The Outlaw Demon Wails (53 page)

“I.S. impound, I think.”

“Swell.” My keys were still in it, and tired, I looked in my bag to make sure I still had that golf ball. “Okay, who out here owes me a favor?”

Jenks rose up from Ivy's shoulder, turning in midair to look toward Cincinnati. “Edden.”

Nodding, I gathered myself, and as Ivy hovered to catch me if I stumbled, we shuffled that direction. I was surprised. As a captain of the street force of the FIB, or Federal Inderland Bureau, Edden didn't get out much, but this had happened six blocks from their downtown tower, and with both human and Inderland Security fighting for jurisdiction, he'd want to make sure the I.S. didn't sweep anything under the carpet.

The chaos was worse on the Cincy side of things and they were still moving cars out. Unfortunately none of them were mine. Behind the blockade
were even more official vehicles, and behind them, the expected news vans. I winced, trying to hide my face as a helicopter thumped overhead.
Three hours?

But the shadows on the road agreed with the lapse of time, and as we looked for Edden, I thought back to that inertia bubble. They didn't make them that big, and it wasn't a cascading reaction of one triggering another, either. It had been a misfired charm in a morning of them. What the Turn was going on?

“Found him,” Jenks said, darting away, and Ivy angled to follow his shifting path through the people. It was tight, and I leaned closer to her, not wanting to be bumped. Everything felt unusually intense, even the sun.

“I'm sorry I scared you,” I said as I pressed into her to avoid a harried medic looking for a sedation charm for some poor woman. Her husband was fine; she was having hysterics.

“It wasn't your fault.”

No, it was never my fault, but somehow I always got blamed, and upon reaching the blockade, I dug in my bag for my ID. Ivy had already flashed hers, and after comparing the picture to my face, the two officers let me past. Jenks was hovering over Edden like a tiny spotlight, and I limped a little faster. There were definite advantages to being a noncitizen, but only if you were four inches tall.

Captain Edden had put on a few pounds since taking over the Inderland Relations division after his son had quit. His ex-military build made the stress weight look solid, not fat, and I smiled as he squinted at me from under his FIB cap, his eyes showing a heavy relief that I was no longer out cold on the pavement.
Standing beside an open car door, he finished giving two officers direction before turning to us.

“Rachel!” he exclaimed, thick hand finding my shoulder briefly in a heartfelt squeeze. “Thank God you're okay. That wasn't you, was it? Trying to stop something worse, maybe? You would not believe my day. The I.S. is so busy with misfired charms that they don't even care we're out here.”

“Wasn't me this time,” I said as we came to a halt in an open patch of concrete. “And why is everything automatically my fault?”

The bear of a man gave me a sideways hug, filling me with the scent of coffee and aftershave. “Because you're usually mixed up in it somewhere.” His tone was pleased, but I could see the stress. “I wish it
had
been you,” he said, his eyes flicking to include Ivy and Jenks as he put an arm over my shoulder and moved us away from the news vans. “The I.S. is giving me some bull about it having been a cascading inertia dampening charm.”

Jenks rose up, but I interrupted him, saying, “It was an inertia charm, but it was one charm, not a bunch of them acting in concert. It came from about three cars ahead of mine. Probably the black convertible the kid was driving.” I hesitated. “Is he okay?” Edden nodded, and I added, “
Nothing
came from my car. If it had, I wouldn't have been able to get out of it.”

Edden chewed on his lower lip, clearly not having thought it through that far. The I.S. would have, though. Ivy looked tense, and I was glad I had friends who'd sit with me on the hard road and protect me from helpful mistakes. A guy with an armful of bottled water went past, and I eyed it thirstily.

“If anyone would bother to look,” I said softly, voice edging into accusation, “they could see my safety charm hasn't been triggered. It's probably another misfired charm. Have you listened to the news today? No one's brain dissolved. We got off easy.”

Edden shook himself out of his funk and looked over the surrounding heads. “Yes, we did. Medic!” he called, and I waved the woman off as she looked up from putting an ice pack on an officer's swollen hand, probably crushed when they were getting the people out of their cars. “I'm fine,” I said, and Edden frowned. “I could use some water, though. You don't know where my car is, do you?”

