The Hollows Series Books 1-4. Kim Harrison

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      “Let her do her job!” Jenks shouted back.

      Ivy went wire tight. A cold draft hit my neck as Jenks shifted his wings as if to fly. “Enough!” I cried, before he could leave me. I wanted him right were he was. “Ivy. If you have a better idea, tell me. If not—shut up.”

      Together Jenks and I looked at Ivy, stupidly thinking we were stronger together than alone. Her eyes flashed to black. My mouth went dry. They were unblinking, alive with a promise as yet only hinted at. A tickle in my belly swirled up to close my throat. I couldn’t tell if it was fear or anticipation. She fixed upon my eyes, not breathing. Don’t look at my neck, I thought, panicking. Oh. God. Don’t look at my neck. “Rot and hell,” Jenks whispered.

      But she shuddered, turning away to lean over the sink. I was shaking, and could swear I heard a sigh of relief from Jenks. This, I realized, could have been really, really bad.

      Ivy’s voice sounded dead when she next spoke. “Fine,” she said to the sink. “Go get yourself killed. Both of you.” She jerked herself into motion and I jumped. Hunched and pained-looking, she stalked out of the kitchen. Too soon to be believed came the sound of the church’s front door slamming, then nothing.

      Someone, I thought, was going to get hurt tonight.

      Jenks left my earring, alighting on the windowsill. “What’s with her?” he asked belligerently into the sudden quiet. “You would almost think she cared.”

       Sixteen

      I woke from a sound sleep, jolted by the distant sound of glass breaking. I could smell wood incense. My eyes flashed open.

      Ivy was bending over me, her face inches from mine.

      “No!” I shouted, punching out in a blind panic. My fist caught her in the gut. Ivy clutched her middle and fell to the floor, struggling to breathe. I scrambled to crouch on my bed. My eyes darted from the gray window to the door. My heart pounded, and I went cold in a painful rush of adrenaline. She was between me and my only way out.

      “Wait,” she gasped, her robe sleeve falling to her elbow as she reached to catch me.

      “You backstabbing, bloodsucking vamp,” I hissed.

      My breath caught in surprise as Jenks—no, it was Jax—flitted from the windowsill to hover before me. “Ms. Rachel,” he said, distracted and tense. “We’re under attack. Fairies.” He nearly spat the last word.

      Fairies, I thought in a wash of cold fear as I glanced at my bag. I couldn’t fight fairies with my charms. They were too fast. The best I could do would be to try and squish one. Oh God. I’d never killed anyone in my entire life. Not even by accident. I was a runner, damn it. The idea was to bring them in alive, not dead. But fairies …

      My gaze shot to Ivy, and I flushed as I realized what she was doing in my room. With as much grace as I could find, I got off my bed. “Sorry,” I whispered, offering her a hand up.

      Her head tilted so she could see me past the curtain of her hair. Pain barely hid her anger. A white hand darted out and yanked me down. I hit the floor with a yelp, panicking again as she covered my mouth with a firm hand. “Shut up,” she wheezed, her breath on my cheek. “You want to get us killed? They’re already inside.”

      Eyes wide, I whispered around her fingers, “They won’t come inside. It’s a church.”

      “Fairies don’t recognize holy ground,” she said. “They couldn’t care less.”

      They were already inside. Seeing my alarm, Ivy took her hand from my mouth. My eyes went to the heating vent. Reaching out a slow hand, I closed it, wincing at the squeak.

      Jax lit upon on my pajama-covered knee. “They invaded our garden,” he said, the murderous cast on his childlike face looking terribly wrong. “They’re going to pay. And here I am, stuck babysitting you two lunkers.” He flitted to the window in disgust.

      There was a bump from the kitchen, and Ivy yanked me down as I tried to rise. “Stay put,” she said softly. “Jenks will take care of them.”

      “But—” I bit back my protest as Ivy turned to me, her eyes black in the dim light of the early morning. What could Jenks do against fairy assassins? He was trained in backup, not guerrilla warfare. “Look, I’m sorry,” I whispered. “For hitting you, I mean.”

      Ivy didn’t move. A seething mix of emotion had gathered behind her eyes, and I felt my breath catch. “If I wanted you, little witch,” she said, “you couldn’t stop me.”

      Chilled, I swallowed hard. It sounded like a promise.

      “Something’s changed,” she said, her attention on my closed door. “I didn’t expect this for another three days.”

      A sick feeling washed over me. The I.S. had changed its tactics. I had brought this on myself. “Francis,” I said. “It’s my fault. The I.S. knows I can slip past their watchers now.” I pressed my fingertips into my temples. Keasley, the old man across the street, had warned me.

      There was a third crash, louder this time. Ivy and I stared at the door. I could hear my heartbeat. I wondered if Ivy could, too. After a long moment, there was a tiny knock at the door. Tension slammed into me, and I heard Ivy take a slow breath, gathering herself.

      “Papa?” Jax said softly. There was a whine of noise from the hall, and Jax darted to the door. “Papa!” he shouted.

      I lurched to my feet, shoulders slumping. I flicked on the light, squinting in the sudden glare at the clock Ivy had lent me. Five-thirty. I’d only been asleep an hour.

      Ivy rose with startling quickness, opening the door and stalking out with the hem of her robe furling. I winced as she left. I hadn’t meant to hurt her. No, that wasn’t true. I had. But I thought she was making me into an early morning snack.

      Jenks careened in, nearly crashing into the window as he tried to land.

      “Jenks?” I said, deciding my apology to Ivy could wait. “Are you all right?”

      “We-e-e-e-ell,” he drawled, sounding as if he were drunk. “We won’t have to worry about fairies for a while.” My eyes widened at the length of steel in his hand. It had a wooden handle and was the size of one of those sticks they put olives on. Staggering, he sat down hard, accidentally bending his lower set of wings under him.

      Jax pulled his father to his feet. “Papa?” he said, worried. Jenks was a mess. One of his upper wings was in tatters. He was bleeding from several scratches, one right under his eye. The other was swollen shut. He leaned heavily on Jax, who was struggling to keep his father upright.

      “Here,” I said, tucking my hand under and behind Jenks, forcing him to sit on my palm. “Let’s get you to the kitchen. The light’s better in there. Maybe we can tape your wing.”

      “No light there,” Jenks slurred. “Broke ’em.” He blinked, struggling to focus. “Sorry.”

      Worried, I cupped my hand over him, ignoring his muffled protests. “Jax,” I said, “get СКАЧАТЬ