The Undead Pool

“Kalamack could be doing his elf magic and you’d never know about it either!”

“Uh-oh . . .” Jenks rose up on a glittering column of blue-tinted black sparkles.

Sneakers silent on the grass, I drifted closer. Trent had gone white—not in fear, but in anger. “You think he’s going to do something?” Jenks said, hovering at my ear.

“Doubt it,” I said, but I felt a chill when Trent took his hat off. If he had been wearing his spelling cap under it, he had just removed temptation. His ironclad cool had been cracking a lot lately, and I didn’t like it.

“His kind shouldn’t be allowed to play with decent folk,” the man said with a sneer.

That did it. Trent might be downplaying his abilities in order to soothe interspecies relations, but I didn’t have to. It wasn’t my job to keep Trent out of the papers for assaulting idiots, but Quen would thank me.

With a thought, I reached past the country club’s ward of no-magic and strengthened my hold on the ley line. Pissed, I yanked a huge wad of it to me, shattering the annoying ward yet again to make it shrivel up and fold into itself, broken for good this time. In the distance, that warning hoot started up, and Kevin paled, knowing I’d taken out their ward with the ease of a stallion breaking a string. Mr. Lime-Green Pants turned, his anger faltering as he saw me.

“Ah, Rachel?”

I pushed Trent’s hand off my arm. “His kind?” I said, hands on my hips as I came to a stop inches from the man’s bulging middle and looked up at him. “His kind is what kept your momma and daddy alive through the Turn!”

Trent smelled like broken fern. “We’re fine,” he said. “Rachel, I’ve got this.”

“We’re not fine!” I exclaimed, a sliver of satisfaction plinking through me when Limbcus backed up. “That ball would’ve put you in the hospital and he’s griping about me blowing it up?”

“Rachel?”

I leaned in until I could smell Limbcus’s toothpaste. “How about it, Limbcus? You want that I should call the FIB and file an attempted assault form? I have a license that tells me I can do magic any time I damn well please to protect the person I’m working for.” Ticked, I brandished the mass of rubber and burnt plastic under his nose. “I’d shove this ball somewhere nasty if I didn’t need it for evidence!”

“Rachel!”

I blinked, rocking back when I realized I’d shoved Limbcus all the way to Kevin’s cart. Jenks was hovering behind him, grinning, and that, more than the man’s terrified expression, cooled me off. I wasn’t doing myself any favors, and sniffing, I stalked to Trent’s bag, yanking it up and dropping the blown-out ball into a pocket so I could check it out for tampering later. “You need to read your history before someone makes you part of it,” I muttered, jumping when Trent’s hand landed lightly on my shoulder. Jenks was dusting an amused bright gold, and sullen, I hoisted Trent’s clubs onto my shoulder. It might have been a mistake to butt in, but it was harder to swallow the insults when they weren’t aimed at me.

“Mr. Limbcus,” Trent was saying, his voice soothing, but I could hear a thread of satisfaction that had been missing before. “I’m sure we can come to some agreement. This is for charity, after all.”

Mr. Limbcus still hadn’t moved. “If he’s not disqualified, I will withdraw from the event and take my entrance fee with me,” he said, his jowls quivering. “You may own Cincinnati, Kalamack, but you do not own this course, and I will see you expelled before this day is over!”

Actually, his family had owned the property at one point, but I managed not to say it. Kevin stood beside the cart looking unsure, and Trent put his cap back on, taking the moment to think. “I will withdraw from the tournament immediately. Kevin, can we ride back with you?”

Distressed, the manager shifted forward. “Of course, Mr. Kalamack.”

“Figures,” the fat man huffed. “He knows he’ll lose without magic.”

“My pledges will of course remain in force,” Trent said as he put a hand on the small of my back, both possessive and protective as he turned to his team. “Gentlemen? Please excuse me. Lunch is on me.”

Surprised he was letting this go so easily, I glanced at Jenks. The pixy shrugged, but Trent was almost pushing me to the cart. Perhaps the elven slur had caught him off guard. He hadn’t been out of the closet long, and knowing how to react gracefully took practice.

“We’re gonna get banned, aren’t we,” Jenks said, and I nodded.

Satisfied, Limbcus strutted and swaggered, talking loudly with the other players about how to score such a gross breakage of the rules. Trent was on my one side, Kevin the other, back hunched and worried.

Thinking he’d won, the man huffed. “It’s not the money. I want you out of this club! You’ll be hearing from my lawyer, Kalamack.”

Trent stopped dead in his tracks. My worry strengthened at the light in Trent’s eye. I’d seen it before. He was close to losing it.

“On what grounds?” Trent said coldly as he turned around. “My associate deflected your assault in a manner that hurt no one. If anyone should be crying foul, it should be me.”

“Ah, Trent?” I said as Jenks hummed nervously.

