The Undead Pool

One

How does the man make checkered shirts and pastels look good? I thought as Trent lined up his drive, head down and feet shifting, looking oddly appealing outside of the suit and tie I usually saw him in. The rest of his team and their caddies were watching him as well, but I doubted they were rating the way his shoulders pulled the soft fabric, or how the sun shone through his almost translucent blond hair drifting about his ears, or how the shadows made his slim waist look even trimmer, unhidden beneath a suit coat for a change. I found myself holding my breath as he coiled up, exhaling as he untwisted and the flat of the club hit the ball with a ping.

“Yeah, the elf looks good in the sun,” Jenks smart-mouthed, the pixy currently sitting on the bottom of my hooped earrings and out of the moderate wind. “When you going to put us all out of your misery and boink him?”

“Don’t start with me.” With a hand held up to shade my eyes, I watched the ball begin to descend.

“All I’m saying is you’ve been dating him for three months. Most guys you date are either dead or running scared by now.”

The ball hit with an audible thump, rolling onto the par-three green. Something in me fluttered at Trent’s pleased smile as he squinted in the sun. Damn it, I’m not doing this. “I’m not dating him, I’m working his security,” I muttered.

“This is work?” Wings humming, the pixy darted off my earring, flying ahead to do a redundant check of the area before we walked into it.

Jenks’s silver dust quickly vanished in the July heat, and I felt a moment of angst as Trent accepted the congratulations of his team. He looked relaxed and easy out here, the calm he usually affected true instead of fabricated. I liked seeing him this way, and feeling guilty, I dropped my gaze. I had no business even caring.

As one, the rest started to the green with a clinking of clubs and masculine chatter, undoubtedly feeling pushed by the next team waiting just off the tee. The big guy in the lime-green pants had been talking loudly the entire time, trying to throw Trent’s game off, no doubt, but Trent had outplotted corporate takeovers, evaded genetic trafficking charges, slipped murder accusations, and survived demon attacks. One overweight man huffing and puffing for him to move faster would not break his cool.

Sure enough, Trent needlessly fussed over the divot as the rest went on ahead, refusing to relinquish the tee area until he was ready. Smirking, I hoisted his bag, the three other clubs he used clinking lightly as I came to take his driver. I wasn’t a caddie, but it was the only way they’d let me on the course and there was no way that Trent would ever be in public without some kind of security.

Even if he could take care of himself, I thought, smiling as I took his club and our separate paces became one. My God, it’s nice out here.

“Subtle,” I said as we found the manicured grass, and he snorted to make me flush, not because I’d seen through him, but because I was one of the few people Trent would drop his mask around. It shouldn’t have been that important. But it was. What am I doing?

“Watch the guy in the green pants,” he said, looking over his shoulder. “He has a tendency to drop his ball into the players ahead of him.”

“Sure.” Head down, I paced beside Trent, his clubs banging into my back, feeling as if I belonged there almost. I’d been working with him the last three months while Quen, Trent’s usual security adviser, was on the West Coast with the girls. This new feeling of . . . responsibility, I guess, bothered me. Jenks’s words, though crass, had been echoing in my thoughts in quiet moments, and I looked at Trent’s hand, wishing I had the right to take it.

“Are you okay?”

I looked up, almost panicking. “Sure. Why?”

Trent’s eyes ran over me as if searching for the truth. “You’re quiet today.”

I was quiet today? Meaning we’d been spending enough time together that he knew the difference. Forcing a smile, I handed him his putter. “Just trying to stay in the background.”

He took it, eyebrows high, and I’d swear I heard him sigh as he turned away. Head coming up, he stepped onto the green and joined in the light banter between the other CEOs. My heart was pounding, and I dragged my melancholy ass out of the way to rest under the shade of the storm shelter.

“Just trying to stay in the background,” Jenks said in a high falsetto. “My God, woman. Your aura is glowing. Just admit you like him, bump uglies, and get on with your life!”

“Jenks!” I exclaimed, then wiggled my fingers apologetically at the man lining up his putt.

Smirking, Jenks landed on the storm shelter’s rafters, his hand carefully going over a small wing tear to even out a raw edge. “That’s how pixies know we’re in love,” he said as he folded his dragonfly-like wings and wiggled out of his red jacket, wincing as something pulled. “If the girl has glow, she won’t say no.”

“Nice.” Arms over my middle, I set the bag down and watched Trent, glad the girls were coming back tomorrow. With Quen taking up security, I’d be able to wrap my head around reality. I was confusing my work with everything else—and I was done with being confused.

