The Undead Pool (25 page)

“Rachel?” Trent shouted as we caught up, but Red was totally out of control. Leaning, I reached for her bridle, and the horse lunged ahead. She had been teased, tormented, and frustrated by Trent's dubious training techniques. If there was a trick, she knew it.

“I have to let her run it out!” he cried, and I dropped back. Out of control or not, we were headed for the river.

She is a damn fast horse,
I thought as Tulpa began to slowly lose ground.

And then a soft boom turned into a building slowly crumbling down before us.

“Look out!” Trent shouted, managing to get Red slowed enough that Tulpa barely took the lead. Out of her stupid horse mind in fear, Red followed him, making a hoof-sliding turn to the left behind us. Trent looked pissed as he struggled to bring Red under control as we galloped down the ruin of Cincinnati's streets, the way remarkably clear. Unusually clear.
Not good.

“We're being forced somewhere!” I yelled, and Trent's jaw tightened. “We have to get across the river!” I called out, my heart pounding at the sudden silhouette standing atop a building, watching us. “Trent—”

Howling and waving a stick long as a broom handle, a surface demon rose up right in front of us. Tulpa screamed in anger, and I fought to keep him from charging. Red squealed in terror, the stupid mare spinning in useless circles. Surface demons were dropping from the surrounding buildings like spiders.

“Tulpa! Stand!” I shouted, and the old stallion screamed at me again, but finally halted, lungs heaving and sweating as I gathered a wad of energy and forced it into my hand. The surface demons circled us, all of them reaching for Red. “You will not touch her!” I exclaimed, and with a huge pull on the line, I shouted, “
Detrudo!
”

The curse exploded from me in a visible wave, blowing the surface demons back like leaves and sending them head over heels into the shadows. Red screamed in terror, rearing up and teetering backward. Trent gave her her head so she wouldn't fall, and with that bare hint of control, she dropped to four feet, lowered her head, and bucked him right off.

“Trent!” I screamed, and Tulpa lurched to him as Trent sat on the ground, struggling for air as Red's horsy ass quickly vanished into the dark and down the open path between the buildings. Hooting, the surface demons flashed into a flailing motion after her. In five seconds flat we were alone, the sound of Red's hooves and the howling demons fading.

“Ow,” Trent said softly, his alarm hesitating as he got up and felt his backside. “She bucked me off,” he said as if in awe. “That flaky horse dropped me!”

“It happens to me all the time,” I said, fear tightening my shoulders at Red's distant whinny. “Come on. Get up!” I extended my arm down to him as if I actually knew how to lift a person onto a horse like that, and Trent took it, somehow managing the leap as if we'd done it all the time. Thank God I'd learned how to ride English. It made stuff like this easier.

He settled in behind me, Tulpa spinning as Trent gripped me around the waist. Without warning, he shouted, “Hiiiee!,” and Tulpa bolted, Trent's heels and seat pushing him forward.

I might be holding the reins, but I wasn't in control, and a shiver went through me as Trent screamed the word, his anger, desperation, and fear all rolled into one decisive action. The wind whipped my hair, and breathless, I held on as Tulpa shifted direction, cued by Trent's legs more than my reins. Behind us was a wild howl of frustration. “I thought you said Red was desensitized to magic,” I said, shouting so he could hear me.

“Magic, yes. Explosions, no!” he shouted back, his lips inches from my ear to make me shiver again. “Where did you learn how to pull a rider up like that?”

“The movies?” I said, and he made a sound of disbelief.

We rose up a small hill, easily seeing over the damaged buildings. The wind lessened as Tulpa's paced eased, and Trent brought him up short as we came to a drop-off. It was the dry bed of the Ohio River, and I stared as Tulpa stood and breathed hard. Down below and about half a mile ahead, a horse raced down the smooth expanse, a dozen surface demons chasing her.

“My magic won't work that far,” I said, guilt and fear making my stomach churn.

Trent's weight shifted, and Tulpa took the slope. Trent slid into me, the jostling motion jarring until we found the bottom and he settled back. Again Trent shouted, and Tulpa stretched into a gallop. I hunched low, Trent pressed close. The scent of wine and cinnamon poured over me, and the wind was a wall. I could feel Trent's tension, and the horse under us beginning to tire. Tulpa was not young—but he had heart.

