The Undead Pool

“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.