The Undead Pool

There was a hesitation. It was heady with questions, but I didn’t say anything. Trent could talk to him about this morning. I sure as hell wasn’t going to. “Ah, okay. Will you tell Trent that we have a problem that needs his immediate attention. Bancroft is at the top of the FIB building.”

Jenks’s wing hum bobbled, and I went back the kitchen. “You mean, like the top, top? Why? Is he threatening to jump?” I said sarcastically.

“It’s hard to tell,” Quen said, and my eyes met Ivy’s. Holy shit! “Landon says Bancroft tried to contact the divided mystics this morning and convince them to go back to the Goddess. I’m guessing something went wrong, seeing as he’s blown out the entire top floor.”

Blown out? I turned to the bathroom, a niggle of fear growing.

“The news is keeping the deaths of those who fell quiet until the next of kin are notified, but they haven’t been able to search for survivors. He’s raving incoherently and threatening anyone who gets close. Even Landon can’t get through to him.”

My chill deepened. Edden worked in that building on the Inderland-related crimes. Bancroft blew out the top floor? We didn’t have a wave come through, did we?

“Rachel, I’ll be there in about half an hour to pick Trent and Tulpa up.”

My head jerked up. “Trent’s not going out there if Bancroft is throwing people off the top of the FIB tower.”

“He’s not throwing them off the top floor. They fell during the initial blast.”

“Yeah? You said he’s threatening anyone who gets close. Let the I.S. handle it. It’s their job.”

“In the FIB building?” Quen said, then exhaled heavily. “Rachel . . . Trent is the only person Bancroft personally knows in Cincinnati. The man is the head of the elven religious sect. They can’t just shoot him. Maybe all he needs is an understanding ear.”

Hip cocked, I fumed. “Fine, I’ll tell him.” Ivy was watching me, the rim of brown around her pupils shrinking. “But I’m going with you.”

Quen, though, had already hung up, and I closed Trent’s phone with a snap. From the bathroom, the water turned off. Maybe Trent’s hearing was better than he let on.

“He tried to talk to the Goddess?” Jenks said, landing on my shoulder and sending a worried red dust down my front. “As in, ‘Hi, how you doing, babe. Got any threes?’ ”

Ivy went back to her e-mail. “Sounds like God answered him back.”

“Or he found out something that he didn’t like and is having a tantrum,” I said, feet slow as I went to knock on the bathroom door and tell Trent I was coming with him. If Landon thought I was a black demon, that was his problem. Maybe it would take a demon to keep Trent safe from his Goddess, much less a pissed-off priest who could blow out the entire top floor of a city high-rise.

Sixteen

“Well, do your best,” Trent said into his shiny phone as he flipped my car’s tiny visor to block the sun flashing irritatingly through the building-lined Hollows street. He looked tired, overdue for his afternoon nap. Apparently the holes in the Hollows blockades had been closed, and much to Trent’s disgust, the Kalamack name wasn’t opening doors like it used to.

The shadow of the bridge shaded us, and I slowed my little car as we wove past the unattended BRIDGE CLOSED sign. Jenks’s dust shifted to a concerned orange and he shrugged, feet drumming the rearview mirror. I’d left a message for Edden that we were coming in, but if he hadn’t gotten it, I didn’t know how we were going to get past the manned blockade.

“There’s a few days’ pasture at the church before he eats it all,” Trent added, and I slowly crept down the bridge at a meek forty miles an hour. The empty bridge looked odd. One would think that if both Cincinnati and the Hollows were closed, they could be closed together.

“He’s not going to hurt me,” Trent said, giving me an uncomfortable glance. “The man was there at my birth. Quen, Rachel has this.”

Which was why I’d jammed my splat gun and several other nasties in my bag before we left. Yesterday, while eating hot dogs and ribs with the man, I wouldn’t have thought he’d swat a fly, much less destroy an entire floor of the FIB. It would’ve been major news if it hadn’t been shoved below the fold by the rising violence between various vampire gangs and Were packs, all of them looking for Free Vampires.

It was bad and getting worse, and now that I was out of my church, I couldn’t ignore it. Misfires were one thing, but possible vampire-on-vampire violence was far more dangerous. My worry for Ivy layered over everything, and I slowed to look at a damaged pylon. Were graffiti was scrawled among the broken pieces of plastic and cement chunks in clear warning. Six different packs at least.