blame it on the magic misfire, not the vampires.”

Edden winced. “Ye-e-e-es. Cincinnati has more people on the street at night than the day. We saw a drop last night except for gawkers, but even they became scarce when the vampires took over the streets.”

An officer at the edge sat up. “What if we just shut down the buses? We wouldn’t have a repeat of what happened out at the university.”

“What happened at the university?” I asked, then put a hand in the air. “Never mind. You could always put a cop on the buses going from the Hollows to Cincinnati. That would probably take care of most of it.”

Callahan made a bark of laughter. “And where do you expect to get the manpower, missy? We’re double shifting as it is.”

Missy? I was losing them. “That’s another thing. The I.S. can’t be completely down, just disorganized, and if there’s something the FIB is good at, it’s organization. Has anyone thought to ask the witches or Weres in the I.S.’s runner division to sit in with you in your cars or walk the streets with you? Mixed-species partners are encouraged in the I.S. for a reason. I’d think having someone next to you who can smell vampires a block away is worth looking into. Besides, if the I.S. is down as far as you say it is, the witches and Weres are probably ready to take things into their own hands. You give them a well-structured outlet, they’ll jump at it.”

Edden shifted from foot to foot behind me. My jaw tightened as they just stared at me. “Fine,” I said sarcastically. “Last night I watched a woman blow a hole in a vampire because she lost faith in the I.S.’s ability to protect her. If you don’t get a hold of this, and I mean now, you’re going to have an entire city of vigilantes out gunning for vampires, good or bad. Or you can swallow your pride and not only show the witches and Weres your stuff, but demonstrate to a frightened demographic that you can work with other species instead of killing them.”

“O-o-o-okay!” Edden said as he put a hand on my shoulder, and I jumped. “Thank you, Rachel. I appreciate you sharing your thoughts and ideas with us this morning. Gentlemen? Ladies? Smart decisions.”

It was clearly his catchphrase to release them, and disgusted, I dropped back as the assembled officers began to collect themselves. Their expressions were a mix of distrust and disgust, ticking me off.

“If you’re interested in a joint effort of I.S. and FIB, tell Rose to put your name on a list,” Edden said loudly over the noise. “If your name is on the joint-effort list, it won’t be on the double-duty list. It’s as easy as that, people. Keep it safe!”

“That’s not fair, Captain . . .” someone complained, and Edden turned away. His expression was pained as he handed me my bag, Jenks still sleeping his honey drunk off inside.

“Think they’ll go for it?” I asked.

“Some will to get out of pulling double duty. A few more will because they’re curious.”

“Good,” I said as the room emptied and he began to take down his map. “I meant it when I said the witches and Weres will try to pull the I.S. together, but most of the top bosses there are the undead. They’ll lose a lot of time organizing unless they agree to work with the FIB.”

His expression was sour, and he wouldn’t meet my eyes as he rolled the map into a tube.

“Edden, you need their help,” I pleaded. “It’s not just an issue of manpower or officer safety. Right now the living vampires are skittish, but if their masters don’t wake up soon, we’re going to have more abductions and blood rapes than graffiti and trash parties at the university.”

Map in one hand, he gestured with the other for me to head to the hall. “I’m taking names and will make a call. The rest is up to them. Not everyone with a badge is an Inderland bigot.”

Edden’s eyes were pinched as I fell into step beside him. I knew he missed Glenn, and not just because the Inderlander Relations division that Glenn had been in charge of had tanked when he’d quit the FIB. “I read your report,” he said. “Why was Kalamack with you last night?”

Wow, word gets around fast. “His girls come back tomorrow. It was a thank-you dinner.”

Edden’s eyebrows rose knowingly. “At a bowling bar?”

I smiled as we made our way to the front of the building. “They have great burgers.”

“Yeah?” Edden tapped the rolled map on his chin. “And he stood back and let you work.”

“Yup,” I lied cheerfully. I’d thought Trent had been trying to stop me, but he’d only wanted to borrow my gun. Not that he was a slouch with the elven magic, but he didn’t have a license to throw charms around as I did. Magic could be traced back to its maker, even a ley line charm, and if the FIB thought I’d shot the vampires, then Trent’s name wouldn’t even make the papers. He had surprised me, and I liked being surprised.