Edden's frown vanished. “Ahh . . .” he said, looking everywhere but at me. “The I.S. took everything south of the midpoint.”

Jenks's wings clattered from Ivy's shoulder. “Hey, hey, hey. Good-bye.”

Tired, I sighed. I was
not
going to take the bus for the next twelve months while they figured out whose insurance was going to pay for this.

“I can get you home . . .” Edden started.

Ivy put a hand on my arm, pulling me from my souring mood. “It's okay, Rachel. My car is just off the bridge in the Hollows.”

That wasn't the point, and I shivered as Ivy's hand fell away with the feeling of ice. The light was seriously hurting my eyes, and even the wind seemed painful. It was almost as if my aura had been damaged, but Jenks said it was okay.
Why had it gone white, and right before the misfire?
“Edden, I had nothing to do with it,” I complained, not entirely sure anymore. “I can't tap a line over the water,
and the I.S. knows it. If I could, I wouldn't have gotten stuck in that . . . whatever it was. It was all I could do to get out! This is the second misfire I've been in today, and I want my car!”

Edden jerked, his eyes coming to mine from the man with the water. “Second?” He whistled, and the guy turned. “Where was the other one and why haven't I heard about it?”

Jenks's wings hummed, swaggering, if someone flying could swagger, as he landed on Ivy's shoulder. “Out at the golf course,” he said, and Ivy's eyes remained steady, telling me he'd already told her. “Someone almost nailed Trent with a ball, and she blew it up instead of deflecting it. Made a new sand trap out on four.”

Edden's reach for the bottle didn't hesitate, but he eyed me speculatively as he cracked the cap and then handed it to me. “You're still working Kalamack's security?” he said, clearly disapproving.

“If you call that working,” Ivy said, and I gulped as the cool water went down. “Edden, I've been listening to the radio the past three hours—”

“As she held poor Rachel's little hand,” Jenks smart-mouthed, darting off her shoulder when she frowned.

Edden's brow furrowed, and he half turned to look back where I'd woken up. “You could hear the radio from there?”

Ivy smiled, flashing her small and pointy living-vampire canines. Her hearing was that good. Almost as good as Jenks's. “I've heard nothing new since the bridge. If I had access to the FIB's database, I could confirm it, but I'm
guessing the misfires are contained in a narrow band that's moving about forty-five miles an hour, roughly paralleling 71.”

I lowered the bottle, cold from more than the water. Across from me, Edden took a breath in thought, held it, then exhaled. “You know what? I think you're right.”

Suddenly everyone was looking at me, and my stomach clenched. “This isn't my fault.”

Again Edden took a breath, and Ivy cut him off. “No, she's right. The first incident was just outside of Loveland. Rachel was nowhere near there.”

Head down, I recapped my water, a bad feeling trickling through me. I hadn't been out to Loveland this morning, but my ley line was out there. Crap on toast, maybe it was my fault.

“So you're off the hook!” Jenks said brightly, and I lifted my eyes, finding Ivy as worried as me.

Clueless, Edden looked over the heads of everyone as if having already dismissed it. “I don't like you working for Kalamack,” he muttered.

“He's the only one who comes knocking on my door looking for something other than a black curse,” I said, worried. Damn it all to hell, I had to talk to Al. He'd know if my line was malfunctioning. Again.

Making a small grunt of understanding, Edden touched my shoulder. It meant more than it should, and I managed a small smile. “Sit tight, and I'll see if I can get your car before it goes to the I.S. impound. Okay?”

“Thanks,” I whispered as I took a swig of water. It was too cold, and my teeth hurt. Jenks noticed my grimace and the hum of his wings dropped in pitch.Sitting tight sounded fine to me. I wasn't up to dealing with vampires yet, especially if everything was hitting me twice as hard.

