The Turn: The Hollows Begins With Death

by Kim Harrison

  “Never again,” he moaned softly, then turned his head, squinting at the square of brighter light coming in from a kitchen. It looked as if it had recently been remodeled, one wall brightly wallpapered with an orange-and-black pattern that somehow went with the original stone-slab floor and varnished-wood cabinets. Where am I? he thought as he pulled the knitted afghan off the floor and tried to fold it.

  But he froze when Trisk’s silhouette moved between him and the smaller kitchen window. Oh God. Trisk, he thought, the sight of her and the soft clinks as she arranged something on a tray overwhelmingly domestic and soothing. Wisps of the night came reluctantly back: her awkward help getting him to the parking lot, their almost one-sided conversation in her car, her distant, almost preoccupied admission that an old friend had taken a job with Saladan Industries and Farms. To work with her?

  Adrenaline woke him up fast as Daniel searched for his shoes, not finding them. He ran a hand over his stubbled cheeks, then fumbled to straighten his tie only to realize it was missing, too. And then she drove me to her house, he thought, when Trisk turned, tray in hand. Maybe she’d reconsidered and wanted to change their relationship.

  “Good morning,” she said cheerfully, her low voice blessedly soft, and he stared as she came down the single step and into the sunken living room. The sun glowing through her hair was amazing, until she passed out of the beam and it was gone. “How are you doing?”

  “Trisk,” he said, wincing at how rough his voice was. God help me, this is not how I wanted to do this. “I haven’t woken up on a strange couch in a house I didn’t recognize since my undergrad.” He hesitated, embarrassment making him squint. She was absolutely gorgeous in a casual halter top and wide-bottomed jeans, nothing like her usual self. Not that her usual self wasn’t gorgeous, too. “Ah, sorry about last night. I must have been a real ass.” But I wouldn’t know, seeing as I was stone-cold drunk. Almost his entire night was gone. He would’ve sworn he hadn’t had that much to drink.

  Trisk set the tray down, the slight scrape it made going right through his head. “You were a complete gentleman. Fell asleep before the pasta was cooked.”

  Daniel looked up from the four muffins and coffee. “I fell asleep while you were making dinner? You offered to make me dinner, and I fell asleep?”

  But she was beaming as she sat down kitty-corner to him, her feet almost lost in the thick-looped red rug. “Don’t sweat it. It was canned sauce.”

  Between his head and his gut, he was reluctant to try eating anything, and he absently tugged at his rumpled shirt again. He vaguely remembered using the bathroom last night, but not where it was, and he was too embarrassed to ask.

  “The coffee is black and the muffins are guaranteed to sit well,” Trisk prompted, and he looked from the tray to her folded hands, feeling ill. “Promise. It’s my grandmother’s recipe. Apparently she was known for her parties that lasted until noon the next day.”

  If he didn’t eat something, she’d think he was an ungrateful slob, not just a slob. Hand shaking, he reached for the coffee, surprised when the bitter brew slipped into him with hardly a twinge from his middle, relaxing him even as it brought him awake.

  “Thank you. Is this your house?” he asked when Trisk took her own cup in hand, clearly pleased. “I mean, it’s really nice,” he added, hearing how that sounded. “They must pay you more than me,” he muttered.

  Trisk laughed, making him feel better. “It was an old farm that someone tried to turn into a bed and breakfast. They remodeled everything, added bathrooms and a kitchen to code. But it’s too far out from the city. I got a great price for it because they redrew the floodplain and it’s in it. I put in twenty-five acres of trees the first year I was here and turned it into a pecan ranch.”

  He followed her eyes to the rows of sticks beyond the windows, his mood softening as he saw in her a slow anticipation. It made her more beautiful yet, and he again wondered why he was sitting on her couch. She’d been gently adamant yesterday that she wanted to keep their relationship just as it had been for the last three years, but here he was.

  “Low-maintenance, long-term investment,” she added, seeming to give herself a shake as she brought herself back. “I originally bought it because of the stables. I might have horses someday.”

  “I like horses,” he lied as he reached for a muffin. Bolstered by the coffee, he gingerly took a cautious bite, surprised to find that the dry texture mixing with the sharp bite of cherries went a long way in settling his stomach. “I like these muffins even more,” he said appreciatively. “These are really good. Thank you, Grandma Cambri.”

  Trisk’s smile widened, and a new sense of camaraderie swept him, dangerously hopeful. He took another bite, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “And thank you for not letting me wake up in my lab,” he said softly. “That’s so unprofessional.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said, sounding just as vulnerable, and he looked up, embarrassed that she was seeing him hungover and freaking out at the end of his project.

  “I’m so sorry,” he added, hoping she’d understand. “This isn’t the way I wanted to spend our first evening together: you in the kitchen, and me passed out on the couch.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Trisk said, but she was gazing out at her trees. “No one but George saw us leave. And even if they did, I don’t think anyone would think twice about it.” Now she brought her attention back to him, and he felt his heart clench. “You worked hard on this project, and no one blames you for wigging out when someone comes in at the eleventh hour to possibly try to claim the credit for your work.”

