The Hollows Series Books 1-4. Kim Harrison

to the I.S., he lived and worked in a huge estate outside the city. He raised racehorses on the property, but most of his income came from farming: orange and pecan groves in the south, strawberries on the coast, wheat in the Midwest. He even had an island off the Eastern seaboard that grew tea. I already knew this. It was standard newspaper fodder.

      Trent grew up as an only child, losing his mother when he was ten and his father when he was a freshman at college. His parents had two other children that didn’t survive infancy. The doctor wouldn’t give up the records without being subpoenaed, and shortly after the request, the office had burnt to the ground. Tragically, the doctor had been working late and hadn’t made it out. The Kalamacks, I thought dryly, played for keeps.

      I sat up from the records and snapped my teeth. There was nothing here I could use. I had a feeling the FIB records, if I could by some miracle see them, would be even less helpful. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to ensure that very little was known about the Kalamacks.

      “Sorry,” Jenks said. “I know you were really counting on the records.”

      I shrugged, pushing and tugging the papers back into the bin. I wouldn’t be able to put the basket upright, but at least it would look like it fell over and hadn’t been rifled through.

      “You want to go with Francis on his interview concerning his secretary’s death?” Jenks asked. “It’s this coming Monday at noon.”

      Noon, I thought. What a safe hour. It wasn’t ridiculously early in the day for most Inderlanders, and a perfectly reasonable time for humans. Maybe I could tag along with Francis and help. I felt my rodent lips pull back across my teeth in a smile. Francis wouldn’t mind. It might be my only chance to dig something up on Trent. Nailing him as a distributor of Brimstone would be enough to pay off my contract.

      Jenks flew up to stand on the rim of the basket, his wings moving fitfully to keep his balance. “Mind if I come with you to get a good sniff of Trent? I bet I could tell what he is.”

      My whiskers brushed the air as I thought about it. It’d be nice having a second pair of eyes. I could hitch a ride with Francis. Not as a mink, though. He would probably scream like a sissy and throw things if he found me hiding in the backseat. “Talk later,” I spelled out. “Home.”

      Jenks’s smile grew sly. “Before we go, do you want to see your record?”

      I shook my head. I had seen my record lots of times. “No,” I wrote. “I want to shred it.”

       Twelve

      “I’ve got to get a car,” I whispered as I lurched off the bus steps. I snatched my coat out of the closing doors and held my breath as the diesel engine roared to life and the bus lumbered off. “Soon,” I added, pulling my bag closer.

      I hadn’t slept well in days. Salt had dried all over me and I itched everywhere. It seemed I couldn’t go five minutes without accidentally hitting the blister on my neck. Coming off the caramel-induced sugar high, Jenks was cranky. In short, we were very good company.

      A false dawn had brightened the eastern sky, giving the thin blue a beautiful translucence. The birds were loud and the streets were hushed. The chill in the air made me glad for my coat. I would guess the sun was only an hour from rising. Four in the morning in June was a golden hour when all good vampires are tucked into bed and wise humans hadn’t yet poked their noses out to find the early edition of the paper. “I am so ready for bed,” I whispered.

      “Evening, Ms. Morgan,” came a gravely voice, and I spun, falling into a crouch.

      Jenks made a snuff of sarcastic laughter from my earring. “It’s the neighbor,” he said dryly. “Jeez, Rache. Give me some credit.”

      Heart pounding, I slowly stood, feeling as old as I was supposed to be under my age spell. Why wasn’t he in bed? “’Morning, rather,” I said, stepping even with Keasley’s gate. He was unmoving in his rocker, his face shadowed and unseen.

      “Been shopping?” He wiggled his foot to tell me he noticed my boots were new.

      Tired, I leaned on the top of the chain-link fence. “Would you like a chocolate?” I asked, and he motioned for me to enter.

      Jenks hummed in worry. “A splat ball’s range is longer than my sense of smell, Rache.”

      “He’s a lonely old man,” I whispered as I unlatched the gate. “He wants a chocolate. Besides, I look like an old hag. Anyone watching will think I’m his date.” I eased the lock down quietly, and I thought I saw Keasley hide a smile behind a yawn.

      A tiny, dramatic sigh slipped from Jenks. I settled my bag on the porch and sat down on the uppermost stair. Twisting, I pulled a paper sack from my coat pocket and extended it.

      “Ah …” he said, his gaze on the horse-and-rider trademark. “Some things are worth risking your life for.” As I expected, he chose a dark piece. A dog barked in the distance. Jaw moving, he looked past me into the silent street. “You’ve been to the mall.”

      I shrugged. “Among other places.”

      Jenks’s wings fanned my neck. “Rachel …”

      “Cool your jets, Jenks,” I said, peeved.

      Keasley got to his feet with a pained slowness. “No. He’s right. It’s late.”

      Between Keasley’s obtuse comments and Jenks’s instincts, I became decidedly wary. The dog barked again, and I lurched to my feet. My thoughts returned to that pile of splat balls outside my door. Maybe I should have hiked in through the graveyard, disguised or not.

      Keasley moved with a pained slowness to his door. “Watch your step, Ms. Morgan. Once they know you can slip past them, they’ll change tactics.” He opened the door and went inside. The screen shut without a sound. “Thank you for the chocolate.”

      “You’re welcome,” I whispered as I turned away, knowing he could hear me.

      “Creepy old man,” Jenks said, making my earring swing as I crossed the street and headed for the motorbike parked in front of the church. The false dawn glinted on its chrome, and I wondered if Ivy had gotten her bike back from the shop.

      “Maybe she’ll let me use it,” I mused aloud, eyeing it appreciatively in passing. It was all shiny and black, with its gold trim and silky leather; a Nightwing. Yummy. I ran an envious hand across the seat, leaving a smear where I wiped the dew away.

      “Rache!” Jenks shrilled. “Drop!”

      I dropped. Heart pounding, my palms hit the pavement. There was the hiss of something overhead where I had stood. Adrenaline surged, making my head hurt. I shoved myself into a roll, putting the bike between me and the opposite street.

      I held my breath. Nothing moved among the shrubs and overgrown bushes. I pushed my bag in front of my face, my hands searching inside.

      “Stay down,” Jinks hissed. His voice was tight, and a purple glow laced his wings.

      The prick of the finger stick jolted me to my toes. My sleep charm was invoked in 4.5 seconds; my best time yet. Not that it would do me much good if whoever it was stayed in the bushes. Maybe I could throw it at him. If the I.S. was going to make a habit of this, I might want to invest in a splat gun. I was more of a confront-them-directly-and-knock-them-unconscious kind of a gal. Hiding in the bushes like a sniper was cheesy, but when in Rome …

      I gripped the charm by the cord so it wouldn’t affect me and waited.

      “Save it,” Jenks said, relaxing as we were abruptly surrounded by a host of darting pixy children. They swirled over us, talking so fast and high I couldn’t keep up. “They’re gone,” Jenks added. “Sorry about that. I knew they were there, but—”

      “You knew they were there?” I exclaimed, my neck hurting as I peered up at him. A dog barked,