The Undead Pool

I recalled the scintillating feel of wild magic prickling over my skin like the chime of a bell—and then last spring when a presence had acknowledged me and helped me invoke those elven slave rings. Cold, I pulled the covers up to my chin. And how did sex figure into it? My focus blurred as I pulled the grit-coated memory of Trent to me, imagining how he had looked with the ever-after dust running off him in the shower, the sigh of relief he must have made, the slowly dissipating red puddle under him and the soap bubbles among his toes, the glisten of water on his clean skin, both slippery and firm as he shook his head and the drops went flying. His hair would still look light under the water. I’d seen it once. But his eyes would be a brighter green.

“Oh God, stop it, Rachel,” I moaned, rolling over and burying my head under the pillow. Just how long had it been since I’d been with anyone? Much less someone I loved?

But I don’t love Trent.

My breath grew stale, and in a sudden flurry of motion, I flung the covers off and sat up. Rex dropped down, going to the door with a hopeful chirp of an early breakfast. The oak floor was cold on my toes, and I felt ill from lack of sleep. Pushing my hair back, I looked at my clock blinking a slow four A.M. The sun rose at about ten after five this time of year, and giving up, I reached for my robe, angry almost as I stuffed my arms in the blue terry cloth sleeves and tied it closed around me. Maybe warm milk would help.

The church was silent apart from the pixies outside, and the air was cold on my bare legs as I padded to the kitchen. Ivy and Nina were sleeping, and the mental image of them spooned together, their hair mingling as they shared the same pillow, drifted through me. I smiled and left the kitchen light off. Happiness was happiness wherever you found it.

Warm milk alone wasn’t going to do it, and I quietly got out the hot chocolate mix. The coming dawn let in enough light to see by, and I found things by memory, fingers moving sure in the dim light as Rex twined about my feet and got in my way. Newt’s empty jar sat on the sill next to Al’s chrysalis and Trent’s pinkie ring. I knew it was empty, but it gave me the creeps—the early light catching the edges of the glass and making them glow.

My phone was in my bag, and I eyed it as I got out the sugar. If the pixies were up, Trent would be too. Squinting in the light from the fridge, I smiled as Jenks came in, probably drawn by the activity. “Morning, Jenks,” I whispered as I filled a mug with milk and added the cocoa.

“Can’t sleep?” he said as he perched on the roll of paper towels.

A bright silver dust spilled from him. Morning and evening were truly his time. Feeling fuzzy, I shook my head and looked out the small kitchen window. Most of the red glow in the clouds was from the fires in Cincinnati. Sirens, too, had been a faint, almost nonstop background. Edden hadn’t asked me to come in, and for that I was thankful. Today he’d probably be screaming for help as he tried to cope with rising vampire violence.

“Too much going on,” I said as I put the mug in the nuker and hit go. I leaned back against the counter while the microwave spun, the square of light diffusing into nothing. Trent had once made me hot chocolate. Stop it, Rachel.

The seconds on the microwave counted down, and not wanting to wake up Ivy and Nina, I cut it short. Jenks was a quiet hum of accompaniment as I took the hot chocolate out onto the back porch. The door would thump if I closed it, so I left it open, carefully easing the screen door shut before padding over the slightly damp wood and sitting on the top step, my knees almost to my chin. God, I was tired, but sleep wouldn’t come.

Mug held to warm my fingers, I looked over the garden to the glow of Cincinnati. The news last night had been awful, even if there were fewer misfires to focus on. Magic was being voluntarily curtailed above and beyond reason, creating almost more problems than the misfires. A bright spot was that the I.S. was beginning to function on a reduced level to try to contain the more aggressive living vampires. Nonvampire agents were teaming up with the FIB street force out of frustration as their living vampire managers became more and more circular in their thinking, unable to make a decision. It was scary how dependent they were on the undead.