The Undead Pool (39 page)

He was right, but I was afraid—afraid of the look on Al's face, afraid of how deep the scar went. “I'd rather not,” I said.

Motion fast, Ivy shifted the monitor slightly. “Rachel said it wasn't a good idea.”

Jenks darted to hover beside Ivy so Trent could see him as well. “She's got pieces of your elf goddess in her right now, cookie farts, making her aura glow. You think the demons are going to be hearts and roses over that?”

Trent's face went ashen, and a chill went through me. “No one told me that,” he said quickly, almost getting up, sinking back down in agitation when he remembered he was on camera. “I talked to you last night, and you didn't tell me that.”

“Well, if you hadn't brushed me off, maybe I would have,” I muttered, and David exchanged a concerned look with Megan.

“Brushed you off!”

I leaned toward the monitor, hands on the counter beside my knees. “Brushed me off.” I couldn't help but wonder if this was our first argument, but didn't you have to be a couple before you could have one of those? He had made his choice—the right choice—and I wasn't it.

Clearly upset, Trent looked off screen. “You didn't tell me she was harboring mystics.”

“I didn't know, Sa'han,” Quen's voice came faintly. “She appears to be handling it.”

I ignored Ivy's uncomfortable look. The mystics humming through me made my fingertips tingle. Trent knew I was playing with fire. I had to get these things out of me for good—preferably before anyone in the ever-after saw me with them. There was a chance Al would help. It was thin, but money moved him, and turning me in would put his bank account in jeopardy. Besides, my decision to avoid him was based on fear, and I wouldn't let fear rule me.

“Rachel,” Trent said tersely, his tone solidifying it.

“I'm fine,” I said, and Jenks's dust shifted to an unhappy orange. “And the truth of it is, you're right. With Landon and Ayer dug in like ticks, I won't ignore the possibility we might not find them in time. As you say, the demons might be our best option. If we can wake up the masters, we
will
find Landon and Ayer. The vampire violence will stop, too.”

“Rachel, I don't want you going to the demons,” Trent said, and Edden threw his hands up in the air in disgust.

I looked at him, shocked at the emotion he was showing. Or maybe I was just able to read him better now. “It was your idea.”

“Yes, but that was before I knew you had mystics still in you.”

Choosing to be angry over afraid, I slid from the counter, knees shaking as I crossed the room. Megan pulled back, and even David looked discomfited. “You aren't here,” I said, hands on my hips as I looked at his image; the little box next to it with my face looked wrong.
My God, is my hair really that strung out?
“You don't get a say,” I added. “I'm making cookies, and whoever wants to go with me can go come sundown. End of story.”

“Count me in,” Ivy said, and a new worry surfaced even as I was glad for her help.

“Me too!” Jenks added, making it worse, but honestly, I couldn't stop them this time—and I needed help. I needed it bad.

“Cookies?” Edden muttered.

Jenks nodded knowingly as he hovered beside Edden. “Al loves cookies. It will buy her at least five minutes.”

“Why sunset?” David asked. “It's hours from now.”

“Because Jenks can't be in the ever-after until sundown, and Bis won't be awake until then,” I said, heart pounding, and the pixy glowed a happy silver. “We can do this. We've done it before. And who knows? Maybe Al has a way to get them out of me.” One that didn't involve a lot of pain, maybe—but I doubted it.

“Rachel . . .” Trent protested, leaning toward the screen, and ticked, I smacked the lid down to end the call, making Ivy jerk.

“Meeting adjourned,” I said, heart pounding. Ivy was staring at me, and I turned to see that David, Edden, and even Megan were wide-eyed and silent.

“What?” I said, wondering why the mystics were all silent or gone. “Edden, if you can find Landon and Ayer before sundown, I'm all ears, but otherwise, I'm going.”

Mass that interprets sound waves,
a mystic said importantly, and the knowledge cascaded through the rest, starting a flaming conversation that I was more than ears, and was this insanity or a joke? I felt a hysterical laugh bubbling up, and I choked it off.

I'm going to go nerking futs,
I thought, eyes widening as that made it all worse.

“You heard the lady!” Jenks said, dust shifting to an annoyed bronze. “Get going! Find the bastards. It takes me a week to get ever-after stink out of my clothes.”

Edden brightened, eager to use the demon card and get back to normal. “That's it, then?”