Heart, though, would not catch Trent's best mare, not when she ran unfettered with the hounds of hell chasing her.

We weren't going to catch her, and I could have cried when Trent sat up, murmuring softly to Tulpa to bring the horse down into a slower pace until we stopped, watching Red again become faint with the dusky red and distance.

“Trent, I'm sorry,” I said as Tulpa hung his head and heaved for air under us.

“I'm less than useless,” he said bitterly, turning to see me. “I'll get off. You can probably catch her if I'm not dragging you down.”

“You!” I exclaimed, then gasped at the sudden and sure tug on the line. Both our eyes shot to where we'd last seen Red. A huge dome of energy had risen, tainted with red and the black of smut. The flailing outlines of surface demons flew through the air. “Newt!” I shouted as I saw her silhouette, arms raised as she screamed defiantly at the surface demons, and then the bubble of energy was gone, the shadow of Red rearing up before she found her feet and ran.

“Newt . . .” I mused, feeling as if Red was going to be okay as I saw Newt run after her. Newt wouldn't let surface demons touch her. Not if that had been any indication.

“My God, that horse can run,” Trent said, his bitterness tempered with pride. But silver eyes had turned to us, and I stiffened when I realized they were the very demons that Newt had tossed aside. Behind us were even more, and Tulpa was tired, burdened by us.

“Ah, Trent?” I said, pointing, and his expression grew resolute.

“Not quite done, Tulpa,” he said, leaning around me to pat his horse's neck, and the old stallion made a soft sound as if to say he was up to it. “Nearest line?” he asked me, and I sent out a quick thought, relieved when I found it.

“Up there,” I said, bringing Tulpa around and nudging him into a fast walk. The approaching demons tightened their formation. Tulpa noticed it, too, voluntarily picking up the pace. “I think that's a path,” I said, and the massive animal lunged forward into the climb. Trent's arm had gone around me again, and I was increasingly aware that he smelled really, really good despite the burnt-amber stench that permeated everything.

“It's going to be close,” he said, words a warm breath on my neck.

I snuck a look behind us as Tulpa scrambled up the last of the hill. The surface demons had packed up, but as I watched, they split again, half deciding to run after Newt and Red, the other coming after us, taking the slope as if it was nothing. “You aren't kidding.”

If I died here, Jenks was going to be pissed. Awareness searching, I found the line again and nudged Tulpa in the right direction. The slumps of rocks were fewer, and the grass more prevalent on this side of the dry river, tall enough to hide a surface demon in the moonlight. Trent's arm around me tightened. I wanted to kick Tulpa into a run, but the horse was exhausted, head bobbing as he walked fast. His ears kept flicking behind us, listening for pursuit.

“It's a pretty big line,” I said, trying to ignore the sensations that were plinking through me as I sat before Trent. “I'm going to walk the length with Tulpa. I've never shifted three auras before. This is going to be tricky without Bis.”

Tricky, but not impossible,
I thought as I closed my eyes and brought my second sight up. A sigh of relief went through me as I saw the line. But the grass was moving contrary to the wind. Tulpa noticed too, and the horse snorted, his feet lifting a little higher. If we could just get across, the church was only a few blocks away.

“Ah, Trent?” I said.

“I see it . . .” he said tersely. “You sure you can't do this at a run?”

“No?” I squeaked out, heart pounding as the line took us. The surface demons hooted, and I closed my eyes, desperately shifting all three of our auras to the resonance of the line. Tulpa nickered, and a shudder passed through me. The awful wind died, and I took a breath, my eyelids cracking open when Tulpa stopped. The howling of the surface demons muted, dulled, and then renewed into the more mundane alarm of a cop car. We were home.

“Thank you,” Trent breathed, and the tack jingled as the horse dropped his head, nosing the mown grass as if wanting to roll in it. We'd made it back, but we'd lost Red.

We were in someone's backyard, fenced on two sides, with low shrubs separating it from the yard over. There was an inground pool, the soft lights making reflective patterns on the undersides of the trees. It belonged to a witch, I was guessing, by the flowers arranged in an antihex circle by the back door.

“Good boy,” Trent said as Tulpa clip-clopped over the decking to get a drink. “Lots of treats for you tonight.”

