The Hollows Series Books 1-4

I don’t have time for this, I thought. I pointed again, this time straight up. It was our agreed sign that he was to go home. Jenks’s eyes narrowed, and I bared my teeth. Surprised, he took a step back.

“Okay, okay,” he grumbled. “But if you tell Ivy, I’m going to pix you every night for a week. Got it?” His light weight hit my shoulders, and he gripped my fur. It was an odd sensation, and I didn’t like it. “Not too fast,” he muttered, clearly uncomfortable as well.

Apart from his death grip on my fur, I hardly noticed him. I went as fast as I dared. I didn’t like that there might be unfriendly eyes holding fairy steel watching us, and I immediately struck out off the path. The sooner we were inside, the better. My ears and nose worked nonstop. I could smell everything, and it wasn’t as cool as one might think.

The leaves would shiver at every gust, making me freeze or dart deeper into the foliage. Jenks was singing a bothersome song under his breath. Something about blood and daisies.

I wove my hesitant way through a barrier of loose stone and brambles and slowed. Something was different. “The plants have changed,” Jenks said, and I bobbed my head.

The trees I wove between as I moved downhill were markedly more mature. I could smell mistletoe. Old, well-conditioned earth held firmly established plants. Scent, not visual beauty, seemed more important. The narrow path I found was hard-packed dirt instead of brick. Ferns crowded the trail until only one person could pass. Somewhere, water ran. More wary, we continued until a familiar smell brought me to an alarmed standstill. Earl Grey tea.

From under the shadow of a wood lily, I stood motionless and searched for the smell of people. It was silent but for the night insects. “Over there,” Jenks breathed. “A cup on the bench.” He slipped from me to melt back into the shadows.

I eased forward, whiskers twitching and ears straining. The grove was empty. With a smooth motion, I flowed up onto the bench. There was a swallow of tea left in the cup, its rim decorated with dew. Its silent presence was as telling as the change in plant life. Somehow we had left the public gardens behind. We were in Trent’s backyard.

Jenks perched himself upon the handle, his hands on his hips, scowling. “Nothing,” he complained. “I can’t smell squat off a teacup. I have to get inside.”

I leapt from the bench to make an easy landing. The stink of habitation was stronger to the left, and we followed the dirt path through the ferns. Soon the scent of furniture, carpet, and electronics grew pungent, and it was with no surprise that I found the open-air deck. I looked up, making out the silhouette of a latticework cover. A night-blooming vine trailed over it, its fragrance fighting to be recognized over the stink of people.

“Rachel, wait!” Jenks exclaimed, yanking my ear as I stretched to step onto the moss-covered planks. Something brushed my whiskers, and I drew back, running my paws over them. It was sticky. It caught in my paws, and I accidentally glued my ears flat to my eyes. Panicking, I sat back on my haunches. I was stuck!

“Don’t rub it, Rache,” Jenks said urgently. “Hold still.”

But I couldn’t see. My pulse raced. I tried to shout, but my mouth was glued shut. The smell of ether caught at my throat. Frantic, I lashed out, hearing an irate buzz. I could barely breathe! What the devil was this stuff?

“Turn it all, Morgan,” Jenks all but hissed. “Stop fighting me. I’ll get it off you.”

I yanked my instincts back and sank into a crouch, my breath fast and shallow. One of my paws was stuck to my whiskers and it hurt. It was all I could do not to go rolling in the dirt.

“Okay.” There was a breeze from Jenks’s wings. “I’m going to touch your eye.”

My paws twitched as he pulled the stuff off an eyelid. His fingers were gentle and deft, but from the amount of pain, he was ripping half my eyelid off. Then it was gone and I could see. I squinted through one eye as Jenks rub his palms together, a small ball between them. Pixy dust sifted from him to make him glow. “Better?” he said, glancing at me.

“Heck yeah,” I squeaked. It came out more mangled than usual, seeing as my mouth was still glued shut.

Jenks tossed the ball away. It was that sticky stuff, caked with dust. “Hold still, and I’ll have the rest off you faster than Ivy can pull an aura.” He yanked at my fur, turning the sticky stuff into little balls. “Sorry,” he said as I yelped when he jerked my ear. “I did warn you.”

“What?” I chirped, and for once he seemed to understand.

“About the sticky silk.” Grimacing, he gave a hard yank, pulling a tuft of my hair out. “That’s how I got caught yesterday,” he said angrily. “Trent has sticky silk lacing his lobby ceiling just above human height. It’s expensive stuff. I’m surprised he uses it anywhere else.” Jenks flitted to my other side. “It’s a pixy/fairy deterrent. You can get it off, but it takes time. I bet the entire canopy is netted. That’s why there’s nothing here that flies.”

I twitched my tail to show I understood. I had heard of sticky silk, but the thought that I might run into it never crossed my mind. To anyone larger than a child, it felt like spiderweb.

Finally he was done, and I felt my nose, wondering if it was the same shape. Jenks took off his hat and shoved it under a rock. “Wish I had brought my sword,” he said. Such was the territorial drive between pixies and fairies that if Jenks had trashed the conspicuous hat, I could stake my life that the garden was pixy and fairy free.

The slightly submissive air he had affected all afternoon vanished. From his point of view, the entire garden was probably now his, since there was no one to say different. He stood beside me with his hands on his hips, severely eyeing the deck.