“How’s Cookie Bits’s game?” Jenks asked. “He looks as distracted as you.”

Frowning, I raised my hand as if to bop him, but it would never land. Cookie Bits. That’s what Jenks had been calling Trent ever since he caught us sitting in his car outside the church after a job. I’d only wanted to hear the end of the news, but try telling Jenks that.

“Tink’s little pink rosebuds, the local pixies are more stuck up than a fairy nailed to my church’s steeple,” Jenks said, giving up on getting a rise out of me since it wasn’t working. “I’m wearing red for a reason, not because I look good in it. Look! Look what they did to my coat!”

Disgusted, Jenks held up the bright red jacket Belle had made for him, poking his finger through a hole just under the armpit. I stiffened, suddenly seeing his small wing tear in a new way. A pixy wearing red should’ve been given free passage. I’d been seemingly everywhere in Cincinnati with Trent the last couple of months, but the country club was the worst. I hadn’t known Jenks was having issues. He’d probably been too proud to tell me. “You okay?”

Jenks froze, his pale face becoming red and making his shock of curly blond hair look even more tousleable. His wings hummed, sifting a pale yellow dust that colored him from head to toe in working black. He looked like a theater guy, but the sword hanging from his belt was real enough, having had deterred everything from bees bothering his children to assassins bothering me.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, embarrassed. “I just don’t like dodging arrows when I shouldn’t have to. We’re cool as a breath strip.” He squinted at me, head tilting. “You sure you’re all right? I’m serious about your aura glowing. You got a temp or something?”

“Jenks, I’m not in love,” I replied grumpily, ignoring the odd tingle rising through me as Trent crouched to line up his putt. Cincinnati’s ley lines were faint but discernible, the upwellings of power usable even at this distance if not for the course’s ward of no-magic, in place to prevent tampering with the game. I’d found a way around it weeks ago. But it almost felt as if there were a line the next hole over, and I looked back the way we’d come.

That big man in the lime-green pants was standing between the markers with his club. We were too close for them to be teeing off, but even the practice swings were making me nervous. It was only a par three—as in “on the green in one drive.”

“Ah, Rache?” Jenks rose up, hovering by my ear as Mr. Lime-Green Pants swung. There was the crack of a ball, and my heart jumped. “Oh no he didn’t!” Jenks said, and I stiffened, tracking the ball’s path.

“What do you think?” I whispered, skin tingling as if I’d tapped a line already.

“I think it’s going to be a problem.”

“Fore!” I shouted, lurching out into the sun. Heads turned and Trent remained crouched where he was. Instinctively I sent out a ribbon of awareness, easily bypassing the no-magic ward and tapping the nearest ley line. Energy flowed in with an unusual sharpness, burning the inside of my nose as it seemed to come from everywhere, not just the line, as I filled my chi and forced the energy back out through the pathway of nerves and synapses to my hands.

My eyes widened as I tracked the ball’s path, energy burning as it flowed in smaller and smaller channels until it reached my fingertips. Shit, it was headed right for him.

“Derivare!” I shouted, hand moving in the simple gesture that harnessed the ley line charm and gave it direction. It was a small spell, one I’d been using for weeks to tweak Trent’s ball to make him slice as I practiced getting around the course’s no-magic ward. It wasn’t much, but it would divert the ball’s path from the green. I didn’t even need a focusing object anymore.

My intent sped from me with the surety of an electron spinning. I watched, breath held, as it headed for the ball arching down. Men were scattering, but Trent stood firm, confident that I had this.

And then the charm hit the ball, pain flaring simultaneously from my gesture hand.

I yelped, clutching my wrist as a thunderous boom shook the air, flinging me back to land on my butt. Shocked, I stared as chunks of sod and dirt rained down. Men were shouting, and Jenks was swearing, tangled up in my hair. My lips parted, and I blinked at the car-size crater ten feet off the green and in the fairway. “That wasn’t there before, was it?” I said, dazed.

“No fairy farting way!” Jenks said, my tangled red curls pulling as he worked his way out. “Did you have to explode it? My God, woman!”

My hand burned, and I didn’t dare rub at the stinging red flesh. Dirt and grass were still coming down, and people were running in from all points. From the nearby clubhouse came an irritating hooting. “I think I broke the course’s ward,” I said, awkward as I got up and brushed myself off with my good hand.

“You think?” Jenks sifted a glittering silver dust as he darted in excitement. “A little protective, are we?”