David was nodding, extending a hand to escort Megan out. “Good. Edden, if all you need are eyes on the street, I can help. If we find these SOBs, Rachel won't have to talk to the demons at all.”

“Worth a shot,” Edden said. “Bring your people down to the arena and we'll give them a grid. Rose can tell you where I am better than me.”

The phone was ringing, and Ivy's eyebrows rose after glancing at the caller ID. I shook my head, and she let it ring. He wasn't here. He got no say. We could handle this the way we did everything else. Together. But my heart was pounding and my knees felt wobbly as I told the mystics buzzing in my head to back off and let me think my singular thoughts.

David had his hand on Megan's shoulder, the two of them starting for the door with a pile of clothes in their hands. Seeing their casual, comfortable contact, I realized I couldn't procrastinate any longer. “David?” I called, waving my way through Jenks's dust. “Hold up. Can I talk to you for a second?” They both came to a halt, and a flash of angst went through me. I wasn't abandoning them. I was making things right.

“You sure you can handle the demons?” he asked, and I nodded.

“It's nothing we haven't done before.”
Minus the deep-seated hatred.
“We'll be fine. David, I've been thinking.”

Immediately his face darkened, and I pulled him aside so Edden and Ivy could slip by us. She touched my shoulder in passing, the simple contact starting a buzz of controversy concerning “we” in a few mystics.

“Ah, I've been doing some thinking this week,” I said, raising my hand when he started to interrupt. “No, listen,” I said, but he wasn't.

“Nothing has changed,” he said, and Megan flushed as Jenks left, joining the noise on the way to the front door. “I don't want—”

“You don't want,” I interrupted, searching his eyes until I found the focus in him, so deep and entrenched that I didn't think it would ever leave him. I hoped it never would. “It's too late for what you
want,
” I said, unhappy that this wasn't working out. Seeing him and his pack rallying together under a common goal made it very clear this wasn't working. “You need. You
need
an alpha who is there, focused on the same thing you are. Clearly I can't do it.”

“Rachel.”

“I'm not a Were,” I said, interrupting him. “David, Megan needs the clout that goes with the job she's doing.”
My job, the one I neglected so badly that I hadn't even met the woman doing it.
“Maybe if you were just an ordinary alpha this could work, but you're not. Not anymore.”

“Maybe if you were just an ordinary witch,” he said ruefully, and my shoulders eased as he began to understand. We were both being pulled in different directions. It was time to let go.

My throat closed up, and I braced myself against the questioning mystics. “Don't think this is easy,” I said, and he nodded, taking my hand and giving it a firm squeeze. “What do we have to do?” Head high, Megan came closer, her breath held in hope.

David let go, his fingers finding hers, a new, eager look in his eyes. Yes, I was doing the right thing. “You're not leaving our pack,” he said, and Megan nodded.

“No, but I can't be alpha.” But I knew this was the first step out. I wasn't a Were, and to pretend so would only lead to more grief. I never should have tried in the first place. But who knew it would lead to all this? I looked at Megan, who was almost glowing. “We don't have to fight or anything, right? I'm really tired.”

David ducked his head in a chuckle. “A handshake will do it. The paperwork is only for the registry.”

A handshake. The mystics clustered close to my uppermost thoughts, trying to figure out why I was both upset and happy as I held out my hand. “Megan, all good things to you,” I said as our hands met.

“Go shake death until you win,” she said, and I sighed in regret.
Coulda, shoulda.

“I'll do that. Thank you.” I let go, and the mystics hummed their confusion.

I made her single voice count more,
I thought at them.

A single voice can't have more merit than many voices,
they thought in unison.

It can if that single voice sees more than others,
I thought back, then caught my breath as a flood of them left me, fueled by the concept. I hid my sudden unbalance by giving Megan a hug. It was the right thing to do, and David was beaming when I rocked back. Steps silent, they headed for the front door, their soft words twined and falling over each other. It was good. I'd finally done something good.

“That's nice,” Jenks said as he came back in and landed on my shoulder. “So you think cookies are going to keep Al from busting you up?”

I looked at Ivy's empty corner, relishing the new quiet of my kitchen. “No, but I think you, me, Bis, and Ivy working together can,” I said softly, and the dust spilling down my front turned an alarmed red. “I just hope they find either Landon or Ayer before sunset. Al is going to be pissed, but he won't turn me in. He'd be broke.”

