The Outlaw Demon Wails (The Hollows #6)

The Outlaw Demon Wails (The Hollows #6) Page 13

The vibration of wheels on varnished wood rumbled up through me, the speed and feel both familiar and exhilarating. Music blared, and the novelty of people skating in costume made the echoing, dingy space seem brand-new. We'd been here for about an hour, going round and round until my mind was numb and my body pleasantly exhausted. Marshal had brushed my hand by accident twice now, and despite his claim that he wasn't looking for anything but casual companionship, my mom's words made me wonder if he was testing the waters.

Together we made the next turn with a comfortable foot-over-foot motion to throw us into a faster pace, and when Marshal's hand bumped into mine again, he took it. I said nothing, but at the slight stiffening in my stance, he let go to pretend to fix the hem of his shirt. Immediately I felt bad, but it really wasn't a date, and I didn't want it to slip into one.

Against the far wall was a huge clock and a sign updated daily stating what time the sun rose. They didn't have a sign saying what time the sun would set, though. My tongue felt the bump on my inner lip, and a flash of fear grew and died. I wasn't bound. I could be out on my own without Ivy protecting me from a faceless vampire appearing and making me beg to be bled. Nothing had changed, apart from me being a little smarter, a little more careful. And as for Al? I was completely safe...until the sun went down. Demon bait. This was no way to live.

Marshal followed my gaze to the clock before his attention dropped to my hand at my side. "You want to go?"

I shook my head as I fixed my red scarf, then felt guilty I was hiding my vamp bites. I'd never felt shame for them before, but I think it was because I understood for the first time how risky it had been to get them and I was embarrassed to have been that stupid. "No. We've got time yet." Being careful not to touch him, I leaned closer so he could hear me over the music as we passed the speakers. "I need to stop on the way home to pick up some tomatoes and another bag or two of candy. I ran out last year, and when I turned the light off, someone tied condoms to my car's antenna." Tomatoes, candy, and a complexion charm.

Marshal's full laugh made me wonder how many he'd tied in his day. There was a distinct glint of devilry in his eyes. "Hey," he said. "Hold on. Let me see if I can still do this." And in a sharp movement of flailing arms, he was skating backward. A turn was coming, and I took his hands to steady him when he bobbled. I let go almost immediately, but just that slight touch had eased the tightness in his jaw.

Now I really felt bad about stiffening when he'd taken my hand earlier, and not wanting him to think I thought he was ugly or anything, I skated closer toward him. I had an idea, and I started to sweat. God, I hadn't done this in years, but if Marshal wasn't afraid to fall and get an I BROKE MY ASS AT ASTON'S button, then I wasn't either.

Smiling to hide my nervousness, I leaned forward to be heard over the speakers as we passed them. "Turn around!" I shouted.

"What?"

I grinned. "Stay in front of me, and turn around!"

We were past the speakers, and his eyes were wide as he said, "Okay," and spun.

His back was to me, and I took a moment to look at it, so wide and broad. Dang, he was tall. My mom had been right. It felt good to get out and do something. If I didn't remind myself of what my life should be, I was going to collapse into a puddle of hopelessness. Balance. It was all about balance.

Pushing my thoughts away, I gingerly put my hands on his shoulders as we took the turn at the outer edge. "Pull me through?" I said as I leaned in so he could hear me over the music. "You're tall enough."

"Oh!" he exclaimed, darting a quick look over his shoulder. "Sure. We've got some straight board coming up."

We were at the speakers, and the music beat into me along with the rumble of the boards. I should come out here more often, I thought. Yes, the crowd was mostly human and the music was lame, but it was relaxing. Safe.

Marshal bent at the waist, and when his hands appeared between his knees, I sank to my heels and grabbed them. "Oh, crap!" I exclaimed when I realized too late he had crossed his wrists, and when he pulled me through, he spun me.

"Oh-h-h-h-h no-o-o-o-o!" I gasped, adrenaline pulsing as the world revolved. I scrambled for balance as I ended up facing him. My eyes were wide, and I caught a glimpse of Marshal laughing before he pulled me to him so I wouldn't go down. My wheels aligned, and breathless, I froze, my arms crunched between me and him as I skated backward. I took a breath, then looked up at him. He was holding me. "I, uh, wasn't expecting that."

"Sorry," he said softly, gazing at me.