Peeved, I frowned. My control was better than this, much better. I shouldn’t have tweaked the no-magic ward, much less exploded the ball, even if I had shouted the word of invocation. The men in their pastels and plaids were clustered together talking loudly. The other caddies were in their own group, staring at me. Arms swinging aggressively, Mr. Lime-Green Pants strode forward, distant but closing the gap. The rest of his team stayed on the tee.

Calm and relaxed as always, Trent meandered over, squinting at me from under his cap. “Are you okay?”

Embarrassed, I brushed a chunk of dirt off him. “Yeah,” I said, hand hurting. “I mean, yes. Does my aura look funny to you?”

“No.” My head jerked up as he took my hand, turning it over to look at my red fingertips. “You’re burned!” he said softly, shocked, and I pulled away.

“I am so sorry,” I said, hiding it behind my back, but I could feel the sensation of pinpricks as Jenks, sifting dust down on it, checked it out himself. “I only tapped it. It shouldn’t have exploded. I didn’t use any more line strength than any other time.”

Jenks snickered and I froze, mortified as I watched understanding cross Trent’s face.

“You . . .” he started, and I flushed. “All last month?”

“Now it’s out, Rache,” Jenks said, then darted away to check out the crater.

Wincing, I nodded, but Trent’s expression was one of amusement, almost laughing as he touched my arm to tell me he thought my messing with his game was funny. That is, until his gaze went past my shoulder to the man in the lime-green pants stomping down the fairway. Trent’s hand fell from me with a reluctant slowness, and his attention shifted to his team, waiting to find out what had happened. “This isn’t going to be pretty.”

The guilt swam up anew. “I’m really sorry. It shouldn’t have happened. Trent, you know I’m better than this!” I said. But it was hard to argue with a ten-foot hole in the ground.

Jenks hummed close to drop the twisted mass of rubber and plastic into Trent’s hand. “Dude, it looks like a giant spider scrotum. Damn, Rache! What did you do to it?”

Trent held the thing with two fingers. “I’ll take care of it,” he said, making me feel small. “Don’t worry about it. No one got hurt. They can use a sand trap on this hole anyway.”

“Yeah.” Jenks landed on Trent’s shoulder, looking right there somehow. “It could have been an assassination attempt, and your charm prematurely triggered it.”

I jerked upright, embarrassment gone. “Excuse me,” I said as I snatched the ball away, wanting to do some postinvocation tests on it later. Eyes narrowed, I turned to Mr. Lime-Green Pants, his pace slowing as he huffed red-faced up the slight rise.

“Rachel . . .” Trent said in warning, and I got in front of him, the ley line humming through me, prickly through the course’s no-magic ward. The alarm had stopped, and the ward was back in place. Not that it mattered.

“He doesn’t look like an assassin,” Jenks said.

“And I don’t look like a demon,” I said, pulse fast. “Do another sweep, will you?”

“You got it.”

“Rachel, it was an accident,” Trent said as Jenks darted away, but there was a new slant to his eyes that hadn’t been there a second ago.

“It blew up,” I said tightly. “Don’t let him touch you.”

Worry crossed his face, satisfying me that he was taking it seriously, and together we turned to the man, puffing and sweating as he stormed closer. “Where the hell is my ball?” the big man shouted, clearly enjoying that everyone was watching him.

Calm as ever, Trent smiled soothingly. “I am sorry, Mr. . . .”

“Limbcus,” the man in the green pants said, and I pulled Trent back a step.

“We had an accident,” Trent said, and one of the caddies laughed nervously. “Please accept my apologies, and perhaps a bottle of wine at the club’s restaurant this afternoon.”

“Bribe? You’re bribing me?” Limbcus shouted, and the first hints of red shaded Trent’s cheeks. “You used magic during tournament play. You interfered with the lay of my ball!”

I couldn’t let that go. “I wouldn’t have blown it up if you hadn’t dropped it into his game.”

Sputtering, Limbcus pointed, focusing everyone’s attention on me. “She admits it!” he said loudly. “She used magic to influence the game! You are out, Kalamack.”

Trent looked up from his phone, the smallest tick of his lips giving away his irritation. “Mr. Limbcus, I’m sure we can come to some understanding.”

Limbcus jerked, shocked when Jenks circled us, silver dust spilling down to tell me that the course was clear. I didn’t know if that pleased me or not. A thwarted assassination attempt might be preferable to having overreacted.

“We’re good,” Jenks said, alighting on Trent’s shoulder instead of mine. My hair was frizzy enough on its own, and seeing it snarling under the club’s ward was scary. “I think it was an honest mistake, but the guy is a class-A dick.”