Jenks's dust turned a dismal brown, and I exhaled. “Maybe Al can get them out of me,” I said as I turned to the fridge. I was starved, and the last thing I wanted to do was fight demons on an empty stomach.

But as Jenks and I discussed the leftovers in the fridge and the likelihood of food poisoning, I wasn't sure I wanted Al to get them out. I was starting to become used to them . . . and the tingle of wild magic they brought to me.

Twenty-Two

C
hocolate-chip-scented air rolled out, shifting my hair as I opened the oven door. They'd been frozen dough fifteen minutes ago, thawed by a charm Ceri had taught me and baked as a quick bribe to distract Al while I explained why he should think about his bank account before his pride.

This is so dumb,
I thought as I set the pan on the counter and rummaged in the drawer for the spatula. I was going to end up in an ever-after jail cell for uncommon stupidity. If Al didn't go for it, I'd be spending the next precious twenty-four hours trying to explain to a bunch of demons why I was hosting bits and pieces of the goddess of the species who had enslaved them, warred upon them, imprisoned them in an alternate reality, and then cursed them so their children would be stunted shadows of themselves.

Maybe they had a point, I mused as I looked up, forcing a smile as Jenks darted in, a horsehair in one hand, his crying daughter in the other.

“Rache, tell her that horse is going to eat her,” he said, frustrated sparkles sifting from him when he let go of her and darted into the utensil rack where he kept the wing tape. “I swear, I should just let the stupid animal snap your wing clear off.”

“Tulpa did that?” I said, and he pulled the girl down to stand on the counter where his dust pooled with hers in a beautiful kaleidoscope of silver, gold, and green.

“No, she snagged it when she darted away from him. Hold still. Hold still!” he exclaimed as his daughter awkwardly looked behind herself and held her wing so her dad could fix it. A tiny cut leaked silver dust, mirroring the twin tracks of tears spilling down her face. “Tink's little pink rosebuds,” he grumbled as he finished and rubbed the sticky stuff from his hands. “Was it worth it?”

Beaming through the tears, she nodded, taking to the air and snitching the horsehair from the counter in passing. In half a second, even the sound of her wings was gone.

“Darn kids grew up so fast,” he whispered, and I felt a flash of guilt for including him in my madness.

“Ah, Bis and Ivy will probably be enough help tonight,” I said, and he spun.

“Bull,” he said, taking a crumb from the counter. “Al doesn't scare me.”

“He scares me,” I admitted, and Jenks nodded, silent as he nibbled the pixy-size cookie crumb. “I mean it,” I said, pushing a warm cookie off the spatula. “You and Ivy both. This might be too much for Al to stomach.”

“All the more reason to come,” he said, looking toward the street and rising up at the revving of a distant engine and a tinny horn. “Face it, Rachel. You're stuck with us.” A second horn joined it, and then more engine, closer this time.

“Kids,” I said, hoping that was all it was. “Isn't there enough going on without getting into an accident?”

“Ah, that's Trent's car,” Jenks said, and I jerked upright, the cookie I'd just taken a bite from forgotten. “I mean, that's his horn.”

“Trent?” A sliver of adrenaline sparked through me, pricking the interest of the nearest mystics, their attention diverting from the minute pigment shades in the paint to my rising flush. “How did he get into the Hollows? We're under lockdown.”

A car door slammed, and Jenks rose higher. “You got me. That's him, though.”

“Rachel? Rachel!” came echoing from the street. “I have to talk to you!”

Oh. My. God. He came to stop me,
I thought, and the mystics hummed at my alarm, confused that it was not based on possible injury, but . . . embarrassment? Trent knew this was a bad idea. Hell, I knew it was a bad idea. But if he tried to stop me, I'd have to admit it, and then I'd have to do it anyway because, as he implied, there really wasn't another option.

“Crap on toast,” Jenks said as a thunderous booming echoed in the sanctuary as Trent hammered on the door, and I winced. “I'll let him in before the neighbors call the cops. Not that they'd come,” he finished as he flew off, his dust a bright sparkle.

Trent is here,
I thought, my grip on the spatula almost white knuckled. This was my life, my decision. What he wanted didn't matter. That fact was very clear. Full of a misplaced anger, I dropped the spatula and snatched up the hot pad.

