The Undead Pool

It had been in the news, but the visual confirmation that Weres were becoming more aggressive in the face of feuding vampires was chilling. Maybe that’s why the blockades between Cincy and the Hollows. The trains, too, weren’t stopping anymore, blowing through the usual stops at eighty miles an hour, horns screaming a klaxon warning. I knew David was working with Edden to find the Free Vampires, but I’d not heard from him since yesterday, more reason to be concerned.

“As soon as I know,” Trent said tersely. “Thank you.” He closed his phone, twisting to tuck it in a pocket. Expression grim, he stared out over the river. The wind brushed through his hair, and I wanted to touch it—to bring him back to me. I’d seen Trent quietly lose his temper before, but seldom when it involved Quen. The passion from our kiss, hardly an hour old, flashed through me and was gone.

“Anything I can do?” I offered as the cop just past the end of the bridge flagged us down. There were four of them, but only one seemed interested.

Trent exhaled, using the motion to hide his frustration. “No. Thank you, though.”

Experience told me he wouldn’t say another word about it, and I put the car in park as the cop came to my window. Jenks darted out of the car, immediately lost in the glare.

“Ma’am?” the officer said, black glasses reflecting me as he pushed his cap up. “Turn your car around and go back, please. The city has been closed. No one in or out.”

It wasn’t a request, and I reached for my ID, already pulled out of my shoulder bag. “Captain Edden asked us to come down,” I said, stretching the truth as I handed it over. I was sure if he knew we were coming, he would have cleared us. “I’m Rachel Morgan.” I turned to Trent. “Give him your ID,” I prompted, then smiled at the cop again. There was no way we were getting in. I could see it already. They’d even diverted the interstate.

“ID?” Trent hedged, and then he brightened. “You know what? I think I have it on me.”

The officer’s eyes were lost behind thick sunglasses as he compared my name to the list on his clipboard. Jenks was hovering over his shoulder, and he shook his head when our eyes met. “Ah, sorry, ah . . . Ms. Morgan,” the cop said as he handed it back. “No one gets over the bridge unless they’re government food or fuel trucks.”

“What about them, huh?” Jenks said, startling the man. “Rache, tell him your name is Dr. Margret Tessel. She’s on the list.”

“Found it,” Trent said, and I held out my hand for his ID, but he leaned across me, flashing a professional smile as he passed it to the cop. “Officer, the man at the top of the FIB building is my friend. I think I can talk him down. Can you please let us through?”

The cop’s stern expression suddenly became wide-eyed. “Seriously?” he said, turning into fan-boy as he looked from Trent’s license to Trent. “Mr. Kalamack?” His glasses came off, and he got that weird smile people have when they meet their idol. “Wow. This is so cool,” he said, shifting from foot to foot. “I got a scholarship because of your dad. It made the difference in which side of the jail cell I was on.”

“Good to meet you,” Trent said, and I pressed back into the seat when the cop stuck his hand in to shake Trent’s. I gave Trent a pained look, and he barely lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I understand you have your orders, but my friend has information about the misfires. I have to help get him down.”

Clearly torn, the cop looked out over the river, then behind him at the barricade and the three other cops trying to stay cool in their cars. “I think we can make an exception,” he said as he handed the ID back. “Just promise me you won’t start a riot,” he kidded.

I snatched Trent’s ID before he could, blinking at the bad picture he’d taken. His eyes were wide and his smile quirky.

“I was in a hurry that morning,” Trent said as he twitched it from my grip, clearly peeved.

“Open it up!” the cop said, whistling three times in quick succession to get the three other men moving. “They’re cleared!” The man looked back at us. “I hope you can talk your friend down, Mr. Kalamack.”

“Thank you. I’m sure my father would have enjoyed meeting you.”

“If you need a place to stay, give me a call,” he added, then fumbled for a card, handing it in. “The hotels are full and you’re kind of stuck here now.”

“I’ll do that, thank you.”

“Tink loves a duck.” Jenks darted back in. “Guys give you their number too?”

Trent shrugged, but the cop was waving us through, and I rolled my window up so I wouldn’t have to talk to anyone else. “That was nice,” Trent said, and a tremor passed through me as the barrier scraped back in place behind us. We were in, and it felt wrong.

“How so?” I asked.

Bringing his arm in, he rolled his window up. “Lately, it’s not always good when I’ve been recognized out on the street.”