“You are loud, overbearing, and quite frankly, a poor dresser,” Trent said, his steps silent on the manicured grass as he strode back to him. “Your game is erratic, and no one wants to play ahead of you because of your history of premature releases.”

There was a titter from the watching men, but I didn’t like that Trent had his hat on again. He didn’t need it to do his magic, but it did impart a level of finesse.

“A true player won’t risk the safety of others in a transparent, passive-aggressive action,” Trent said, eye to eye with the man. “A true golfer plays against himself, not others. Both I and my security apologized for the destruction of your property and offered restitution, which witnesses have heard you decline,” Trent said, the hem of his pants shaking. “If you want to take this to the courts, the only one who will win is the lawyers. But if you want to go that route, Mr. Limbcus, by all means, let’s dance.”

The man was fumbling for words as Trent confronted him, his wispy hair floating and his stance unforgiving and holding the assurance of kings. Everyone in Cincinnati had seen the glowing lights in the night sky when the demons had hunted and killed one of their own, and everyone in Cincinnati knew that Trent had ridden with them, meting out a justice older than the Bible and just as savage.

Jenks’s wings tickled my neck, and I shivered. “Maybe you should rescue him,” the pixy said, meaning Trent. “He’s good at making his point, but not so good making an exit.”

Nodding, I inched forward to stand behind Trent, too close to be ignored. He held the man’s gaze a second longer, and with his lips still compressed in anger, he turned and paced back to the cart. I fell into place beside him, guilt tugging at me. None of this should have happened.

Trent touched the small of my back, and I fluttered inside. A surge of energy passed between us, and I quickly grasped my chi’s balance before they tried to equalize. He was still on edge. Silent, I walked to the back of the golf cart so Trent could have the front with the golf pro.

“Hey, Rache. You want me to pix the sucker?”

It had been loud enough for almost everyone to hear, and I glumly shook my head.

“Thank you, Mr. Kalamack,” Kevin said nervously as he hustled around the cart to drop into the driver’s seat. “If it were up to me, you’d be continuing your game and he would be escorted out, but rules are rules.”

Mood still bad, Trent slid into the front seat, his eyes on his phone again before he tucked it away. “Don’t concern yourself with it. Thanks for the ride back. And please let my office know what the damages are. Not just the tournament, but for the green.”

“That’s most appreciated, Mr. Kalamack. Thank you.”

Flushing, I set Trent’s clubs in the rack at the back of the cart. There was a little jump seat, and I flipped it down, happy to sulk at the back with the clubs on the way to the parking lot. My hand hurt, and I looked at it as we jostled into motion, belatedly reaching for a handhold as we took a dip. The wind pushed through my hair, and I took an easing breath, trying to relax.

Had I really overreacted that badly? I had shouted the word of invocation, but even so . . . Concerned, I eyed my fingertips, tentatively pushing at the swollen red tips. I didn’t like what that might mean. Sure I cared about Trent, but enough to blow up a ball?

A tiny throat clearing pulled my attention up. Jenks was sitting cross-legged on the top of the bag’s rim, an infuriatingly knowing look on him. “Shut up,” I said as I curled my fingers into a fist to hide the damage like a guilty secret. He opened his mouth, sparkles turning a bright gold, and I smacked the bag to make him take to the air. “I said shut up!” I said louder, and he laughed as he darted out of the rattling cart, sparkles showing his path as he flew ahead.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Kalamack. Interspecies intolerance is not tolerated here,” Kevin said, clearly still upset. “I wish you’d file a formal report. There are enough witnesses that Limbcus will be put on probation.”

“Don’t worry about it, Kevin. It’s okay.”

But it wasn’t, and I held on against the unexpected dips, silent as we made our way back. I’d been watching Trent deal with the crap I’d grown up with ever since he’d come out of the closet as an elf. It had caused him to be less confident in himself, more inclined to deliberate before acting, and his usual calm not as sure—and I felt for him. One would think his being wealthy would’ve eased the transition, but it only made people envy, and envy leads to hate.

“Mr. Kalamack?”

Trent looked up, a new pinch of worry at his brow. He was now firmly in the “them” camp, and it wore on you after a while. But as I watched, his professional smile became deeper, almost believable. “Mr. Kalamack, I’m truly sorry about this,” Kevin said as with a last lurch, we found the pavement of the parking lot and slowed to a stop. “You have every right to protect yourself, and as you said, he has a history of dropping his ball into the players ahead of him.”

“We’re fine.” Trent’s hand unclenched from the support bar as he stepped out into the sun, his feet unusually loud in his spiked shoes. “Retreat is better than standing my ground and possibly having him pull his entrance fee. I’m going to need my usual tee time next week. Just myself and one other. No cart. Can you arrange it for me?”

The man’s relief was almost palpable as he sat in the driver’s seat. “Of course. Thank you for understanding. Again, I apologize. If it were up to me, you’d be the one finishing your game and Limbcus would be cooling his heels.”