The Undead Pool

Page 20

My pulse hammered as we closed the gap. I didn’t like Trent’s eagerness, nor that Newt had seen us and was energetically waving. She looked like a fourteen-year-old girl, verging on womanhood in a long nightgown that did little to hide what was underneath, her figure slight with early adolescence. Clearly not one of her better days. I’d seen Newt as a child before, and she gave me the willies. “You do know she’s nuts, right?” I said as Trent hustled us forward. Al had his hands on his hips, looking nothing like Jenks, and was frowning at me.
“Yoo-hoo! Did you come to catch fireflies?” Newt called, and Trent’s pace bobbled when a black film of ever-after slithered over her and her thin, childlike shape grew to the more usual, androgynous, hairless, barefoot, martial-arts-uniform-clothed Newt that I’d once found hammering holes in my back living room. “They make fine night-lights for when the world ends,” she added, and then, as her eyes traveled over me, she gave herself hair, a sundress, and a big, wide-brimmed hat. “Hi, Rachel.”
Crap on toast, she looked like my mother, and I dropped my eyes before she could see my shock. Trent valiantly struggled for words, pulling himself together to extend his hand to Al. “Algaliarept. Well met,” he said, and Al all but bared his teeth.
“Call me Al,” he said, clearly not liking that we’d found him up here with Newt. “I insist.”
“Al,” Trent said simply, his hand falling as he turned to Newt. “Newt. Good to see you.”
Newt beamed, seemingly coy as she focused on him. “Hello, Trenton Aloysius Kalamack,” she said, and he stiffened at her seductive tone. Beside me, Al sighed. “You’re very dapper out in the ever-after sun. I’d forgotten how the light hits elven hair.”
She sidled up to him and I backed out of her way. “I’d advise not moving,” Al said, and Trent froze.
“Ooooh, so soft, even when it’s full of grit. Come home with me and I’ll wash it for you.”
“Ah . . .” he stammered, and Newt spun to me, her hair now looking exactly like mine, frizz and all.
“Rachel. Love. You want to trade? I have Nicholas Gregory Sparagmos about somewhere. I put him somewhere safe. I can’t remember exactly, but if I put my mind to it, I’m sure I can find him.”
Nick? Shaking my head emphatically, I grabbed Trent’s arm and pulled him to me. “No. Thanks anyway.”
“No?” she echoed, her expression falling. “Pity. I’m catching fireflies,” she said, black eyes a startling contrast to her innocent oblivion as she worked the lid off the large jar now in her hand. “Firefly, firefly, glowing there in the sky,” she sang, dancing away with the jar swinging in the air as a film of ever-after coated her and she was fourteen and sickly again. “Play with me and don’t be shy. Bring your light that will not die. Pretty little firefly.”
Trent’s face was pale as he watched her dance in the red light hammering down on us. “She wasn’t like that before.”
Ruddy face sour, Al swung his cane in a wide circle and watched her. “It comes and goes. We tried chaperoning her, dosing her into forgetfulness, spelling her into memory . . .” He shuddered. “Nothing seems to work but Rachel.”
“Me?”
Al gave me an unreadable look. “It’s especially bad when she’s remembered something. That’s why I came up here. I don’t like her mucking about with your line. Which is fine, by the way. Why are you here? With that elf?” he finished darkly.
Uneasy, I licked my lips, immediately wishing I hadn’t when acidic dust coated my tongue. “I might ask the same of you,” I said, avoiding him.
“I’d forgotten how barren it is up here,” Trent said, pointedly changing the subject, and Al pulled his eyes from Newt, hopping about as she tried to catch something in her Mason jar.
“Yes . . .” he drawled. “You made a fucking mess before you left us to die in it.”
Trent didn’t even flinch. “My ancestors, maybe. But not me.” He tilted his head. “What is she doing?”
Huffing, Al pulled his velvet coat straight. “And yet you’re still not going to do anything about it. Don’t tell me you’re innocent of the blame.”
“Newt!” I called, and Trent gasped when Al moved to cuff me to be silent. Dodging it, I shifted away from him. “Newt? What did you remember?”