Grimacing, I opened the oven for the last tray of cookies. My brow furrowed at Trent's voice in the sanctuary, and I intentionally turned my back on him as he stomped down the hall.

“Why didn't you tell me you had mystics still in you!” Trent shouted. Shocked that he'd raised his voice, I spun, a tray of cookies in my hand. He was still in the clothes he'd been in earlier, his dress slacks wrinkled and the top two buttons undone from his shirt to show a wisp of hair. His sleeves were rolled to different heights and it made him look disarming, even as he glared at me, tips of his ears red.

“You want to say it a little louder, maybe?” I said as I dropped the tray clattering onto the counter. “I don't think they heard you two streets over.”

He came in, disheveled and upset. A pen poked from his shirt pocket, and I raised my spatula threateningly when he reached out as if to give me a shake. Mystics hummed, the nearest gathering into me, and sensing it, perhaps, he paused. His eyes dropped to the cookies, then rose to Jenks perched on the curtains over the sink.

“You haven't gone yet . . .” he started, and I shook my head, lips pressed into a line as I wedged a cookie off the tray.

“Not yet,” I said, wrangling it to the cooling rack. “Ivy is settling up with Nina this afternoon, and I'm waiting until sunset so Jenks and Bis can come with us.” Angry that I had to risk them all for something that they had nothing to do with, I used too much force, and a cookie went sailing off the tray and onto the floor. Frustrated, I threw the spatula down. “Why are you here?”

“You can't go to the ever-after with pieces of the Goddess in you! I know I said it was the only way, but we can think of something else. What if Newt saw you?”

The worry lines at the corners of his eyes pushed the anger from me, and my first biting response died. “We don't have time for anything else,” I said, feeling numb. “Besides, if I can keep this between Al and me, it will be okay. He won't turn me in. He'd lose everything.” But a smidgen of fear lingered. I'd seen Al's hatred of the elves. His emotion was not one filtered through generations but raw. The pain was his own, not a passed-down story.

And yet he had loved Ceri . . .

“It will be fine,” I said as I picked up the cookie and threw it away. “And it's not any of your concern.”

“That's not fair,” he said, and I leaned over the counter to him.

“Yes. It. Is.” I took a slow breath, ticked even though I knew he'd made the right decision. We both had. “Mr. Kalamack.”

Shoes scuffing, he sat down with an almost imperceptible sigh. He was facing sideways to me, and I could hear pixies playing in the garden. If it wasn't for the sirens and faint scent of burning building from across the river, it might almost be a normal day. Slowly the memory of making cookies with Trent surfaced. Tension easing, I resumed moving the cookies to the cooling rack. The memory hadn't been real in the sense that we'd actually done it—seeing as I'd been trapped in my mind and he had been trying to free me—but he remembered it too, so perhaps it was real after all. The kiss afterward sure had been.

“Your aura is white,” he said, still not looking at me. “How many?” His head turned, and my breath caught. “I can still ask that, can't I?”

I nudged a cookie to be exactly even with the rest. “It varies. If I tap a line, too many to breathe. Right now, not a lot. Just a few voices. They recognize you from the computer. Congratulations, you've been granted the title of trusted singular. I suggest you refrain from wearing hats.”

“Ah . . .” His confusion was sudden and wary, and I managed a wry smile.

“They recognize you as an individual. They weren't sure from seeing you through the computer. They've been ranging about a lot, which makes it easier.” Ranging about, then coming back with confused friends, bombarding me with images, thoughts, and questions about things happening miles away. It was lofty, godlike to know what was going on everywhere.
I'm going crazy, and I think I like it.

Jenks's wings hummed, and he flew from the curtain rod to the cooling cookies. “If you're not going to fight, I'm going to go rescue your horse from my kids,” he said, and then with a cheerful dust I didn't understand, he darted out into the garden.

Trent watched him go, looking frustrated as he turned his attention to the spelling pots over the counter. “I vowed I'd never tell you anything you wanted to do was a bad idea,” he said, his low voice pulling at me. “But this isn't worth the risk. Rachel, look at me!”

I set the spatula down and faced him, cookies and a thousand words unsaid between us. “Why are you here?” I asked softly.

