“The elves out of Cincinnati before deciding to bind their adolescent holy man to the vampires.” Pike smiled at me from the back of Trent’s car, eyes black in the predawn gloom.
Trent snapped his phone case closed. “That’s not going to happen.”
I frowned, not liking the threat, empty or not. We’d gone through the Hollows via the expressway, but now that we were again on the side streets, I could see the damage the night had wrought. According to the news I’d caught at the airport, there’d been sort of a half-prayer, half-spell-gathering bonfire at Fountain Square that started peacefully and ended bad when the I.S. showed up. Which might account for almost all the streetlights being shot out. Abandoned cars with little yellow I.S. stickers on them loomed out of the dim light to fall behind us like dead elephants. What traffic there was, was furtive and fast. The I.S. was traveling in packs of three, and I had yet to see any FIB vehicles despite it being the hour when they usually were in force.
“You want to drop him at the hospital, or a vampire safe house?” Trent asked, and Pike stiffened, his foot hitting the back of my seat to make me jump.
“Either one will end with him dead,” I said, not caring if I was being crass. See? I can drop idle threats, too. “The first from his brothers, the second from angry, displaced citizens.” I had told Trent about Pike’s situation on the flight home. I still didn’t know why I’d helped him on the boat other than it went against my grain to sit and watch someone killed in front of me when I could stop it. Maybe I was making a mistake, but I’d already put myself on the demons’ shit list for standing up for Hodin. Adding an already disgruntled master vampire probably wasn’t smart, and if I returned from San Francisco with a dead scion, Constance wouldn’t care who killed him; I’d be blamed.
Trent’s brow furrowed. “Piscary’s?”
Again, I shook my head. “Abandoned. I drove her out with a stink bomb of a lily. I’ll take him to Constance after she agrees to meet with me outside of the I.S. She’s going to have to talk to me. He’s my ticket in,” I said, shooting a “No offense, Pike,” over my shoulder to hear “None taken,” slithering up like fog from the back.
“Church,” I said firmly, and Trent slumped in the seat. “She wouldn’t dare send her people to pick him up. Not with half of Cincy camped out in my sanctuary.”
“So I’m a hostage?” Pike said. “Make it official, now. Let’s hear the words.”
I smirked at him through the rearview mirror. “You want me to drop you at the corner?” I said, and he shook his head.
Trent ran a hand over his new stubble. “I don’t understand your logic here.”
“That’s because she’s crazy,” Pike muttered, clearly not happy.
We were almost home, and I was glad to see the graffiti tags had gotten less numerous and not as aggressive. The last time I’d talked to Jenks, we still had refugees. Bringing home the scion of the person who’d evicted them was going to cause some waves.
I tapped a line as I pulled onto my street, immediately feeling better. Trent smiled as he sensed it, his frown lines easing as he touched my knee and sighed, and our energy balances swirled and equalized with a little trill of sensation. I’d caught some sleep on the way home, but Trent hadn’t, and I could almost feel his fatigue through the energy sifting between us.
But the closer we got, the more I slowed until we were hardly crawling.
There were three food trucks parked illegally across from the church, the burrito van sporting a short line as earlier risers got their breakfast tacos and hot coffee. A contractor’s truck and trailer was parked right out front between orange cones, and three guys in jeans and mismatched tees were unloading cinder blocks from a nearby station wagon, taking them through the gate and into the backyard.
Steps? I thought, concerned at the number of them. The narrow strip of yard between the street and graveyard wall had all makes and models of cars parked in a tight order, making it look as if church was in session. My breath caught at the two gargoyles asleep beside the steeple, the first of the light turning them red and orange. They were too big to be Bis, though, and I slumped, depressed at the reminder. Perhaps they’d been keeping Bis safe while I was away.
The unfamiliar people milling about were bad enough, but the black Crown Victoria with the city plate had me downright worried. The FIB? I thought. Please let it be Edden. . . .
“I’ll help you get Pike in, and then I need to go home and pick up a few things,” Trent said, clearly reluctant to leave at all.
“Thanks for the ride,” I said, beaming across the car at him. “I have no idea where to park,” I added, distracted as I rolled the window down and whistled with two fingers in my mouth.
“What the hell?” Pike muttered, then jerked, pain flashing over him at the sharp movement when Jenks darted into the car.
“Rache!” Jenks exclaimed, his dust an excited silver in the new light. “God, you stink like dead fish and bad cheese. Slumming it in Alcatraz again? Piss on my daisies, I’m glad you’re back. I’ve got, like, six fires I’m trying to put out and we’re out of chip dip.” He bobbed up and down, adding, “Hi, Trent. Thanks for giving Rache a ride home.”
Pike snickered, and Jenks put his hands on his hips. “What’s fang boy doing here?”
“Surviving.” I smiled, feeling a tingle where his dust had landed on my hand. “Is there anywhere to park, or do I have to circle the block?”
Jenks rose up and down. “Trent’s car should fit behind yours in the carport. David brought it back.”
Relieved, I put the car into drive. “Did the I.S. give him any trouble?” I asked, not liking that I’d fled into the ever-after without him. It had been less than a day, but it felt like forever.
“They would’ve if they had seen him,” Jenks said, his pride obvious. “He’d make a good runner. He listens to me.”
The ribbing felt like home, but my good mood faltered when my gaze went to Pike. He was listening, too.
“Wait until you see what Finley has done, Rache,” Jenks said, his good mood obvious as he flitted from Trent’s shoulder to mine. “We’ve got real dormitories now, and rules. Everyone in the church is helping because Finley can’t get anyone to come out.”
“Really?” I scanned the people at the food truck, but they all seemed okay, some of them waving shyly or taking pictures. Gawwwd . . .
Trent waved back, and a titter-fest broke out. “Jenks, what does the FIB want?” he asked, and Jenks looked up from running a hand down a wing to smooth a small tear.
“It’s just Edden.”
He’d brought my purse back, but that wasn’t why he was parked at my curb at seven in the freaking morning. “Is he picking up or dropping off?” I asked, and Trent chuckled.