Limbcus almost had kittens, and the pixy laughed, sounding like wind chimes. Peeved, I made a finger motion for Jenks to knock it off, and he sobered. A black-and-gold cart belonging to the pro shop was careening over the course toward us. I relaxed for almost half a second before tensing up again. I’d broken their no-magic ward. I was going to get banned. The best I could hope for was to not take Trent with me.

“Ah! Aha!” Limbcus said, his bulk quivering as he saw the cart as well. “Now we’ll see! Kevin!” he shouted. “Kalamack altered the lay of my ball! I want him scratched!”

I cringed as Kevin, apparently, brought the electric cart to a halt, the youngish man blanching at the crater as he got out. Knowing what was going to happen, I waved at him. “It was me, actually. Sorry!”

Kevin looked professional in his black slacks and matching polo top, a crackling radio on his hip and a worn cap on his head. “Is everyone okay?” he asked, his few wrinkles bunching up to make him look older.

Trent nodded, and Limbcus pushed to the front. “She tampered with my game!” the red-faced, pear-shaped man shouted. “Magic during tournament play is grounds for disqualification. Kalamack is out! Scratch him. Right now.”

Ever the gentleman, Trent cleared his throat. “I’m afraid this is my fault.”

“Ah, no. Actually it isn’t,” I said. “He dropped his ball into our game and I deflected it.”

“More like demolished it,” Jenks said, snickering, and I wished he’d shut up.

“She admits it!” the heavyset man exclaimed, pointing again. “Scratch him!”

Kevin met Trent’s eyes, and Trent shrugged. Clearly unhappy, the manager nervously pushed in between them. “Mr. Limbcus, is there any way you can see to overlook the lapse? Seeing as it was your ball that instigated the problem?”

“At least let me replace your equipment,” Trent said.

Limbcus’s eyes widened as he realized they’d sided against him. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about the ball! We’re under tournament rules, and your caddie used magic! Your entire team’s scores are suspect, and you should be expelled from the club entirely!”

“Ms. Morgan isn’t my caddie,” Trent said coolly. “She’s my security.”

“I’ll bet.” The man leered at me, and my chin lifted. It didn’t help that I didn’t look the part today, dressed in a pair of shorts, sneakers, and a fashion-deprived polo shirt in an effort to blend in. Oh, I was athletic enough, but when a man like that sees curves, he assumes there’s no brain or skills attached. But the way I saw it was the less you looked like security, the more likely you were to catch them off guard.

The uncomfortable silence stretched. Mistaking it for agreement, the man shifted his bulk aggressively. “Golf is a gentleman’s game. Having women on the course is bad enough, but she doesn’t even know how to play!”

My eyes narrowed. “Easy, Rache,” Jenks warned.

“She’s a demon!” the man bellowed, and there were gasps from the surrounding men. “She’s been fixing the game. Can your ward handle demon magic? You don’t know!”

“Mr. Limbcus,” the golf pro protested nervously.

“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.”

Trent laughed, and hearing it, Jonathan, Trent’s driver among other things, got out of one of the black cars. I liked the man better when he’d been a dog—Trent’s version of a slap on the wrist for having tried to kill me. Seeing me take Trent’s clubs from the cart, he opened the back of the SUV and waited, a sour expression on his face. I didn’t like the man, his tall personage lean and full of sharp angles.

Uncomfortable, I whispered, “This wouldn’t have happened if you’d gone bowling. They let you use magic in bowling.” Kevin hesitated, and as Trent shifted from foot to foot in an unmistakable signal of departure, I extended my hand to the golf course employee. “Sorry about breaking your field. I can come back this afternoon and help you fix it.”

His smile was uneasy and his palm was damp. “No, our people need to do it,” he said as Trent took his clubs. “Ahh, Mr. Kalamack, I’m really sorry, but . . .”

Jenks’s wings clattered a warning, and I squinted at the regret in Kevin’s tone.

“No, it’s fine,” Trent was saying again, clasping Kevin across the shoulders and clearly trying to make our escape. “Don’t worry. It happens around Rachel. It’s part of her charm.”

“Yes, sir. Ummmm . . . One more thing.”

Kevin wouldn’t meet my eyes, and I slumped where I stood. “I’m banned from the course, aren’t I,” I said blandly, and Trent paused.

Kevin winced, but Jenks was smirking. “I am so sorry,” the hapless man gushed. “I would have done exactly what you did, Ms. Morgan, but the rules say if you do any magic on the course, you’re not allowed back.”

