The Undead Pool

“You mind?” I said, spitting in the sink. Trent’s glass was sitting there, and after hesitating, I used my hands to get some water as I always did. Yep. No social grace at all.

“Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever seen your hair like that before. You going retro eighties?”

Dismayed, I looked at the snarled, frizzy mess. “It’s called going to bed with your hair wet,” I said as I sprayed detangler and tried to comb it. I had a charm in the kitchen . . . but it was in the kitchen. Frustrated, I finally put it in a scrunchie and called it good. The man had seen me in sweats and in a hospital bed. I shouldn’t care. I don’t care.

“You should have Trent over more often,” Jenks said, his wings transparent with motion. “It’s nice talking with someone without having to wade through all that estrogen.”

“I’ll get you a puppy.” Trying for a cool attitude, I gave myself a last look, adjusted my camisole, and headed out. Jenks darted before me, his dust trailing behind like vanishing crumbs in the forest. Trent had his head in the fridge when I came in, and my heart gave a thump. My eyes went to the windowsill and his ring, still under the water glass with Al’s chrysalis. Crap, he probably already saw it. He’s going to know it’s important to me.

“Morning,” I said, arms swinging awkwardly, and he pulled himself up and out. He was wearing Jenks’s sweats from when he was human-size. And stubble. Whoa. The slight haze threw him into an entirely new category of yummy, and I stood there, blinking like an idiot as he rubbed his face, clearly knowing it had caught my attention.

“Morning,” he echoed, glancing at the clock to confirm it was still before noon. “Are you hungry?” He stood at the fridge, tugging at his sweats as if uncomfortable.

“She’s always hungry,” Jenks said. “You should see how this woman can eat!”

“Don’t you have something to do, Jenks?” I said, wondering what Trent would look like with a real beard. Stop it, Rachel.

“What . . .” Jenks complained. “I like a woman who eats.” Wings clattering, he went to the sink to check on his kids in the garden. “None of this prissy ‘Oh, just a salad. I’m watching my waistline.’ Hot dogs and milkshakes, baby! Give you energy for more important stuff.”

I shot Jenks a look to shut up before he could enumerate, and when he took a deep breath, I threw the dishcloth at him. Trent looked up at the noise, and I stuffed my hands in my pockets. “What looks good?” I said, trying for nonchalant as I went to stand at the fridge beside him. His stubble was reddish blond. Cool.

Trent’s eyes met mine, and suddenly unsure, I backed up, deciding to get some coffee. From the counter, the radio was running a list of closings. There were a lot, from social events to entire businesses. “I was thinking about French toast, but it has eggs in it,” Trent said, and I poured myself a cup of long-brewed coffee.

“Most days I can handle that much without a problem.” I leaned against the counter, a safe five feet between us. The mug was warm, and the coffee tasted as good as it smelled. I let a swallow slip down, waking me up. It was a good day, bright and sunny. It didn’t jibe with the serious tone of the announcer talking about the riots at the closed borders, and I wondered if Trent might go running with me sometime. He had the build for it. Then I frowned. Why would he want to go running with me? He had an entire private woods to run in where he wouldn’t have to dodge strollers or dog crap.

“Good coffee,” I said, and he came out of the fridge with a carton of eggs and milk.

“Jenks said you liked it dark,” he said, and then my head snapped up as Edden’s voice came over the radio.

“Hey, listen!” I said as I reached for the knob, and Jenks got over his dishcloth-induced sulk, coming to sit on my shoulder as we stared at the radio as if it were a TV.

“Let me say again,” Edden’s smooth voice said over the click of cameras. “The rumor that Cincinnati and the Hollows are closed due to a biological threat is false. After expert analysis of data gained last night, we can definitively say that the magic misfires and the inability of the undead to wake is not biological, but a calculated attack on the undead by a fringe organization called the Free Vampires. Outside help is being obtained, but until we resolve this, Cincinnati and the Hollows will remain locked down with no entry or exit. We don’t want those responsible for this getting out of our jurisdiction.”

The reporters shouted questions, and I looked at Trent, knowing Inderlanders would respond badly to being fenced in no matter what the reason.