"Liar," I said as the walls raced by. I was in his arms, skating backward, going full tilt. It was kind of how I lived my life. "You, ah, can let go now," I said, but I wasn't moving away, a small, wounded part of me just about dying to stay where I could soak up his warmth and acceptance.

His smile went soft at my awkward conflict, and when his grip loosened, I carefully turned to face forward and slip out of his arms. I probably shouldn't have done a pull-through, but I hadn't known he was going to turn it into...that. Crap on toast, I should have left everything as it was.

"Hey," I said nervously, hoping he wouldn't assume I wanted to change our relationship. Not that we really had one. "You're not bad at this. I practically lived here when I wasn't in school. How did you get so good?"

Marshal glanced at the torn stickers on my skates featuring popular bands from the nineties. His brown eyes were crinkled in laughter, and I hoped his eyebrows would grow in soon. "There's not much to do when the tourists leave. You should see what else I'm good at."

I smiled when I imagined what one had to do to keep occupied when snowed in. Leave him alone, Rachel. He's not looking, and neither are you.

"So now that you've got the job, you're going to move down here?" I asked.

"Mm-hmm." He was smiling, too, when he looked up from the boards. "I've got a guy who's been looking to buy the business, so it's only a matter of finding a price we both like."

I bobbed my head. "What about your house?"

Marshal shrugged. "I rent. Next trip up there, I'll bring everything back. Providing it's not out on the front lawn or burned."

Remembering what my mom had said about him coming off a psycho girlfriend, I winced. "Sorry. Debbie?" I guessed, remembering her.

He was silent as we took the turn, both of us going foot-over-foot to zoom past a couple dressed up as Raggedy Ann and Andy. "It wasn't anyone's fault," he said when we straightened. "We'd been together for a long time, but the last two years have been a slow-motion crash."

"Oh." The speakers were thundering out loud, fast rock, and I glanced at the clock.

"She wants a trophy husband, and apparently I'm not moving fast enough," he said, with only the faintest hint of bitterness in his voice. "Not to mention she forgot I wasn't working for money to impress people but to go back for my master's. I thought I loved her." Again he shrugged, leaving his shoulders hunched slightly. "Maybe I loved the idea of having her beside me. The same things weren't important to us anymore, and it just...died."

I was glad his expression held more regret than anger. "And what's important to you?" I asked.

Marshal thought while we maneuvered around Darth Vader, who was struggling to keep from hitting the wall with his helmet blocking his vision. "Success at work. Having fun doing it. Caring for someone and supporting their interests because you like to see them happy. Having them care about and support yours simply because they want to see you happy."

There was a commotion behind us, and the "ass buster" light at the DJ pit started to spin. Darth had gone down, taking three people with him. I was silent as my thoughts drifted from Marshal's goals to mine, and then to Ivy. God, I hoped she was all right. It seemed so cold to be out enjoying myself when she was trying to find out who had killed Kisten. But it wasn't as if I could go into a den of vamps and demand information. Like I said, she did the vamps, I did the demons.

"Hey," Marshal said, giving me a tentative punch on my arm. "You weren't supposed to go all serious." I smiled up at him, and he added, "You want something to drink?"

I glanced at the clock yet again. "Sure. Sounds good."

Together we angled ourselves past the trio of traditionally dressed witches complete with black hats, arm in arm as they tried to do the cancan. We took the step up together onto the carpeted rest area, and I took a fast breath as my momentum cycled down to nothing in two seconds flat. The air suddenly felt warmer, and the music louder. It was only when I stopped that I realized how fast we'd been going. Again, sort of like my life.

I tucked my hair behind my ear when Marshal leaned in so I could hear him better. "What do you want?" he asked, his eyes on the line.

Besides to know what the hell is going on? "How about a slushie?" I suggested. "Something green."

"Something green," he repeated. "You got it. Why don't you grab a table?"

I nodded, and he moved to the line, settling in with his attention on the glowing menu. Looking at the clock, I felt like Cinderella. We had lots of time, but I honestly didn't know how vampires did this. Most public places had emergency sun shelters that they charged you beaucoup bucks for. Sacred ground was a little more difficult to come by.

