The Undead Pool

“I’ll see to it,” Edden said as the lift lurched to a halt and opened. Mustache bunching, he held the door so we could all limp out. The huge clock in the small room off the kitchen stared at me. Only fifteen minutes had passed. It felt like more.

“We need to find them like now,” I said, everything hurting. “If we can’t stop them from pulling wild magic out of my line, the undead will be dead by week’s end. They’re starving to death, Edden.”

Edden sighed and held the door from the kitchen to the old dining room open. The come-and-go of radios and the chatter of FIB officers became louder, and the air fresher. “Happy Independence Day,” Edden said softly.

Below us was blood, and violence. Before us, the blood-strewn room was now empty of people and looking like a macabre painting. Felix had been more vampiric than any other vampire I’d ever seen. Happy Independence Day indeed. “Someone has a sense of humor,” I said, shuffling from the kitchen, and Edden grunted his agreement.

But it wasn’t funny. If the master vampires were not around to control the living, then who was going to do it?

And were the elves behind it? Somebody was funding them. HAPA was down and disorganized. Same for the men-who-don’t-belong. Witches wouldn’t jeopardize their own magic like this. Demons would love the mischief, but wouldn’t use wild magic to do it. Elves . . . maybe.

Lunch with Trent tonight was suddenly sounding a lot more interesting.

Twelve

“Rachel? Hot dog or ribs?”

I cracked an eye, gut clenching at the thought of ribs slathered in sticky red: no ribs—not after wading through Piscary’s blood-drenched upstairs this morning, not after spending fifteen minutes scrubbing it out from under my fingernails, not after the innocence of Trent’s and Quen’s girls putting a ballerina Band-Aid on my skinned elbow.

“Hot dog.” Trent’s eyebrows rose, but he dutifully passed the request to Jonathan before ambling back to the long teak table under the canopy where the two men from the elven religious sect sat deep in discussion about how Free Vampires might harness wild magic. I had yet to bring up the possibility that the elves were behind it. Diplomacy, you are my middle name.

“Ray! No! Mine!” Lucy shrilled, and I smiled as I settled myself deeper into the cushy lounge chair at the extravagantly landscaped pool. My eyes were shut, and I drank in the world through my ears: the hiss of the grill burning away the sugar sweetness, Ellasbeth’s admonishment that Ray share the toys, Trent’s musical, muted response, the sound of water tinkling in the kiddie pool. Family had never sounded so good.

But my smile faded at Bancroft’s grating southern drawl, his words indistinct but the emotion clear. The faint chill in the air from the setting sun seemed to cascade over me, and I shivered. Bancroft was the official of Trent’s religion, dressed the part in a long purple robe I wouldn’t expect in Ohio, no-nonsense shiny dress shoes poking out from underneath. I’d talked to him briefly before he grabbed his assistant, Landon, and retreated to a quiet room. He was back now, and I’d come to the conclusion that as polite as he was, he really didn’t like me. I knew it wasn’t anything I’d said or done. It was what I was, and it bothered me I hadn’t had the chance to show him how nasty I could be before he wrote me off.

Smirking, I settled deeper into the cushions as Jonathan dabbed sauce on the ribs and they flamed up. It was blissful here, but the trip out had been a nightmare of roadblocks and checkpoints. A terrified world was watching Cincinnati now that the misfires were on the decline and the vampire violence rising, most people demanding a lockdown until it could be determined who was causing the undead to slumber. I’d be going home by ley line if they cordoned off Cincinnati and the Hollows. It was becoming a distinct possibility. I’d seen too many ambulances today, heard too many sirens, witnessed too much grief. My mind drifted as I began to fall asleep, twitching at the flash of memory of the blood-smeared bodies at the tavern. Felix is awake because his age-born disease makes him always hunger. Why is that significant?

The sound of beating wings fluttered, and the dream of purple blinking eyes lifted through me. They were taking Ivy from me, and the purple eyes became vampire black and angry.

“Don’t wake her.” Ellasbeth’s voice slid between my dream of silvery wings, and the wheels with eyes faltered.

From right over me, Quen’s voice said, “Her hot dog is done.”

“Aunt Rachel is napping. Shhhh,” Lucy said brightly, and the last of the wings beat at the eyes, smothering them until they were gone.