The image of innocence, Newt ran back to us, a cover on the top of the jar. “I caught four this morning,” she said, little-girl voice excited. “They’ll be calling them out again soon, and I’ll be ready with jars and jars. If I catch enough, my room will be bright when the sun goes dark.” Head tilting, she looked straight at the sun, unblinking and with no ill effect. “I don’t like the dark,” she said, her enthusiasm dimming. “If you give them a good shake, they glow even brighter. See?”
Al cleared his throat as Newt energetically shook the jar and held it up, proud of something none of us could see.
“Delightful, delightful,” Al drawled. “Newt, love, can I have them? Pretty please?”
Her expression darkened suspiciously until he smiled his best and she coyly conceded. “You may,” she said as he took it, and another, identical jar appeared in her hands. “I can get more.” And off she skipped, making me shiver at the aspect of a sickly girl in hospital pajamas dancing in the desert.
Frowning, Al’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you here?” he asked Trent point-blank.
Oh God. I wanted to know that, too. “He’s here so I’m not alone,” I said before Trent could open his mouth. Behind him, Newt had caught something, setting her jar beside a rock before another appeared in her hand and she started jumping again.
“You don’t trust me,” Al said, and my eyes jerked to his.
“I trust you, but he doesn’t.”
Trent’s hands were behind his back, the windblown grit turning his hair red. “There’ve been some new developments with that overactive wave. We came out to look at Rachel’s line, knowing if she went to you, your answer would be that it was fine.”
“That’s because it is,” Al growled, his mood worsening.
“And that’s why both you and Newt are up here?” Trent asked, squinting at Al as the demon glared at him over his round blue glasses. Good grief. They were like little boys.
“Al,” I said before it got any worse. “My line is leaking wild magic.”
“It is not—” Al’s words cut off, and he turned to Newt cavorting in the dust. “No,” he breathed, but it sounded more like wishful thinking at this point.
Trent eased closer to me, and Al stiffened. “I think it’s intentional,” Trent said. “Someone is pulling wild magic from her line, either because it’s the newest or perhaps because she lives in reality and it’s easier to pull it from her line than another.”
“Is that so,” Al said snidely.
Undeterred, Trent nodded. “The overstimulation of witch magic is about what I’d expect, tracking through Cincinnati and the Hollows until the energy is spent. I’m guessing they average a life span of an hour or so before dying out.”
He and Trent were inches apart, and Al took a deep breath, hesitating when he noticed Trent’s scent and pulled back. “Then you’d be wrong,” Al said, and Trent frowned. “Wild magic has a half-life of a decade. If it was wild magic, it would circle the globe before dying out, wreaking havoc the entire time. Therefore, it’s not wild magic.” Seemingly not caring, Al took a tin of Brimstone from a tiny pocket, delicately sniffing a pinch. “Not everything is about you, itchy witch.”
“But they hardly get past the river!” I protested, sure it was.
“Which fits with my idea that this is intentional.” Trent took my hands persuasively, and Al’s brow wrinkled. “Someone is creating the waves and then catching them, either to contain the disastrous effects in Cincinnati, or they are simply collecting the energy for another reason. We just have to find out who’s doing it, and why.”
Not liking Al’s expression, I ran a hand over my hair to find it was a snarly mess. The light of discovery was in Trent’s eyes, and something in me quivered. “If it’s intentional, then who’s helping them with the magic?” I asked pointedly, and we turned to Al.
“You think it’s one of us?” he said, affronted, then grinned to show his flat, blocky teeth. “What a marvelous idea. Alas, no, it’s not. No demon alive would stoop to using wild magic, even to kill vampires. Why would we kill them? We made them.”
“Kill them?” I questioned. “No, they’re just sleeping.”
Still smiling, Al leaned in until I could smell the Brimstone on his breath. “If they don’t wake up soon to feed, they will die from a lack of aura. The undead are starving, Rachel.”
My God, he was right, and my focus blurred as I thought of Ivy.
“Imagine!” Al said fervently, cane swinging jauntily. “An entire city without master vampires. How intoxicatingly chaotic. It’s almost enough to make me wish I had thought of it.”