I slid into the hard plastic booth seat with my back to the rink. The minute my mother had said Marshal wasn't going to last was the minute I'd started getting interested. God, I was stupid. I saw what I was doing, and I still couldn't stop it! But I really was starting to like Marshal, and that worried me. I mean, neither of us was looking for a relationship, but that's what made it dangerous. Both our guards were down. That, like me, he enjoyed some excitement in his life wasn't exactly a good thing, 'cause I could give him that dressed in leather and trailing vampire incense. But it was because of that very mind-set that he hadn't given me any grief about the new marks on my neck or the fact that a demon was gunning for me. He hadn't dropped me like a pound of troll turds even after meeting my mom, and that was saying a lot. My life is a freaking mess.

My dates with Nick had always centered around talking or watching movies. Kisten had been more extravagant, with dinner at expensive restaurants or trips to dance clubs. But it had been ages since I'd had a date that was a nicely paced, moderate amount of activity that relaxed as well as tired me out. I wanted to just enjoy it, but I couldn't seem to do it without pushing a little bit more to find out just where we were and if things had changed in the last fifteen minutes. Welcome to my nightmare, I thought, determined to stop it and let the man be.

I sighed, slumping in the hard plastic. I could be with a guy without thinking about a relationship. I did it all the time. There was Ford, and Glenn, and David. The guy down at the corner market who restocked the ice cream shelves and had those fabulous shoulders...But none of them were witches, and as much as I'd like to think otherwise, there was a pull there that didn't exist with a human or Were...or even a vampire. Starting a family someday with a witch would be a whole lot easier.

I shifted my skates back and forth, my feet feeling as heavy as my mood now that I wasn't moving. I could see the front door from where I was, and the skate counter. Someone was arguing with the attendant, Chad, and I turned to watch.

Chad had been manning the skate counter even before I had started coming to Aston's in high school. The guy had hair to his elbows and was half out of his mind from past Brimstone use, not giving a crap about anyone but good at his job. The perfect customer-relations person, Chad could do anything up to and including throwing out a patron, and Mr. Aston wouldn't fire him.

One of the men arguing with him was obnoxiously tall, his silhouette, clear against the bright, late-afternoon sky, visible past the glass doors. The other one was shorter but held himself with a stiff formality. My amusement that they were trying to bully Chad faded as I recognized the tall one. Damn it, there couldn't be two such vile, tall people in the world, even on Halloween. That was Jonathan, which would make the other guy Trent Kalamack.

I glanced at Marshal, and seeing that the line hadn't moved, I got up and shifted closer.

Yup, it was Trent, dressed in a suit and tie that looked way out of place with the threadbare carpet and linoleum counters. The thought of a Pandora charm came to me, and I dismissed it. I wouldn't owe him anything.

"I don't care if you're the prime minister of my girlfriend's ass," Chad said, pointing a Brimstone-stained fingernail at Jon. "You're not getting past the gate unless you have skates. See the sign?"

I couldn't see the sign from where I sat, but I'd seen it in the past. The thing was three feet by five and took up the entire wall behind him, lettered in red and outlined in black.

"This is outrageous," Jon said, his voice dripping disgust. "We simply want to talk to someone for five minutes."

Chad leaned back and took a swig of his beer. "Like I haven't heard that before."

Trent's jaw clenched. "Two pairs of nines," he said, clearly avoiding touching anything.

Jon turned, surprise on his angular, hawklike features. "Sir?"

"Just pay him," Trent said as Chad gave Jon a shit-eating grin and dropped two ugly pairs of skates on the counter.

Looking like he'd rather lick asphalt, the tall man pulled a long wallet from an inner coat pocket. Jonathan's feet were way bigger than a size nine, but the point was to get past the gate, not go skating. Trent's fair hair was floating in the breeze kicked up by the skaters when he left Jonathan to pay Chad. His pace faltered as he saw me watching him, and I gave him a little wave. Eyes never leaving me, Trent jerked forward, struggling to get through the turnstile without touching it.

My sarcastic smile went annoyed. What does he want, anyway? I thought, wondering if this was about his little vacation into the ever-after; if so, he was going to be sorely disappointed. I wasn't going to work for him, but irritating him was right up on my list of favorite things.

Smirking, I glanced at Marshal. He was going to be there awhile, so when Trent came forward with an intent pace, I simply pushed off the carpet and back onto the boards.

"Morgan!" Trent exclaimed, and I spun to skate backward, giving him a cheeky bunny-eared kiss-kiss. His brow creased, so I started dancing to the music. Oh, God, it was "Magic Carpet Ride," and the entire place was emptying onto the rink.