And the kiss . . . A tingle raced through me. Slowly my smile faded. Ellasbeth didn’t know what she had.

The noise in the reception hall swelled as we entered, and Edden sighed at the angry people at the front desk, none of them listening to the officers trying to get them to take a form and go sit in the chairs to fill it out. I could understand why they were upset, seeing as all the chairs were occupied and the take-a-number dispenser they’d put up was only six numbers different from when I’d come through about an hour ago.

“Thanks for this, Rachel.” Edden halted before the glass doors. “You got your car?”

I carefully opened my shoulder bag, easily finding my keys by the light of a snoring pixy. “Thanks, Edden,” I said, shaking the pixy dust off them so they wouldn’t short out my ignition. “It was worth the early morning. Speaking of which, you need to go home.”

Hands in his pockets, he looked out uneasily at the sunny street, the lack of cars obvious. “Maybe next year.” He again scrubbed a hand over his face, dead tired, and I remembered that he didn’t really have anyone to go home to. “We might find something good in this mess.”

Smiling, I put a hand on his shoulder, leaning in to give him a professional kiss on the cheek and making him redden. I knew he was talking about Inderlanders and humans working together, and I hoped he was right. “Let me know if something changes.”

He nodded, pushing the door open for me, and my hair blew back in the draft. “You too.”

It was almost eleven, right about the time I usually got up, and feeling a faint sense of rejuvenation, I strode into the sun. “You want some coffee, Jenks?” I said loudly, knowing he wouldn’t be up for at least ten more minutes. Junior’s was only a couple of blocks away, and a grande, skinny double espresso, with a shot of raspberry, extra hot with no foam, would have a much-appreciated dose of fat and calories in it. “Yeah, me too,” I said, taking the stairs with an extra bounce to pull a tiny groan from my bag. My car could stay at impound a few minutes more.

But as I took to the sidewalk, my fast pace quickly faltered. The streets were more empty than usual, and the people who were out moved with a fast, furtive pace, very unlike the angry frustration inside the security of the FIB. Pamphlets skated down the gutters, and new graffiti was everywhere. Some of it I couldn’t match to a Were pack, making me wonder if it might be vampire, as odd as it would be. The scent of oil-based smoke was a haze between Cincinnati’s buildings, visible now that the sun was up, and I tugged my shoulder bag higher, uneasy.

No one was meeting my eyes, and the obnoxious men who usually refused to shift an inch out of their way so we could actually—I don’t know—share the sidewalk maybe, were quick to make room as if afraid I might touch them. It wasn’t just me, though. Everyone was getting the extra space. Tempers were short, and there were lots of quick accelerations when the lights turned green. Most telling, the usual sign-toting beggars were off the streets.

The wind lifted through my hair, sending the escaping strands of my braid to tickle my neck, and realizing I’d been out of touch for almost an hour, I turned my phone back on. “Oh,” I said, pace faltering as I saw all the missed numbers. David.

Wincing, I stopped, shifting myself up the steps at Fountain Square to get out of the foot traffic. Guilt swam up from the cracks of my busy life. I was not a good female alpha, too involved in my own life’s drama to include much of anyone else’s, but damn it, when I agreed to it, David had said it was only going to be him. That had been the entire point. He’d added to the pack since then, not that I could blame him. He was a fabulous alpha male, and I was beginning to feel as if I was holding him back.

Sighing, I hit send and tucked my increasingly dilapidated braid out of the way. He answered almost immediately.

“Rachel!” His pleasant voice sounded worried, and I could picture him, his clean-cut features and tidy suit he wore at his job as an insurance adjuster making his alpha status clear. “Where are you?”

Head down, I rested my rump on one of the huge planters, feeling about three inches tall. “Ah, downtown Cincy,” I said hesitantly. “I tried to call yesterday, and then that wave came through and—”

“Ivy said you were at the FIB. I need to talk to you. Do you have some time today?”

Talk to me about me being a lousy alpha, no doubt. “Sure. What’s good for you?”

“She also told me what happened at the bridge yesterday. Why don’t you tell me these things?” he said, adding to my guilt. “Okay, that’s funny. Look up.”

I took my fingers from my forehead, head lifting.

“No, across the street. See?”