“Oh, for little green apples,” Trent said, but I touched his hand to tell him not to get bent out of shape. I’d been expecting it.

“You’re welcome to wait at the clubhouse,” Kevin rushed. “But you can’t go on the course.” His gaze shot to Trent’s. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Kalamack. We have several caddies licensed for personal security. Your patronage is important to us.”

Trent’s clubs clattered as he swung his bag over his shoulder and squinted up at the sun. “Can an exception be made?” he asked. “Rachel wasn’t playing. She was doing her job.”

Kevin shrugged his shoulders. “It’s possible. I’ll bring it up with the rules committee. You’ve been a member since your dad gave you your first clubs. Heck, my dad sold them to him. You’re good people, Mr. Kalamack, but rules are rules.”

Yes, rules were rules, but I was tired of them never helping me.

Frustrated, Trent ran a hand over his hair. “I see,” he said flatly. “Well, if Morgan isn’t allowed on the course, I won’t be needing that tee time.”

My eyes widened, and I touched Trent in protest. “Sir . . .” Kevin pleaded, but Trent put up an easy hand in mild protest.

“I’m not angry,” he said, and Jenks snorted his opinion. “I’m simply changing my plans. For all his backward thinking, Limbcus is right about one thing,” he said, glancing at me. “If you’re going to be on the fairways, you should know how to play. I was going to teach you is all.”

My heart seemed to catch before it thudded all the louder. “Me?” I stammered, shooting Jenks a look to shut up when he darted backward in glee. “I don’t want to know how to play golf.” He wants to teach me golf?

Undeterred, Trent looped an arm in mine, the bag over his shoulder thumping into me. “I’ve got an old driving range in one of the pastures. I’ll get it mowed and you can practice your drives until this gets worked out,” he said. He turned to Kevin and shook his hand. “Kevin, give Jonathan a call later this afternoon and I’ll courier over the funds for the game.” He winced, but it was clear he was in a better mood. I had no idea why. “This is going to be expensive.”

“Thank you,” the young man said, all nervous smiles as he pumped Trent’s arm up and down. “And again, I’m sorry about all of this.”

Trent touched the tip of his golf cap and turned us around. His cleats clicked on the pavement, and my face felt hot. “I don’t want to know how to play golf,” I repeated, but Trent’s pace remained unaltered as we walked to the SUV he’d bought to cart his kids around in. Why did he want to teach me golf?

Jonathan stared at us from the open back, and I yanked myself out of Trent’s grip. It only made Trent smile all the wider, hair falling to half hide his eyes. Jenks’s laughter as he pantomimed a golf swing as he hovered wasn’t helping. God, I wasn’t stupid! Trent was going to marry Ellasbeth as soon as he was done punishing her for walking away from the altar the first time. But that kiss we’d shared three months ago hung in my memory. He hadn’t been drunk—I’d swear to it—but that didn’t mean it hadn’t been a mistake. You couldn’t be two things. I’d tried, and it didn’t work. And I wouldn’t be his mistress. I was better than that.

Damn it, I’m babbling.

“You don’t have to boycott them on account of me,” I said as we neared the SUV. Jenks darted to my car in the shade, and Trent’s posture relaxed. He liked the pixy, but Jenks was noisy.

“I’m not,” he said softly as he handed his clubs to Jonathan. “I don’t want to be out here without someone watching my back, and I’ve seen their security. That ball shouldn’t have exploded. Not with that little tap you gave it. You’re going to get it checked out?”

I nodded, and reminded it was still in his bag, I went to get it. A chill took me as I held the prickly, twisted mass of rubber and plastic, and I looked out over the overdone green luxury, glad that distance and vegetation hid us from most of the prying eyes. I’d never liked it out here, but I’d thought it was the snobby attitudes. Maybe it was more. “I’m going to ask Al about it.”

Trent jerked at the mention of Algaliarept, a new light in his eye making me wonder if he wanted to come with me. “Sa’han?” Jonathan questioned, and the look died as Trent took the dress shoes he was holding out.

“Just calling it early, Jon,” Trent said, his voice holding a new weariness. “I got a text about a misfired charm in one of the off-site labs and want to check it out personally.”

“You need me?” I asked, and Jenks’s dust sparkled from halfway across the lot. He had very good hearing.

But Trent only smiled. “No, but thanks. Those things are almost foolproof, and I want to talk personally to the man who got burned. Make sure I’m not being scammed.”