By the time I had done a circuit, Jon was with him and Trent was lacing up. He was going to come out here? Holy crap, he must be pissed. It wasn't unusual for Trent to track me down when he wanted to wave money at me, but he usually had his act more together than this.

I made another circle, my mind going over our last meeting. I hadn't done anything to tick him off too badly, had I? I mean, irritating him was fun, but the man could kill me if he really wanted. Of course, the nasty little secret of his illegal genetic labs would come out and his empire would come tumbling down, but hell, Trent might do it just to spite me.

My third circuit found Jon standing alone. I quickly scanned the rink, but it wasn't until I looked behind me that I found Trent moving easily and comfortably. He can skate? I toyed with the idea of making a race out of this, but there were too many people out there in unsafe costumes, and besides, I'd probably already pushed him to the limit. The guy was a drug lord after all.

Curious, I checked to make sure my scarf was in place, then slowed to let the underweight Arnold pass me so Trent could catch up.

"Rachel," he said as he settled in beside me, and I felt uneasy when he looked at my scarf as if he knew what lay under it. "You are unbelievable. You know I want to talk to you."

"So here I am." I smiled and tucked a curl out of the way. "Besides, I've always wanted to see a world power on skates. You skate really well - for a murderer."

His green eyes squinted and his jaw tightened. I watched him force the tension out of himself. God, I enjoyed pushing his buttons. That he even cared what I thought said volumes.

"I need you to come with me," he said as we took the turn, and I laughed, the sound lost in the boom of the speakers.

"On your suicide mission?" I said. "I'm glad you finally got smart and asked for help, but I'm not going into the ever-after for you. Forget it."

He went to say something, his emotions showing more than usual, but it was cut short as the lights dimmed and the disco ball lit up.

"Couples' skate," Chad said over the loudspeaker in a bored tone. "If you don't have a partner, get off the damned boards."

My eyebrows rose in challenge, but Trent surprised me, sliding closer and looping his arm through mine. His fingers were cold, and my smile faded. Something was seriously wrong. I loved irritating Trent, and I honestly got the impression that he put up with it so he could irritate me back, but this? I'd never felt his skin so cold.

"Look," I said as the music turned slow and the skaters moved closer. "I'm not going into the ever-after. Al is hot for my soul again, and the last thing I need to do is get on his turf, so forget it."

Trent shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe you call him Al."

"Well, I'm not going to use his summoning name," I said, affronted. We were passing the rest area, and I caught Marshal's eye. He was standing at an empty booth with a concerned look and two slushies. He straightened as he saw me, and I gave him a "just a minute" gesture.

His confusion and disappointment were clear despite the whirling disco lights, then he blinked as he realized who I was with. And then we were past him, headed for the other end of the rink.

"This isn't about the ever-after," Trent said, bringing me back to our conversation.

My lips pressed together, and I wondered if they would ban me again if I ran Trent into the wall. "Yeah, I know, it's for Ceri and her baby. God, Trent. If it had been anyone but Quen."

Trent almost pulled out of my grip, but I held tight, not wanting to look at his face. "Ceri told you?" he said, sounding embarrassed and making me wonder if he had been going to marry her and try to pass the baby off as his own.

I turned, letting him get a good look at my disgust. "Yes. She told me. She's my friend." Or used to be. Trent's face went empty of emotion, and I felt a pang of guilt. "Look, I'm sorry. If it means anything, I think Ceri and you look great together and would have really pretty babies, but you and her? Who would be happy there? Really."

He looked away, watching the couple before us dressed up as Bonnie and Clyde. "Rachel," he said as the song went into the last, barf-o-matic romantic verses, "I need you to come to my house. Tonight."

I just laughed and looked at the clock. "No way in hell." Then, deciding that if I didn't give him a reason, he might drug me and cart me off, I added, "Trent, I can't. If I'm not on holy ground by sunset, Al will know it and show up. I won't take the chance. Tell you what, though. I'll come out to see you tomorrow afternoon with a big, fat consultation fee, and you'll still get a no out of me."

Fear crossed his face, hidden too quickly for me to think he was trying to manipulate me. "Tomorrow might be too late," he said, his soft voice clear in the cessation of music and rumble of wheels on wood. "Please, Rachel. I couldn't care less, but Quen has asked, and I'll beg for him, not me."