Feeling icky, I looked up at the sky. It was just as red as the ever-after, the low clouds hiding the moon and reflecting the emergency lights and fires in the Hollows. The scent of burning furniture had replaced the acidic bite of burnt amber. It was quiet here, but a street over I could hear someone on a bullhorn shouting half-heard demands and the dull thumps of a drum. All hell was breaking loose. Inderlanders didn't take well to being cordoned off.

“Let's get to the church,” I said, reluctant to dismount, and from inside the house, a light flicked on. Tulpa lifted his head, prickly lips dripping. A door slammed open, and a dark silhouette showed, a wand at the ready. An outside light blossomed, and I squinted at the bright white light, my night vision completely ruined.

“What the hell are y'all doing in my yard?” a man asked, his anger dulled by the incongruity of a horse, no doubt.

“Leaving . . .” I prompted.

“Thanks for the water,” Trent called. “Sorry about the bushes.”

“My bushes?” the man asked, but Trent had reached around me to take the reins and wiggle his heels into Tulpa. My eyes widened as he sent the horse at a dead run toward them. They were only three feet high, an easy jump, but Tulpa was carrying two and was exhausted.

“Ohhhh noo!” I called out, a thrill running through me as Tulpa crashed through them.

Head up, Tulpa pranced into the street—his hooves tatting out a merry beat as the man shouted at us. I didn't understand Trent's mood. He'd just lost the end point of ten years of careful breeding—the foundation for the next generation—and he was laughing as a spotlight from a cop car turned to find us.

“You!” a magically enhanced voice boomed out, and the world was suddenly cast in a white-light relief. “Yes, you on the horse,” the cop shouted when Trent pointed at us. “You're breaking curfew. Put your hands up. Both of you!”

“Ah, if I let go of the reins, the horse is going to run away!” Trent said from behind me, and then softer, to me, “I don't particularly want to spend the night explaining things, do you?”

“No. Church is that way.” I pointed with my chin, and when the cop demanded that we dismount, Trent gave Tulpa his head and shouted something elven.

Tulpa sprang into motion. I gasped and thumped back into Trent. His arm went around me, and grinning, I inched myself forward again.

“Ah, shit! They're running. Hey! Come back here!” the cop shouted, and Trent urged Tulpa into a faster pace, shifting him up onto the lawns to dodge kiddie pools and bikes as we trotted through the Hollows, the cop car following with his siren blaring.

“Ms. Rachel!” came an urgent call from overhead, and Tulpa's ears flicked when Bis darted through the trees. “I saw what happened,” he said, his skin a dark black as he flew alongside. “Thank the scrolls that you made it to the line.”

“Stop! Or I'll shoot!” the cop shouted, and outrage shocked through me when a pop cracked through the air.
They're shooting at us? Are you kidding me?

“Damn,” Trent said, sending Tulpa pacing through a side yard to cut to the next street over. “It's not any safer over here.”

But he was wearing that weird smile I couldn't figure out when I leaned to look. “That way!” I said, and Tulpa shifted on a dime. “Go!” I shouted when the cop car skidded around the corner, going full tilt the wrong way down a one-way.

We were only two blocks from the church, and Tulpa took a low fence as we crossed another row of houses. From the street we'd just left, the cop revved his engine and backed up, sirens wailing.

“We aren't getting over the fence at the church,” Trent said, his words a tingling sensation on my cheek. “I'll slide down to open it. Just get him through.”

“You're the better rider. I'll get it!” I said, and then we both ducked when Bis buzzed us.

“I'll get the gate,” he said, then darted away.

Tulpa's feet skidded on the hard pavement as we found the next street, and I breathed in the scent of wine as we trotted for a block—until that cop showed up again, spotlight searching. “Hurry!” I shouted. I could see the church steeple. We were almost home.

“What the Tink blasted hell are you doing?” Jenks shrilled, dusting when that cop car whooped his siren, spotlight searching. “You're on a horse? Seriously?”

“Jenks, help Bis with the gate, will you?” I said, laughing as Trent pushed Tulpa into a soft canter, staying on the sidewalk to hide the prints. Bis had the gate open, and Tulpa snorted at the sudden flash of pixy dust as Jenks's kids found us. I waved them off, telling them to dampen their dust as Tulpa walked into the garden, head up and his nostrils flaring. We were home.