“Watch this,” Jenks said as he shook a cloud of pixy dust from him. His wings blurred to nothing, blowing the glowing dust toward the deck. The faint haze seemed to catch in the air. As if by magic, the pixy dust fixed itself to the silk, outlining a patch of net. Jenks gave me a sideways, satisfied smirk. “Good thing I brought Matalina’s scissors,” he said, pulling from his pocket the wooden-handled pair of sheers. He confidently strode up to the shimmering net and cut a mink-sized hole. “After you.” He gestured grandly, and I flowed up onto the deck.

My heart gave a thump of excitement before settling down to a slow, deliberate pace. It was just another run, I told myself. Emotion was an expense I couldn’t afford. Ignore that my life was involved. My nose twitched, searching for human or Inderlander. Nothing.

“I think it’s a back office,” Jenks said. “See, there’s a desk.”

Office? I thought, feeling my furry eyebrows rise. It was a deck. Or was it? Jenks lurched excitedly about, like a rabid bat. I followed at a more sedate pace. After about fifteen feet the mossy planking turned into a mottled carpet enclosed by three walls. Well-maintained potted plants were everywhere. The small desk against the far wall didn’t look like much work was done there. There was a long couch and chairs arranged beside a wet bar, making the room a very comfortable place to relax or do a bit of light work. The room was a slice of outdoors, a feeling heightened by opening onto the shaded deck and in turn the garden.

“Hey!” Jenks said in excitement. “Look what I found.”

I turned from the orchids I had been jealously eyeing to see Jenks hovering over a bank of electronic equipment. “It was hidden in the wall,” Jenks explained. “Watch this.” He flew feet first into a button set into the wall. The player and its accompanying discs slid back into hiding. Delighted, Jenks hit it again, and the equipment reappeared. “Wonder what that button does,” he said, and distracted by the promise of new toys, he darted across the room.

Trent, I decided, had more music discs than a sorority house: pop, classical, jazz, new age, even some head-banger stuff. No disco, though, and my respect for him went up a notch.

I longingly ran a paw over a copy of Takata’s Sea. The disc sank out of sight and into the player, and I jerked back. Alarmed, I jumped up to hit the button with a scrabbling of nails to send everything back into the wall.

“There’s nothing here, Rache. Let’s go.” Jenks looked pointedly at the door and alighted on the handle. But it wasn’t until I jumped up to add my weight that it clicked open. I fell to the floor in an awkward thump. Jenks and I listened at the crack for a breathless moment.

Pulse racing, I nosed the door open enough for Jenks to slip out. In a moment he buzzed back. “It’s a hallway,” he said. “Come on out. I’ve already fixed the cameras.”

He disappeared around the door again, and I followed, needing all my weight to pull the door shut. The click of the lock was loud, and I cowered, praying it went unheard. I could hear running water and the rustling of night creatures being piped in from unseen speakers. Immediately I recognized the hallway as the one I had been in yesterday. The sounds had probably been there before, but so soft they were subliminal to anything but a rodent’s hearing. My head bobbed in understanding. Jenks and I had found Trent’s back office where he entertained his “special” guests.

“Which way?” Jenks whispered, hovering beside me. Either his wing was fully functional or he didn’t want to risk being spotted riding a mink. I confidently started up the corridor. At every juncture I took the path less appealing and more sterile. Jenks played vanguard, setting every camera for a fifteen-minute loop so we were unseen. Fortunately, Trent went by a human clock—at least publicly—and the building was deserted. Or so I thought.

“Crap,” Jenks whispered the same instant I froze. Voices were coming from up the hall. My pulse raced. “Go!” Jenks said urgently. “No! To the right. That chair and the potted plant.”

I loped forward. The smell of citrus and terracotta blossomed, and I tucked behind the earthen pot as soft footsteps moved along the floor. Jenks flitted up to hide in the plant’s branches.

“As much as that?” Trent’s voice came sharp to my sensitive ears as he and another turned the corner. “Find out what Hodgkin is doing to get such an increase in productivity. If it’s something you think can be applied to other sites, I want a report.”

I held my breath as Trent and Jonathan walked past.

“Yes, Sa’han.” Jonathan scribbled on an electronic notepad. “I’ve finished screening the potential applicants for your new secretary. It would be relativity simple to clear your calendar tomorrow morning. How many would you like to see?”

“Oh, limit it to the three you think are best suited and one you don’t. Anyone I know?”

“No. I had to go out of state this time.”

“Wasn’t today your day off, Jon?”

There was a pause. “I opted to work, seeing as you lacked your usual secretary.”

“Ah,” Trent said with a comfortable laugh as they turned a corner. “So there’s the reason for your zeal in finishing the interviews.”

Jonathan’s soft denial was the merest hint as they walked out of sight.

“Jenks,” I squeaked. There was no response. “Jenks!” I squeaked again, wondering if he had gone and done something stupid like following them.

“I’m still here,” he grumbled, and I felt a wash of relief. The tree shuddered as he shimmied down the trunk. He sat on the edge of the pot and dangled his feet. “I got a good sniff of him,” he said, and I sank back on my haunches in expectation.

“I don’t know what he is.” Jenks’s wings shifted to a dismal shade of blue as his circulation slowed and his mood dulled. “He smells meadowy, but not like a witch. There’s no hint of iron, so he’s not a vamp.” Jenks’s eyes crinkled in confusion. “I could smell his body rhythms slowing down, which means he sleeps at night. That rules out Weres or any other nocturnal Inderlander. Turn it all, Rache. He doesn’t smell like anything I recognize. And you know what’s more odd? That guy with him? He smells just like Trent. It’s got to be a spell.”