It was David, standing at the corner beside a newspaper box and waving at me. He was in his long duster, heavy boots, and wide-brimmed hat, which made him look like a thirtysomething Van Helsing. It suited him more than his usual suit and tie, and being an insurance adjuster wasn’t the cushy, pencil-pushing job it sounded like. He had teeth, and he used them to get the real dirt on some of the more interesting Inderlander accidents. That’s how we had met, actually.

“H-how . . .” I stammered, and he smiled across the street at me.

“I was trying to get to the FIB before you left,” he said, his lips out of sync with his voice. “I’ve got coffee. Grande, skinny double espresso, shot of raspberry, extra hot, and no foam okay?” he said, taking up a coffee carrier currently sitting on the newspaper box.

“God, yes,” I said, and he waved me to stay where I was. Smiling, I ended the call. Not only did he know I liked my coffee, but he knew how I liked my coffee.

Motion easy, the medium-build man loped across the street against traffic, one hand holding the tray with the coffees, the other raised against the cars. Every single one of them slowed to let him pass with nary a horn or shouted curse, such was his assurance. David was the apex of confidence, and very little of it was from the curse I’d innocently given him, accidentally making him the holder of the focus and able to demand the obedience of any alpha, and hence their pack members in turn. He wore the responsibility very well—unlike me.

“Rachel,” he said as he reached the sidewalk and took the shallow steps two at a time. “You look beat!”

“I am,” I said, giving him a hug and breathing in the complicated mix of bane, wood smoke, and paper. His black shoulder-length hair pulled back in a tie smelled clean, and I lingered, recognizing the strength in him in both body and mind. When I’d met him, he’d been a loner, and though he had firmly established himself as a pack leader now, he’d retained the individual confidence a loner was known for.

“Thanks for the coffee,” I said, carefully wedging it out of the carrier as he extended it. “You can hunt me down any day if you bring me coffee.”

Chuckling, he shook his head, his dark eyes flicking down from the huge vid screen over the square, currently tuned to the day’s national news. Cincy was in it again, and not in a good way. “I didn’t want to talk to you over the phone, and I’ve got the day off. You got a minute?”

My guilt rushed back, my first sip going bland on my tongue. “I’m sorry, David. I’m a lousy alpha.” I slumped, the coffee he’d brought me—the perfect coffee he knew was my favorite—hanging in my grip. It was never supposed to have been anything other than the two of us. The larger pack just sort of happened.

Blinking, he fixed his full attention on me, making me wince. “You are not,” he admonished, coffee in hand and leaning against the planter, looking like an ad for Weres’ Wares magazine. “And that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about. Have you heard of a group called the Free Vampires?”

Surprised, I relaxed my hunched shoulders. “One of the vamps last night thought I was one, but no. Not really.”

His eyes shifted to the people around us, the motion furtive enough to pull a ribbon of worry through me. It was busy at the square, knots of people clustered around their laptops and tablets, but none nearby. Leaning closer, he dropped his head to prevent anyone from reading his lips. “They’re also known as Free Curse Vampires or Vampires Without Masters,” he said, sending a chill through me. “They’ve been around since before the Turn. That’s their mark there, up on the vid screen.”

My eyes followed his twisting head, only now noticing that the huge monitor overlooking Fountain Square did indeed have a gang symbol spray-painted on it, the huge symbol looking as if a V and a F had been typeset over each other, the leg of the F merging seamlessly with the left side of the V to look elegantly aggressive. It also looked impossible to have gotten it up there.

“Huh,” I said, now remembering seeing it on some of the buses this morning. And in the intersection outside of the FIB. Light poles. Corner mailboxes . . . Concerned, I leaned to pick up one of those flyers, finding it read like wartime propaganda. “How can they survive without a master? I’d think they wouldn’t last a year.”

David watched me shove the flyer in my bag. “Hiding, mostly, maintaining the same patterns that kept all vampires safe before the Turn. It’s not hard to file their canines flat or take day jobs to avoid their kin. It’s sort of a cult following, one not well represented because, as you guessed, they don’t have a master vampire to protect them. We occasionally insure them, seeing as they can’t go to a vampire-based company. There’s been a jump in their numbers the last couple of days. Some of it could be attributed to the undead being asleep, but—”

I choked on my coffee, sputtering until I got my last swallow down. “You know about that?” I asked, my watering eyes darting. We were right next to the fountain so it was unlikely anyone would hear, but Edden had made it obvious that it was privileged information.

