The Undead Pool

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eighteen

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

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

The rhythmic motions and the sound of the bristles on the stallion’s coat were soothing, and I’d continued long after what little dirt I’d found had been brushed away. The horse seemed to enjoy the attention, not minding Bis on his back making braids in his mane. The gargoyle’s wings were out for balance, clawed feet spread wide. His long, dexterous gray fingers were almost the same color as the horse’s mane. I’d caught him once at Ivy’s computer, and the kid could type as fast as a career secretary.

A howl three streets over brought Tulpa’s head up. Ears pricked, he nickered a warning. “Easy, Tulpa,” I soothed, smiling that the big animal had already claimed the small patch of grass as his own. “Trent will get you as soon as the ban is lifted.”

As if understanding, Tulpa nosed the bowl I’d brought the brush and hoof pick out in, both purchased at a local farm and feed store along with an ungodly expensive bale of sweet-smelling hay. It was a small spot of calm after a morning of chaos and fear, and I was reluctant to leave it.

“I don’t think he approves,” I said as Bis finished his braids.

“He likes it,” Bis said, his low voice both gravelly and high. “He told me.”

“Told you, eh?” I kidded him, and Bis flushed a dark black to blend in with the night. The grass was tickling my ankles, and I ran a hand down a leg, giving Tulpa a shove to shift his weight so I could lift it. The hoof was fine, and I set it down with a pat, running my fingers up his leg along the contour of the muscles. My thoughts wound back to seeing Trent pull his shirt off as he stood at the back of Ivy’s mom’s car. I slumped, imagining what it would be like to run my fingers over the lines in his back, feel the tension under them relax at my touch. Stop it, Rachel.

Lunch at Carew Tower had been both a pleasure and a trial—pleasure because not only had I gotten to eat a specially prepared meal, but I’d also embarrassed Trent with impunity, regaling Ms. Shelly with the humorous stories I’d collected over the last three months, and a trial because Trent was his expected Teflon self for the reporter, polite and proper even as his occasional embarrassed smile pegged my meter. That Cincy was falling apart under us didn’t help, slowly turning as we ate until we saw every smoldering fire, every closed bridge, every torn-up park and blocked roadway the Free Vampires were serving up in their effort to make the world a better place.

Sighing, I dropped the hoof pick into the bowl and gave Tulpa a push to head out to the graveyard. He had a few days’ feed there, and now I wouldn’t have to mow it. Jumoke already had plans for the piles he was leaving behind.