  It truly seemed as if she understood, and he wondered what had happened in her past that she wasn’t telling him. She was one of the best researchers he’d ever had the privilege of working with, and even considering her relatively young age, it was strange that there were no papers, no journal articles with her name on them. He’d looked. Perhaps she’d had her work shanghaied by other colleagues before.

  “Trisk—” he started, reaching for her hand.

  But she yelped when their fingers touched, and he drew back, shocked until she sheepishly turned her hand palm up to show that it was a bright red.

  “My God, are you okay?” he asked as he scooted to the edge of the couch to see.

  “It’s fine,” she said, but he saw a second flash of pain as she hid it in a loose fist. “I got a steam burn draining the pasta. Stupid. So, uh, you don’t remember anything from work?” she asked as she took a muffin, carefully wrapping it in a napkin to catch the crumbs.

  “Bits and pieces,” he said wryly as he resettled himself against the hard couch with his coffee. “Not much.”

  Her smile returned, confusing him. “You honestly don’t remember bursting in on me while I was cleaning out Angie’s office for the Saladan Farms researcher? I must’ve screamed loud enough to be heard upstairs.”

  The coffee was warm against his fingers, and he shook his head. “No. Maybe?”

  Trisk’s half smile made her absolutely charming. “You scared the ever-loving crap out of me. I thought the floor was empty. You fell back into the hall. Hit your head on the wall.”

  He reached back to touch it, feeling a sore spot. “I don’t remember that at all.”

  Trisk’s eyes dropped as she hunched forward over her knees. “I didn’t think you should be alone after hitting your head, so . . .” Her attention flicked up and away as she shrugged.

  That’s why I’m here, he thought, suddenly angry with himself. She’d made it perfectly obvious earlier that she wasn’t interested in going out with him, and when she took him in, concerned over his personal safety, he’d turned it into something it wasn’t. Coffee between his knees, he slumped. I am so stupid.

  “Maybe you should get your head examined,” Trisk said, and he started, having been thinking the same thing.

  “I’m fine,” he said, resisting the urge to touch the back of his head again as he set his coffee down and took another bite of a mu
ffin. He ate when he got upset, and they were really good. “Besides, if I have to take a sick day on Monday, Colonel Wolfe will make Larry salute him.”

  “I bet he does that anyway,” Trisk said with a dry chuckle. “Daniel, I can’t tell you how sorry I am about your project, but I just can’t believe that they will turn it into something dangerous. There’re easier ways to kill people than a virus with no host or way to reproduce.”

  “I suppose,” he said, sneaking glances at her between bites of his muffin, not believing anyone could look that good in sandals and jeans. No wonder her old friend from college came all the way from Florida to work with her.

  Oblivious to his thoughts, Trisk began bobbing her foot. “With some luck, both your soldier and my farm boy will be gone in a few weeks, and everything will return to normal.”

  “I don’t know if I want it to anymore,” Daniel said, and her foot stilled. Meeting her eyes, he lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “I don’t know if I can keep working for Global Genetics if they’re just going to sell my work like that. I mean, I don’t mind it being sold because my heart is in research, and you have to let go to find the next thing, but to have your contribution utterly obliterated?” His focus went distant. “The government can put any name on it they want. And that’s assuming that they don’t turn it into a deadly weapon.”

  “They can’t,” Trisk soothed. “There is no way. You engineered it so it can’t replicate outside of a lab. It has no host and mutations are lethal or nonexistent.”

  He stared at the fireplace, watching the thin trail of smoke rise from the defunct fire he didn’t remember. “I hope you’re right. I never imagined they would close me out completely. Maybe I don’t want my name on it after all.”

  Trisk leaned across the space between them, startling him when she touched his knee. “I know I’m right.”

  He looked at her hand, eyes rising to hers. “Thanks for not saying it’s going to be okay.”

  “It will be that, too,” she said, and he frowned, confused at the mixed signals he was getting. Did she want to be more than friends, or just friends? Damn it, I’m too old for this.

  “Maybe,” he hedged as he pulled out from under her touch and took a sip of coffee. “You said you went to school with him?” Daniel asked, needing more information. “Your farm boy,” he added when she stared at him in confusion.

  Understanding, she slumped and rolled her eyes. “Kal?” She exhaled, hiding her face behind a sip of coffee. “Yes. He was in my class. Went to work in Florida when I came here.”

  “No kidding.” Daniel was silent for a moment. “Kal, huh? Cute name.”

  “I can’t believe he’s working for Saladan Farms,” Trisk said. “He’s good enough to work for NASA, almost as good as me. And now he’s coming here?”

  All the better to rekindle a school romance, my dear, Daniel thought, and she laughed at his sour expression. “You want to see him?” she asked suddenly.

