The Undead Pool

Trent’s hands were behind his back, the windblown grit turning his hair red. “There’ve been some new developments with that overactive wave. We came out to look at Rachel’s line, knowing if she went to you, your answer would be that it was fine.”

“That’s because it is,” Al growled, his mood worsening.

“And that’s why both you and Newt are up here?” Trent asked, squinting at Al as the demon glared at him over his round blue glasses. Good grief. They were like little boys.

“Al,” I said before it got any worse. “My line is leaking wild magic.”

“It is not—” Al’s words cut off, and he turned to Newt cavorting in the dust. “No,” he breathed, but it sounded more like wishful thinking at this point.

Trent eased closer to me, and Al stiffened. “I think it’s intentional,” Trent said. “Someone is pulling wild magic from her line, either because it’s the newest or perhaps because she lives in reality and it’s easier to pull it from her line than another.”

“Is that so,” Al said snidely.

Undeterred, Trent nodded. “The overstimulation of witch magic is about what I’d expect, tracking through Cincinnati and the Hollows until the energy is spent. I’m guessing they average a life span of an hour or so before dying out.”

He and Trent were inches apart, and Al took a deep breath, hesitating when he noticed Trent’s scent and pulled back. “Then you’d be wrong,” Al said, and Trent frowned. “Wild magic has a half-life of a decade. If it was wild magic, it would circle the globe before dying out, wreaking havoc the entire time. Therefore, it’s not wild magic.” Seemingly not caring, Al took a tin of Brimstone from a tiny pocket, delicately sniffing a pinch. “Not everything is about you, itchy witch.”

“But they hardly get past the river!” I protested, sure it was.

“Which fits with my idea that this is intentional.” Trent took my hands persuasively, and Al’s brow wrinkled. “Someone is creating the waves and then catching them, either to contain the disastrous effects in Cincinnati, or they are simply collecting the energy for another reason. We just have to find out who’s doing it, and why.”

Not liking Al’s expression, I ran a hand over my hair to find it was a snarly mess. The light of discovery was in Trent’s eyes, and something in me quivered. “If it’s intentional, then who’s helping them with the magic?” I asked pointedly, and we turned to Al.

“You think it’s one of us?” he said, affronted, then grinned to show his flat, blocky teeth. “What a marvelous idea. Alas, no, it’s not. No demon alive would stoop to using wild magic, even to kill vampires. Why would we kill them? We made them.”

“Kill them?” I questioned. “No, they’re just sleeping.”

Still smiling, Al leaned in until I could smell the Brimstone on his breath. “If they don’t wake up soon to feed, they will die from a lack of aura. The undead are starving, Rachel.”

My God, he was right, and my focus blurred as I thought of Ivy.

“Imagine!” Al said fervently, cane swinging jauntily. “An entire city without master vampires. How intoxicatingly chaotic. It’s almost enough to make me wish I had thought of it.”

“We’ll never survive it,” Trent said softly.

“HAPA?” I guessed, knowing the Humans Against Paranormals Association dabbled in demon magic, so why not wild. “The men-who-don’t-belong?”

“It is not wild magic,” Al said, but his tone lacked conviction.

“Then what is it?” I said, tired of his attitude; just then Newt called to me as she skipped her way to us, her slippered feet sending up little puffs of dust in the hot sun.

“Rachel!” Mason jar tucked under her arm, Newt hopped a hopscotch pattern. “Do you want to put your pajamas on and have a sleepover with me?” She came to a breathless halt, the hem of her nightgown coated with ever-after dust. “Al.” She gave Al a shove, and the demon jerked, startled. “Tell the girl she can have a sleepover. You work her too hard. Look at the dark circles under her eyes.”

“It’s not because I work her,” he grumbled. “The witch can’t seem to find her way to my kitchen except when she’s in trouble. And she can’t have a sleepover!” he added when Newt began tugging on my sleeve, her black eyes glinting. “Leave off, you bitch!” he shouted, and Newt dropped back, looking hurt.

“At least this time, it’s only one world,” Newt said, and I wondered if her sudden burst of clarity would last. “I don’t know if she can do it. She looks tired already, and it’s only going to get worse.” Newt’s eyes widened. “Oh, look!” she exclaimed, looking across the dry river to the remains of Loveland Castle. “They’re starting to come out again!”

Trent jerked as Newt ran off, startled by her cry of delight.