The Undead Pool

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.”