Ivy seemed to gain two inches as she scanned for someone wearing an I.S. badge and a tie. Across the cleared pavement, the last of the charmed people were finding their feet. The only one still on a stretcher was the kid. “Mind if I go with you?” she asked Edden. “I don't recognize anyone, but someone out here probably owes me a favor.” She looked at me as if for approval, and I nodded. I was fine, and if anyone could get my car back, it would be Ivy.

“Great,” Edden said, scanning for a familiar face. “Jenks, stay with Rachel. I don't want anyone from the press bothering her,” he said as he hitched his pants up and tightened his tie. “We'll be right back. Someone needs a refresher on this sharing information thing we're supposed to be doing.”

I rolled my eyes, wishing him luck as Ivy looped her arm in his and they started across the bridge to the Hollows end of everything. “They're just afraid, Edden,” I heard Ivy say as they left, a sultry sway to her hips. “FIB forensics can put them in the ground, and they're tired of looking bad.”

I couldn't help my smile as I watched them, her svelte sleekness next to his round solid form, both very different but alike where it counted.

“Ah, ‘scuse me, Rache,” Jenks said, a pained look on his face. “I gotta pee. Don't move.”

I looked around, seeing a car I could lean up against. “Okay.”

His wing hum increased as he hovered right before my nose. “I mean it. Don't move.”

“Okay!” I said, leaning against the car, and he darted over the edge of the bridge.

Sighing, I turned to the insistent beeping of the last car being towed off. Most of the news crews had left with the recovering spell victims, and it was beginning to thin out. A man in a trendy black suit drew my attention, up to now hidden behind the Toyota being carted out, and I frowned as he looked at his phone, fingers tapping. It wasn't his dress, and it wasn't his haircut—both trendy and unique—it was his grace.
Living vampire? Since when do they like the gadgety toys?

A distant pop across the bridge sounded, and the man looked up, his eyes scanning until they fastened on mine.

A chill dropped through me as I took in his blond hair shifting in the wind, the grace with which he tucked it behind an ear, the knowing, sly smile he wore as he looked me up and down. Suddenly I felt alone. “Jenks!” I hissed, knowing he was probably within earshot. This guy wasn't FIB, and he definitely wasn't I.S., even if he was a living vampire. The suit said he had clout, and confidence almost oozed from him. “Jenks!”

Putting his attention back on his phone, the man hit a few more keys, slipped the phone in a pocket, turned, and walked away. In three seconds, he was gone.

“Jenks!” I shouted, and the pixy darted up, his dust an irate green.

“Good God, Rache, give me a chance to shake it, huh?”

My hands on the warm car burned, and I curled my fingers as I scanned the crowd. Slowly my pulse slowed. “Are you sure my aura is okay?” I asked out of the blue.

Hands on his hips in his best Peter Pan poise, he said, “You called me back about that?”

“I think it might be linked to the misfires,” I said truthfully, and he looked askance at me.

“Yeah, but you were nowhere near any of the other ones. It wasn't you, Rache.”

“I suppose.” Heart pounding, I leaned back against the car, arms wrapped around my middle. I couldn't tell Jenks I had been spooked by a vampire, not under the noon sun, and not by a living one. He'd laugh his ass off.

But as we waited for Ivy to return with good news about my car, I shivered, unable to look away from the crowd and a possible glimpse of that figure in black.

He'd looked like Kisten.

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I'd like to thank Mike Spradlin, not just for the idea of the title, but for his longtime support of the Hollows, precious in those first tender years and still greatly appreciated. And as always, my agent, Richard Curtis, and my editor, Diana Gill, whose combined attention and skill in bringing a world to life are prized all the more.

New York Times
bestselling author
K>IM HARRISON
was born and raised in the upper Midwest but has since fled south to better avoid snow. When not at work on the Hollows series, she spends her time tending orchids, cooking with some guy in a leather jacket, and training her new dog. Her current vices include good chocolate and exquisite sushi. Her bestselling novels include
Dead Witch Walking; The Good, the Bad, and the Undead; Every Which Way But Dead; A Fistful of Charms;
and
For a Few Demons More.

www.kimharrison.net

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