“We’ll never survive it,” Trent said softly.
“HAPA?” I guessed, knowing the Humans Against Paranormals Association dabbled in demon magic, so why not wild. “The men-who-don’t-belong?”
“It is not wild magic,” Al said, but his tone lacked conviction.
“Then what is it?” I said, tired of his attitude; just then Newt called to me as she skipped her way to us, her slippered feet sending up little puffs of dust in the hot sun.
“Rachel!” Mason jar tucked under her arm, Newt hopped a hopscotch pattern. “Do you want to put your pajamas on and have a sleepover with me?” She came to a breathless halt, the hem of her nightgown coated with ever-after dust. “Al.” She gave Al a shove, and the demon jerked, startled. “Tell the girl she can have a sleepover. You work her too hard. Look at the dark circles under her eyes.”
“It’s not because I work her,” he grumbled. “The witch can’t seem to find her way to my kitchen except when she’s in trouble. And she can’t have a sleepover!” he added when Newt began tugging on my sleeve, her black eyes glinting. “Leave off, you bitch!” he shouted, and Newt dropped back, looking hurt.
“At least this time, it’s only one world,” Newt said, and I wondered if her sudden burst of clarity would last. “I don’t know if she can do it. She looks tired already, and it’s only going to get worse.” Newt’s eyes widened. “Oh, look!” she exclaimed, looking across the dry river to the remains of Loveland Castle. “They’re starting to come out again!”
Trent jerked as Newt ran off, startled by her cry of delight.
“What the mother pus bucket is wrong with her!” Al said, peeved as she ran across the broken earth. She was headed for the dry riverbed, and she jumped right over it, red-stained white nightgown streaming out behind her. Sighing, Al looked at the jar he’d gotten from her. Handing it to Trent, he began trudging after her. Not even glancing at it, Trent passed it to me, and after a moment, I jogged to catch up, jar pressed to my side.
“Newt, love!” Al was calling. “Tell me about your fireflies!”
“That demon is certifiable,” Trent said, voice low as we lagged behind. “How can they let her wander around like this?”
Al was waiting for us at the shallow ditch, and he took the jar as I slid down, then I caught it as he tossed it to me. “Because she might just be the most sane demon here,” he said when Trent slid down after me. “I haven’t been able to decide if stress pushes her over the edge, or if when she starts digging into her past, she simply loses her way, but usually it’s because she’s remembered something important.”
I started up the other side, startled when Newt’s face, somehow both sickly and lively, peered over the edge at me. “Rachel!” she crowed, a thin white hand extended to help me up. “I think they like you!” She pulled back before I could take her hand, and I scrambled up, jar tucked under an arm.
“Oh, so pretty!” Newt was saying as she danced, her bare feet among the stones and her hands in the air as she caught nothing. “Look at them light up!”
“Newt . . .” I started, then my head snapped up as the prickling of wild magic flowed over me. Goose bumps rose, and I set the jar down to help Trent. “Get up here!” I hissed, then gasped at the feeling of sexual titillation that poured through me as his hand smacked into mine. “Holy crap,” I breathed.
“Rachel?”
I yanked him up, sitting down where I was as his hand left mine and he stood at the edge of the gully. “Can you feel that?” I squeaked, waves of sparkles cascading through me. It was wild magic, stronger and more unfocused than I’d ever felt before. It was easier to bear if Trent wasn’t touching me, but disconcerted, I held that glass jar to me and just sat there, wishing it would both stop and never end.
“That’s . . . what is that?” Trent said as he watched Newt dance in delight, shivering.
“Feel what?” Al snarled as he stood beside Trent. “I don’t feel anything.”
“Wild magic,” I said, still sitting as the sensation began to ease. “It’s the wave. It’s happening.” Alarmed, I looked at Newt. “Newt!” I called. “Don’t do any magic!”
Spinning and dancing, Newt laughed, the sound pulling all expression from Al’s face. “Look at them!” she sang, catching nothing. “They’re swarming! Hurry! We need them for when the sky falls!”