Smiling an easy smile, David put his back to the planter and us shoulder to shoulder. “You can gag the news, but you can’t blind an insurance company intent on adjusting a claim. They’re coming out of the woodwork, making me think they’re more represented than previously thought, perhaps the fringe children who aren’t really noticed much and get little protection anyway. They have a statistically improbably high rate of immediate second-death syndrome, which is why I know about them. My boss is tired of paying out on the claims.”

David took a sip of his coffee, eyes unfocused as he looked across the street. “One of their core beliefs is that the undead existence is an affront to the soul. Rachel, I’m not liking where this is going.”

I thought about it, the July morning suddenly feeling cold. “You think they might be responsible for putting the undead asleep? To show their living kin what freedom is?” I said incredulously, almost laughing, but David’s expression remained anxious. “Vampires don’t use magic, and that’s what this wave is made of.”

“Well, they’ve been using something to survive without the protection of a master. Why not witch magic?” he said. “What worries me is that up to now they’ve been very timid down to the individual, hiding in the shadows and avoiding conflict. Their entire belief system circles around the original vampire sin and that the only way to save their souls is to promote an immediate second death after the first. That they’d put the masters to sleep doesn’t bother me as much as that they would keep doing it after they realized it promoted vampire violence.” David shook his head. “It doesn’t sound like them.”

But someone was pulling these waves into existence. That the only faction who might want to see an end to the masters didn’t have the chutzpah to do it wasn’t helping. Frustrated, I slumped back against the planter, squinting up at FV mashed into one letter. Behind it, someone had their “magic wall” showing a replica of Edden’s map of vampire violence, the enthusiastic newsman tapping individual dots to bring up the gory details to focus on individual tragedies with the excitement of a close political race.

No undead existence? I thought. Ivy would embrace that, even if she’d never take her second life. Though we’d never talked about it, I knew she was terrified of becoming one of the undead, knowing firsthand what they were capable of in their soulless state and the misery they could heap upon their children, most of them beautiful innocents kept in an intentional childlike state who loved their abusers with the loyalty of an abandoned child suddenly made king.

Kisten had died twice in quick succession, both times in an attempt to keep me alive and unharmed. His final words still haunted me: that God kept their souls for them until they died their second death. To get it back after committing the heinous acts necessary to survive would send them straight to hell—if a hell existed at all. A quick and sudden second death might be the only thing to save a true believer.

Uneasy, I dropped my eyes. Vampires were truly messed up, but I didn’t think a quick second death was the answer.

“I need to talk to a Free Vampire,” I said softly, and David chuckled, a rough hand rubbing his chin and the faint hint of day-old stubble.

“I thought you might say that. I can’t, of course, give you an address, as that would be a breach of Were Insurance policy.”

“David . . .” I protested.

“No-o-o-o,” he drawled, pushing himself up and away from the planter. “Go home. Get some sleep. Give me some time to be subtle.”

Subtle? My lips curled into a grin, and I mock punched him. “Let me know when you’re going, and I’ll come with you. It’ll be a good chance for me to do something with the pack.”

His smile brightened, making the guilt rise anew. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he said, his words warming me from the inside. “Some of the new members have you on a pedestal. That has got to change.”

“You think?” I said, and he gave me a brotherly sideways hug that pulled me off balance.

“I’m so sorry about the pack dinner last month. I didn’t realize it until you’d left. Did McGraff really scoot your chair in and put your napkin in your lap?”

Feeling good, I nodded, embarrassed even now. “Maybe if they saw me screw up once in a while it might help.”

He laughed, the honest sound of it seeming to push the surrounding fear from the nearby people back another inch. “I’ll call before we go out.”

“I’ll wait for it. And thanks for the info. It’s a good place to start.”

Inclining his head, he gave me a squinting smile. “You going to tell Edden?”

“Hell, no!” I blurted, not a glimmer of guilt. Well, not much of one, anyway. This felt like an Inderland matter; humans, if they knew how fragile the balance was, would start taking Free Vampires out one by one and end the curse that way.

“Thanks,” he said, and with a final touch, he turned away. “Give me a day or two!” he said over his shoulder, and I smiled, thinking I didn’t deserve friends like this.