I nodded, my creep factor rising at the siren coming from the nearby interstate.

“I heard shouting,” Jonathan prompted, clearly unconvinced as Trent sat on the tailgate and unlaced his shoes.

“We took care of it.” Trent stopped. Hunched over his feet to look both out of reach and totally accessible, he tilted his head and eyed Jonathan, clearly wanting him to leave.

Jonathan’s thin lips screwed up as if he’d eaten something sour. Back ramrod straight, he stalked to the passenger side and got in, slamming the door in protest. Trent’s lips quirked and he went back to his shoes. Jonathan could still hear us but at least he wasn’t staring. The wind was catching in Trent’s hair, making me want to smooth it out.

Stop it, Rachel.

My car was three spaces down and across the lot, but I was reluctant to leave. Trent looked weary, the sun full on his face and his green eyes squinting as he took a cleated shoe off and slipped his dress shoe on. I remembered how he’d stuck up for me, and something in me fluttered. It had been happening a lot lately. Don’t get involved, Rachel. You know it’s because he’s out of reach.

Trent stood, cleats in his hand. “Let me know what you find out.”

“Tomorrow. Unless it’s bad news,” I said, and Trent shut the back of the SUV.

“Tomorrow,” Trent affirmed as he came closer, and my smile froze. I wasn’t sure what he was going to do. “Thanks for today,” he said softly as he gave my hand a squeeze.

“You’re welcome,” I said, wanting to acknowledge it but afraid to, and his grip fell away. Professional. I was professional. He’d been nothing but professional back to me ever since that kiss, his mouth tasting of wine and me breathless and wanting to know how long it took to get him undressed. I knew that he was going to marry Ellasbeth, that he had a standard to live up to that didn’t include a local girl with a crazy mom and pop-star dad.

But he kept touching me. And I kept wanting him to.

Jenks was picking the bugs out of my car grille with his sword and shoving them off with his foot. Meeting my eyes, he made a get-on-with-it gesture, but Trent wasn’t making any motion to leave and I didn’t know what he wanted. “I’ll talk to you later, then,” I said, rocking back a step.

“Right. Later.” Head down, Trent started to go, then turned back unexpectedly. “Rachel, are you available tonight?”

I continued to back up, going toe-heel, toe-heel, not watching where I was going. There it was again. Professional, but not. My first response was to turn him down, but I could use the money and I had promised Quen I’d look after him. Jenks’s dust flashed an irritated red at the delay, and I said, “Sure. Business or casual business?”

“Casual,” Trent said, and I put my hands in my pockets. “Ten okay? I’ll pick you up.”

He was going to want to nap around midnight, so whatever it was, it’d be over by then. Either that, or it was a meeting with someone on a night schedule that couldn’t be tweaked.

“Ten,” I said, confirming it. “Where are we going?”

Trent’s head ducked, and spinning on a heel, he walked to his SUV. “Bowling!” he shouted, not looking back.

“Fine, don’t tell me,” I muttered. It didn’t matter. I’d be wearing something black and professional no matter where we went. The kite show, a horse event, the park with Ellasbeth when she came to pick up or drop off the girls and Trent didn’t want her on the grounds. Even an overnight trip out of state for business. I liked doing stuff with Trent, but I always felt like a cog out of place. As I should—I was his security, not his girlfriend.

“Oh, for sweet ever loving Tink!” Jenks complained when I got to my car. “Are you done yet? I’ve got stuff to do this afternoon.”

“We’re done,” I said softly as I slipped in behind the wheel of my little red MINI Cooper. Trent was backing up, and I waited as he leaned across a stiff-looking Jonathan and shouted out the open window “Let me know what Al says!” before putting it in drive and heading for the interstate. If Quen had been here, he would’ve insisted on driving, but Jonathan could be swayed and I knew Trent liked his independence—not that he had that much.

“Al, huh?” Jenks said, suddenly interested as I sat behind the wheel and watched Trent leave. “You think that’s a good idea?” Jenks asked, now hovering inches before my nose.

I leaned forward to start my car. “He can tell me if there was a charm on it,” I said, and Jenks landed on the rearview mirror, distrust and unease falling from him in an orangey dust. I was tired, annoyed, and I didn’t like the unsettled, more-than-being-said feeling I was getting from Trent. “It shouldn’t have exploded,” I added, and Jenks’s wings slowly fanned in agreement.

If someone was targeting Trent, I wanted to know. It was worth bothering Al over, though he’d just tell me to let the man die.

That ball shouldn’t have exploded.