The Hollows Series Books 1-4. Kim Harrison

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СКАЧАТЬ had been a week since my I.S. death threat was officially nulled, and I was still seeing assassins. But then, more than the I.S. might want me dead.

      Exhaling loudly, I willed the adrenaline from me as I yanked the door to the church closed behind me. The comforting crackle of newsprint echoed off the thick support beams and stark walls of the sanctuary as I found the classifieds. I tucked the rest of the paper under an arm and made my way to the kitchen, scanning the personals as I went.

      “’Bout time you got up, Rache,” Jenks said, his wings clattering as he flew annoying circles around me in the tight confines of the hall. I could smell the garden on him. He was dressed in his “dirt clothes,” looking like a miniature Peter Pan with wings. “Are we going to go get that disc or what?”

      “Hi, Jenks,” I said, a stab of anxiety and anticipation running through me. “Yeah. They called for an exterminator yesterday.” I laid the newsprint out on the kitchen table, pushing Ivy’s colored pens and maps away to make room. “Look,” I said, pointing. “I’ve got another one.”

      “Lemme see,” the pixy demanded. He landed squarely on the paper, his hands on his hips.

      Running my finger across the print, I read aloud, “‘TK seeking to reopen communication with RM concerning possible business venture.’” There was no phone number, but it was obvious who had written it. Trent Kalamack.

      A weary unease pulled me to sit at the table, my gaze going past Mr. Fish in his new brandy snifter and out into the garden. Though I had paid off my contract and was reasonably safe from the I.S., I still had to contend with Trent. I knew he was manufacturing biodrugs; I was a threat. Right now he was being patient, but if I didn’t agree to be on his payroll, he was going to put me in the ground.

      At this point I didn’t want Trent’s head; I wanted him to leave me alone. Blackmail was entirely acceptable, and undoubtedly safer than trying to get rid of Trent through the courts. He was a businessman, if nothing else, and the hassle of disentangling himself from a trial was probably greater than his desire to have me work for him or see me safely dead. But I needed more than a page out of his daily planner. Today I would get it.

      “Nice tights, Jenks,” came Ivy’s weak croak from the hall.

      Startled, I jumped, then changed my motion to adjusting a curl of hair. Ivy was slumped against the doorframe, looking like an apathetic grim reaper in her black robe. Shuffling to the window, she shut the curtains and slumped against the counter in the new dimness.

      My chair creaked as I leaned back in it. “You’re up early.”

      Ivy poured a cold cup of coffee from yesterday, sinking down into a chair across from me. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her robe was tied sloppily about her waist. She listlessly fingered the paper where Jenks had left dirty footprints. “Full moon tonight. We doing it?”

      I took a quick breath, my heart thumping. Rising, I went to dump out the coffee and make more before Ivy could drink the rest. Even I had higher standards than that. “Yes,” I said, feeling my skin tighten.

      “Are you sure you feel up to it?” she asked as her eyes settled on my neck.

      It was my imagination, but I thought I felt a twinge from where her gaze rested. “I’m fine,” I said, making an effort to keep my hand from rising to cover the scar. “Better than good. I’m great.” Ivy’s tasteless little cakes had made me alternatingly hungry and nauseous, but my stamina returned in an alarming three days rather than three months. Matalina had already removed the stitches from my neck to leave hardly a mark. Having healed that fast was worrisome. I wondered if I was going to pay for it later. And how.

      “Ivy?” I asked as I got the grounds out of the fridge. “What was in those little cakes?”

      “Brimstone.”

      I spun, shocked. “What?” I exclaimed.

      Jenks snickered, and Ivy didn’t drop my gaze as she got to her feet. “I’m kidding,” she said flatly. Still I stared at her, my face cold. “Can’t you take a joke?” she added, shuffling to the hall. “Give me an hour. I’ll call Carmen and get her moving.”

      Jenks vaulted into the air. “Great,” he said, his wings humming. “I’m going to go say good-bye to Matalina.” He seemed to glow as a shaft of light pierced the kitchen as he slipped past the curtains.

      “Jenks!” I called after him. “We aren’t leaving for at least an hour!” It didn’t take that long to say good-bye.

      “Yeah?” came his faint voice. “You think my kids just popped out of the ground?”

      Face warming, I flicked the switch and started the coffee brewing. My motions were quick with anticipation, and a glow settled in to burn in my middle. I had spent the last week planning Jenks’s and my excursion out to Trent’s in painful detail. I had a plan. I had a backup plan. I had so many plans I was amazed they didn’t explode out my ears when I blew my nose.

      Between my anxiety and Ivy’s anal-retentive adherence to schedules, it was exactly an hour later that we found ourselves at the curb. Both Ivy and I were dressed in biker leather, giving us eleven feet, eight inches of bad-ass attitude between us—Ivy most of it. A version of those assassin life-monitoring amulets hung around our necks, tucked out of sight. It was my fail-safe plan. If I got in trouble, I’d break the charm and Ivy’s amulet would turn red. She had insisted on them—along with a lot of other things I thought were unnecessary.

      I swung up behind Ivy on her bike, with nothing but that fail-safe amulet, a vial of saltwater to break it, a mink potion, and Jenks. Nick had the rest. With my hair tucked under the helmet and the smoked faceplate down, we rode through the Hollows, over the bridge, and into Cincinnati. The afternoon sun was warm on my shoulders, and I wished we really were just two biker chicks headed into town for a Friday afternoon of shopping.

      In reality, we were headed for a parking garage to meet Nick and Ivy’s friend, Carmen. She would take my place for the day, pretending to be me while they drove around the countryside. I thought it overkill, but if it pacified Ivy, I’d do it.

      From the garage, I would sneak into Trent’s garden with the help of Nick playing lawn-service guy, spraying the bugs Jenks had seeded Trent’s prize rosebushes with last Saturday. Once past Trent’s walls, it would be easy. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.

      I had left the church calm and collected, but every block deeper into the city wound me tighter. My mind kept going over my plan, finding the holes in it and the “what ifs.” Everything we had come up with seemed foolproof from the safety of our kitchen table, but I was relying heavily upon Nick and Ivy. I trusted them, but it still made me uneasy.

      “Relax,” Ivy said loudly as we turned off the busy street and into the parking garage by the fountain square. “This is going to work. One step at a time. You’re a good runner, Rachel.”

      My heart thumped, and I nodded. She hadn’t been able to hide the worry in her voice.

      The garage was cool, and she wove around the gate, avoiding the ticket. She was going to drive right on through as if using the garage as a side street. I took my helmet off upon catching sight of the white van plastered with green grass and puppies. I hadn’t asked Ivy where she had gotten a lawn-care truck. I wasn’t going to, either.

      The back door opened as Ivy’s bike lub-lub-lubbed closer, and a skinny СКАЧАТЬ