“You can't let the demons see you with mystics in you. Even Al,” he said, and fear spiked through me. “You don't understand the depth of hatred they have for us. Especially now that there're a dozen Rosewood survivors growing up healthy. The demons know they exist. They're simply ignoring them until their neural nets are mature enough to play with.”

“I said, why are you here?” I asked again, breath catching when he got to his feet.

“Rachel, your aura is white with mystics,” he said, and I didn't pull away when he took my elbow. “They're not fools. They'll know. They will
remember.
They hate the Goddess.”

“Then maybe they know how to contain her,” I said, lifting my elbow away. “Getting help from the demons is the best option we've got. So it's the harder choice—why change anything now?”

Exhaling, Trent leaned closer, and the scent of cinnamon and wine crashed over me. “I want you to slow down,” he said. “We can figure this out. Going to Al is not the only option; it's the easiest for everyone but you.” A hint of fear settled into his strained expression. “I can't do easy anymore. It's too hard on my soul.”

There was danger in his words, and I turned to set the empty pans in the sink. “You're getting married,” I said, back to him. “You lost your say in what I do.” Lips pressed, I turned around. “Why are you even here?”

“I came to talk some sense into you,” he said. “And I'm not leaving until I know you're not going to do this.”

My head hurt, and I looked down, thinking my feet were too long to be pretty. “What you
want
doesn't matter.” I brought my gaze up, shocked to see how he looked in my kitchen, pleading at me to listen to him. “Trent, you worked hard to become responsible for the elves, and that goes both ways. You belong to them. You belong to Lucy, and Ray, and Ellasbeth. You belong to flipping Cincinnati and every elf east of the Mississippi. I work for you when I need the money, and I'm not doing it anymore. You made a choice. It was a good one and I support it, but you can't have it both ways. So go away and
let me do my job
!”

He stepped forward, forcing me back. “You're right. I made a decision. It was the wrong one.”

Shit.
I felt my face go white. Mystics clustered in me, looking for the source of my fear, amazed to find it again in emotion, not physical hurt. More gathered, fascinated and making me dizzy.

“When I heard you were taken by the Goddess, I tried,” Trent said, noting his mismatched sleeves and rolling one up. “I did what I was supposed to do. I stayed where it was safe. I fulfilled my responsibilities by sending that finding charm to Edden. I told myself that he could find you, that you'd be okay. And you were. I did the right thing, what was acceptable and needed—and it worked. But it almost killed me.”

He came close, and I backed up until I hit the counter. Watching me, he took my hand in his, bringing it up between us. I looked at it with mine, seeing the masculine strength in his long, graceful fingers. “I'm not going to work for you ever again,” I whispered, wanting his fingers skating across my skin. “Don't ask.”

Trent's eyes fixed on mine. “I told Ellasbeth to leave this morning.”

My breath caught, and I held it, feeling dizzy. “What?”

His smile was faint and tremulous—unsure and confident all at the same time. “Right after you hung up on me. You were right that I had no voice in what you did if I married her, and I didn't like it. I told Quen to pack her things if she didn't. I told her to be out by tomorrow. I told her that she would have the girls three months in the summer, and that's it, and if she contests it, she will never see them again. I'm not going to marry her. Ever. I don't love her, and I never will.”

His hand on me was trembling. My God. For once in his life, he was setting aside what was expected of him and following . . . his heart. “You can't do that,” I whispered, scared. “Everyone expects . . .”

“I already did.” His jaw clenched. “I don't want easy anymore. It's worthless and the shine doesn't last. But you already knew that.”

This wasn't happening. I mean, I'd seen the signs, I'd seen them, and we had agreed . . . “Why are you doing this?” I said, a flash of anger coloring my words. This was unfair! We had agreed! Why was he dangling this in front of me when he knew it wasn't a real possibility? “You know who I am!”

His expression became serious, and his hand almost slipped from mine. “I've had a long time to think about it.”

“This can't work!”

He looked down, then jerked his head up in frustration as his fingers tightened on mine. “I'm not asking you to marry me, Rachel. I just . . .”

My heart pounded, and he stepped closer, so close the scent of cinnamon and wine enveloped me.

“I like walking into a room and seeing your face light up when you see me,” he said earnestly, the sun from the open window making his hair glow. “I like arguing with Quen over the wisdom of employing a demon to be my security.”