He walked away, and as I watched his grace, my smile slowly faded. If the master vampires didn’t wake up soon, this could get really ugly, really fast.


Seven (#ulink_7d32f217-b051-58e4-8d77-e84c0d1c57a2)

Jenks, get me that black marker in my room, will you?” Ivy asked, looking lean and svelte as she stretched over the big farm table to reach the FIB reports Edden had couriered over. She was trying to make a correlation between the misfires and the vampire mischief. She rated the mischief, I rated the misfire severity. Everything went on the map, and so far we’d not found a link from the precise pattern of misfires to the random acts of violence. But we had to do something as we waited for David to call. The waves were coming more frequently now, and people were scared.

“Who was your slave last week?” Jenks said from the sink, and Ivy’s head snapped up.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, you are such a pen geek.”

I stifled a smile, thinking it was odd of her to ask, but Nina was napping in Ivy’s room, exhausted and scared to death that Felix was going to make another play for her. Impossible since all the undead—masters and lackeys both—were sleeping, but she was terrified, and logic meant nothing when you were scared. Jenks could be in and out without her ever knowing.

“Thick or thin?” the pixy asked. He was catching drops from the faucet to wash a cut one of his youngest daughters had come in with, and after giving her a fond swat on the butt, he rose up, smiling after her cheerful vow to stab her brother in the eye as she flew out.

“Thick,” Ivy said, and Jenks darted out of the kitchen.

His dust slowly settled, and I blew it off the pictures arranged before me on the center counter, trying to decide which was more destructive: the first-aid mishap that shifted the spell caster’s skin to coat the bare lightbulb, or the dog walker who suddenly didn’t have a lower intestine. Shuddering, I put a sticky note with the number eight on the dog walker, seven on the skinned man. The dog walker might survive, but the skinned man hadn’t made it to the phone.

We’d had three more waves since the one that caught Trent and me at the bowling alley, and I didn’t like that they were regularly making it across the river and into the Hollows now before dying out. I was still hopeful that the waves were a natural effect that simply had to be understood to be stopped. I didn’t want to believe that anyone, unhappy vampire faction or not, would do this intentionally. Feeling ill, I put a four on the report of an entire middle-school class gone blind in a routine magic experiment.

“Your pen,” Jenks said, a bright gold dust slipping from him as he dropped it into Ivy’s waiting hand before landing on one of the more nasty pictures. Hands on his hips, he stared in disgust as the whining squeak of the pen on paper mixed pleasantly with the shouts of his kids in the sunny garden, where they were playing June bug croquet. It was as much fun as it sounded—unless you were the June bug.

Nervous and fidgety, I opened the bag of chips I’d bought for the weekend—seeing as we probably weren’t going to have the expected Fourth of July cookout. Crunching through a chip, I rated a few more reports. The over-the-counter glass cleaning charm that had melted the glass and then moved on to the insulation in the surrounding walls got a seven despite no deaths. The charm to inflate a tire taking out the lungs of the man who had invoked it got a two simply because it didn’t take much to explode lungs. He hadn’t survived. Then there was the carpet cleaner in the Hollows where the charm ate the carpet away, foam and all. The homeowner had been delighted at the hardwood floor underneath. I wished they all had happy endings.

Weary, I pushed at the picture of the university floor, broken open like a ground fault from the small-pressure charm that was supposed to cut a molecule-thin section of fossil from the parent rock. It got a ten. How in hell was I supposed to rate these without taking into account the cost of human life?

“You okay?” Ivy flipped through a report until she found what she wanted.

“Not really.” I ate a chip, then went to the fridge for the dip. Everything was better with sour cream and chives.

Jenks’s wings hummed at a higher pitch, startled when I dropped the chip dip on the counter. “You really think vampires are doing this?” he asked.

“David seems to think so.” I watched Ivy’s jaw tighten, already knowing what she thought about that theory. “Me, I’m not buying that vampires would use magic on a scale such as this, even if they think it will save the souls of their kin.” Especially after reading that pie-in-the-sky flyer, and I glanced at it on the counter where Ivy had dropped it after I’d showed it to her.

Ivy frowned, still bent over her work. “Did you know they made a saint out of him?”

“Who?” I ate a chip before dumping them into a bowl.

“Kisten,” she said, and I froze, remembering the Kisten look-alike on the bridge. That doesn’t mean they’re responsible for it. Then I did a mental jerk-back. Kisten? A saint?