Whoa, wait up a fairy-flipping moment. Suddenly unsure, I halted our motion, dragging Trent to the back corner of the turn where we'd be out of everyone's way. "Quen?" I asked. "Why does Quen want to see me?"

The lights brightened and the popping of the loudspeaker made both of us wince. "It's five straight up, skaters," Chad's voice rumbled out. "Time to award the daywalkers' best costume. Line up, and Aston and his beeyotch will award the lucky dick or dickette a year's pass to the rink."

The people in costume cheered, more than a few patrons falling as they shifted direction to line up. I wanted to get off the boards, but everyone was in the way. Marshal was standing beside Jon, both of them watching us with the attitude of not wanting to be seen together but trying to get information from each other. Marshal looked almost short next to the unearthly height of the obnoxious elf Trent had handling most of his office affairs, and I spared him a glance to try to tell him this wasn't my idea.

"Why can't Quen just come out to see me?" I said when I could hear myself over the excitement, and then it came together. "Damn it, Trent!" I almost hissed. "You stupid businessman. You sent him into the ever-after, didn't you, when I said I wouldn't go."

Anger marred Trent's usual calm. Behind him, Aston, the owner of the rink, skated onto the boards with a dark, wasp-waisted, buxom woman hanging on his arm, clearly under the influence of a bust-enhancing charm. They'd both been drinking, but Aston was a past Olympic skater, and by the looks of it, his companion had been a Roller Derby queen and could probably skate better drunk than sober. Pain charms were illegal in derby competitions; alcohol wasn't.

The noise of the crowd rose and fell as they passed the costumed patrons, people shouting their opinions as to how the contest should end. I rounded on Trent before he could take the opportunity to slink out without hearing my thoughts. "Did Quen go into the ever-after and come out cursed?" I accused. "You don't know what you're doing. Leave the demon stuff to the professionals."

The blood washed from Trent's face, and his chin trembled in anger. "I would, but the professionals are afraid, Morgan, too cowardly to do what needs to be done."

Furious, I got in his face. "Don't you ever talk to me about cowardice!" I exclaimed.

But Trent met my anger with his own. "I didn't send Quen into the ever-after," he said, wispy hair floating. "As far as I know, he's never been there. What happened to him is a direct result of your incompetence. Maybe that's why he wants to see you. To tell you to your face that you need to stop trying to live up to your father's name and open a nice charm stall down in Findlay's Market and quit trying to save the world."

I felt like I'd been socked in the gut. "You leave my dad out of this!" I almost hissed, then nearly fell when a spotlight hit us, hot and heavy.

"Congratulations!" Mr. Aston slurred, and I realized everyone was staring at us, cheering. "You've won the daywalkers' best costume!"

He was talking to Trent, and the angry man caught his emotional balance with an enviable quickness, shaking the rink owner's hand with a practiced ease, smiling as he tried to realign his thoughts and figure out what was going on. I could see his fury at me simmering under his pleasant expression. The buxom-spelled beauty giggled, draping a ribbon of entry coupons around his neck, startling me and shocking Trent when she gave him a sloppy, red-lipsticked kiss on his cheek.

"What's your name, Mr. Kalamack?" Aston was saying, gesturing grandly to the watching people.

Trent leaned past Aston to me. His green eyes were almost black with anger. "Quen is asking for you."

Fear slid through me at his formal words. Oh, God. I'd heard that only once before. It had been in the nurse's office at school. I don't even remember the ride to the hospital to find my dad gasping his last.

"Let's all have a round of applause for Mr. Quen, here," Aston shouted, the speaker squealing with feedback. "Winner of this year's daywalker costume contest. If you're afraid of the dark and those who walk in it, go home! The rest of us want to par-ty!"

The music started up, and people began moving to it, round and round in useless circles. I stared at Trent. Quen was dying?

"Sorry, miss," Aston said as he put a hand on my shoulder and sent his bourbon-scented breath over me. "You almost had him beat, but you went overboard with the hair. Rachel Morgan's hair isn't that frizzy. Have a g-good night."

The woman on his arm crooned as she led him away. The spotlight went with them, leaving only Trent and me in the small corner of the rink where the dust bunnies gathered. Looking tired, Trent removed the necklace of coupons and wiped away the lipstick with a white linen handkerchief.

"Quen is asking for you," he said, chilling me. "He's dying, Morgan. Because of you."