The Undead Pool

“What the hell are y’all doing in my yard?” a man asked, his anger dulled by the incongruity of a horse, no doubt.

“Leaving . . .” I prompted.

“Thanks for the water,” Trent called. “Sorry about the bushes.”

“My bushes?” the man asked, but Trent had reached around me to take the reins and wiggle his heels into Tulpa. My eyes widened as he sent the horse at a dead run toward them. They were only three feet high, an easy jump, but Tulpa was carrying two and was exhausted.

“Ohhhh noo!” I called out, a thrill running through me as Tulpa crashed through them.

Head up, Tulpa pranced into the street—his hooves tatting out a merry beat as the man shouted at us. I didn’t understand Trent’s mood. He’d just lost the end point of ten years of careful breeding—the foundation for the next generation—and he was laughing as a spotlight from a cop car turned to find us.

“You!” a magically enhanced voice boomed out, and the world was suddenly cast in a white-light relief. “Yes, you on the horse,” the cop shouted when Trent pointed at us. “You’re breaking curfew. Put your hands up. Both of you!”

“Ah, if I let go of the reins, the horse is going to run away!” Trent said from behind me, and then softer, to me, “I don’t particularly want to spend the night explaining things, do you?”

“No. Church is that way.” I pointed with my chin, and when the cop demanded that we dismount, Trent gave Tulpa his head and shouted something elven.

Tulpa sprang into motion. I gasped and thumped back into Trent. His arm went around me, and grinning, I inched myself forward again.

“Ah, shit! They’re running. Hey! Come back here!” the cop shouted, and Trent urged Tulpa into a faster pace, shifting him up onto the lawns to dodge kiddie pools and bikes as we trotted through the Hollows, the cop car following with his siren blaring.

“Ms. Rachel!” came an urgent call from overhead, and Tulpa’s ears flicked when Bis darted through the trees. “I saw what happened,” he said, his skin a dark black as he flew alongside. “Thank the scrolls that you made it to the line.”

“Stop! Or I’ll shoot!” the cop shouted, and outrage shocked through me when a pop cracked through the air. They’re shooting at us? Are you kidding me?

“Damn,” Trent said, sending Tulpa pacing through a side yard to cut to the next street over. “It’s not any safer over here.”

But he was wearing that weird smile I couldn’t figure out when I leaned to look. “That way!” I said, and Tulpa shifted on a dime. “Go!” I shouted when the cop car skidded around the corner, going full tilt the wrong way down a one-way.

We were only two blocks from the church, and Tulpa took a low fence as we crossed another row of houses. From the street we’d just left, the cop revved his engine and backed up, sirens wailing.

“We aren’t getting over the fence at the church,” Trent said, his words a tingling sensation on my cheek. “I’ll slide down to open it. Just get him through.”

“You’re the better rider. I’ll get it!” I said, and then we both ducked when Bis buzzed us.

“I’ll get the gate,” he said, then darted away.

Tulpa’s feet skidded on the hard pavement as we found the next street, and I breathed in the scent of wine as we trotted for a block—until that cop showed up again, spotlight searching. “Hurry!” I shouted. I could see the church steeple. We were almost home.

“What the Tink blasted hell are you doing?” Jenks shrilled, dusting when that cop car whooped his siren, spotlight searching. “You’re on a horse? Seriously?”

“Jenks, help Bis with the gate, will you?” I said, laughing as Trent pushed Tulpa into a soft canter, staying on the sidewalk to hide the prints. Bis had the gate open, and Tulpa snorted at the sudden flash of pixy dust as Jenks’s kids found us. I waved them off, telling them to dampen their dust as Tulpa walked into the garden, head up and his nostrils flaring. We were home.

“You guys stink,” Jenks said as I slid off Tulpa, right after Trent. Knees aching, I hobbled to the gate, closing it and standing on tiptoe to watch the cop car drive past. The cop’s radio was turned up loud, and I ducked down as the searchlight played over the carport, then the church. A slice of it made it through the fence, and my whisper to stay quiet was never spoken as I saw Trent.

He was standing beside Tulpa, holding the big animal’s head in his arms to keep him quiet, lovingly rubbing his fuzzy ears. His clothes were covered in ever-after dust, rumpled and dirty. He looked nothing like himself, and seeing me looking at him, he pulled the black cap off, leaving his hair in complete disarray. His eyes smoldered with the memory of our race. I took a breath to say something, finding no words.

And then the spotlight moved and he was a shadow.

“Nice. Really nice,” Jenks said as Bis sat on the fence, clearly worried as his feet put new dents in it. “I’ve got a horse in my yard. Ivy is going to freak out.”