“No shit!” Jenks exclaimed, and I just stared at her. Our Kisten?

Only now did she look up, the love she once had for him mixing with the sour disbelief for the misled. “Because of what he said to you,” she added. “They think he died his second death with his soul intact and unsullied by the curse.” Her head went back down, leaving me feeling uneasy. “Cincinnati has the highest concentration of Free Vampires in the United States. If they were going to try to eradicate the masters, they’d try it here first.”

“But why? Cincy is in shambles! It’s not working!” I said, scrambling to wrap my head around Saint Kisten. Saint Kisten, with his leather jacket, motorcycle, and windblown blond hair. Saint Kisten, who had killed and hidden crimes to protect his master. Saint Kisten, who willingly sacrificed his second life to save mine . . .

“Nina says she’s seen some of them,” she said, and my attention fixed sharply on her. “I thought she was making it up, but if David comes up empty, I’ll ask her.”

I rolled the top of the bag of chips down, not hungry anymore. “Sure.”

Taking the pen out from between her teeth, Ivy leaned in to the map. “Jenks, what time did you and Rachel leave the golf course yesterday?”

I’d be offended, but Jenks was better than an atomic clock. “We left the parking lot at twenty to eleven,” he said, and I moved the bowl of chips before his dust made them stale.

“And then you got on 71 and came home.” She frowned, waving Jenks off when his dust blanked out the liquid crystal. “No stops between? Good roads? Not a lot of traffic?”

“No,” I said, wondering where this was going. A cold feeling was slipping through me. “Traffic was fine until we got downtown. Then it was the usual stop-and-go.” Worried, I dragged my chair around to sit beside her and stare at her huge monitor and the gently sweeping wave of blue markers. It looked just like every other wave map she’d made, except it was the first and there weren’t as many violent crimes to go with it.

“Okay.” Ivy was clicking, and the city map was covered by a graph. “This is the wave you got caught up in last night at the bowling alley. It’s the first one that the FIB took note on the times associated with the misfires. I’m guessing the wave has a top speed of forty-five miles an hour, but that can vary. That first one seemed to be slower, especially.”

She had a page of math, and I gave it a cursory look. “And?” I asked, and she moved the mouse, bringing up a new map.

“Last night’s wave that ended at the Laundromat was straight. The one that came through this morning before dawn was too, but the tracks were slightly different. It dissipated before it got to the church,” Ivy said. “And since most Inderlanders are asleep about then—”

“I’m not,” Jenks said, and Ivy sighed, bringing up a new map.

“Most magic-using Inderlanders are asleep then, and it wasn’t noticed much. But if you look at the one that hit you first at the golf course and then again at the bridge, you can see they do shift direction.”

My eyes narrowed as she drew her line, making a slight angle shift obvious. If it had continued on its original path, it would have missed the bridge completely.

Ivy was quiet as she eyed me. “Rachel, it shifted to follow you. They all are.”

Panic iced through me. “Oh, hell no!” I said, standing up fast when Ivy’s eyes flashed black at my fear. “You mean something is getting out of the line and is hunting me?” I said, pointing at the monitor.

But Ivy simply sat there, calm and relaxed, that pen back between her teeth. “It’s not very responsive. After you left the golf course, it took almost ten minutes before it realized you were gone and shifted to follow.”

Feeling icky, I stared at the map, wishing Ivy wasn’t so damn good at her job. Jenks hovered between us. “So it’s more like a slime mold after the sun.”

Jenks shrugged. “You have the same aura signature as the line. Maybe it’s trying to get back to it. Whatever it is.”

“You think it’s alive?”

They said nothing, and I stifled a shudder. I didn’t know if I liked this better than Free Vampires trying to change the world. “I have to call Al. Where’s my mirror?”

Jenks spun in the air to look at the front of the church. He darted out, and from the front came a familiar-sounding boom of the heavy oak door crashing into the doorstop, followed by a woman’s voice raised in anger. “Where are my children!”

Oh my God. Ellasbeth. I flushed, the memory of that last kiss with Trent flashing through me.

“You ever hear of knocking?” Jenks said, his voice hardly audible from the distance, but his voice carried when he was ticked. “Hey! You can’t just barge in here!”





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