  “You have a picture?”

  Her mug hit the table, and Trisk rose to go to the bookcase behind him and take out a slim volume. Her pace was slow as she came back, thumbing through the yearbook. “That’s him,” she said, pointing down as she handed Daniel the book.

  It was heavy, bound with real leather. He didn’t recognize the school name, but if it was on the East Coast, he might not. Lips pressed, Daniel studied the black-and-white class photo for a moment, freezing when Trisk leaned over him, her hair brushing his cheek.

  I should go, he thought as he breathed in her scent mixing with the fading smoke from the fire. He liked seeing her this casual, so unlike the usual stiff professional face she had to show the rest of the world in order to be taken seriously. He liked it a lot.

  “Where are you?” he asked, and she pointed. He was silent as he took in her image from the past, standing at the outskirts in her cap and gown while Kal was in the middle surrounded by a bevy of young women fawning over him. “Huh,” Daniel said, still studying the photo. “He looks like me.”

  “I hadn’t noticed,” she said as she almost jerked the book out of his hands and shut it with a snap. She strode quickly back to the bookcase.

  Frowning, he stood, the need to leave growing stronger. No one walks away from a Florida lab to work for a farm, even one as large as Saladan Industries, unless they’re trying to rekindle a past relationship, he thought. But Trisk didn’t seem happy as she shoved the book back in its place. A worried frown pinched her brow, changing into a questioning smile when she saw him standing at the couch.

  “I should probably go,” he said, patting his pockets for his keys. “Thank you for breakfast. And for making sure I didn’t make an ass of myself last night,” he added, then winced when he realized his car was probably still at Global Genetics.

  “You’re welcome.” Her smile turned real at his sudden consternation. “I’ll drive you. Let me grab my purse.”

  “Thanks,” he muttered as he finally spotted his dress shoes by the door and made his unsteady way to them. “I feel like such a bother.”

  “No bother.” She breezed to the double front doors, the entry all glass, stone, and beam. “Besides, I need to finish cleaning out the office before Monday. Unless by some miracle Farm Boy doesn’t show.”

  Daniel leaned against the wall and scuffed on his shoes. His coat was draped over the chair by the front door, and he winced at his image in the ornate mirror next to it. He still didn’t know where his tie was, but he was afraid to ask. “No chance of that,” he said as he ran a dismal hand over his stubbled cheeks. There was no way to make anything look better. “Dr. Kalamack has been in Sacramento since last night. They’ve got a get-to-know-you luncheon planned to introduce him and Colonel Wolfe both on Monday. You should really go to the meetings once in a while.”

  She stopped, purse swinging as her hand fell from the door. “What?”

  Daniel’s eyebrows rose at her flat utterance. “Go to the meetings?” he said. “Barbara always has doughnuts.”

  “No,” she said urgently, and his expression went empty at her sudden flush. “Kal has been in town since last night?” she asked. “Are you sure?”

  Daniel slowly found his full height, a sour realization turning into a heavy lump in the pit of his soul. “Rales said he came in early to find a place and get settled so he could start work Monday morning.” Depressed, he opened the door for her. The cool sounds of October spilled in, but he hardly heard the flocking birds. It had become obvious why Trisk wanted to keep everything the way it was. She clearly liked Kal, was excited at the thought of possibly rekindling their school romance—if it had ever truly vanished at all. Long-distance relationships were impossible, and now, with her wildly successful project ending, she had the freedom to work anywhere she wanted.

  “Uh, did Rales happen to give out a phone number for where Kal can be reached?” Trisk asked as she locked her door and followed him down the wide stone steps.

  Daniel slumped as he reached her little two-seater parked right at the bottom of the steps. His tie was on the floor of the passenger side, but he felt nothing. “I know what hotel he’s in,” he said glumly. “Will that do you?”

  “Yes. That would be great, thanks,” she said as she hustled around the front and got in, settling behind the wheel with a nervous haste. Daniel slid in beside her, taking his tie and smoothing it out between his fingers. Trisk started her car up with a brum of sound, jerking them both back with her sudden acceleration. Silent, he brought a casual fist to his mouth and stared out at nothing as they bounced down her drive and onto the smoother road back to Global Genetics.

  He had moved too slowly, content for too long with the solid friendship they had, and now a friendship was all there would ever be.

  8

  Kal pushed the rolling chair from terminal one to terminal two, glancing up at the smoky fat ring on the ceiling as he passed under it. He stifled a shudder, knowing it was atomized demon flesh. Apparently Trisk had found a summoning name and was practicin
g. That she could turn that demon on him was a real concern. Death by demon was illegal, but if it worked, he wouldn’t be around to lodge a complaint.

  Losing himself in the familiar task, he ran his finger down a string of text, recognizing the pattern as a protein coat that would prevent the organism from bonding to an Inderland cell. Perfect. Rick had called him when Trisk had left for the night, bundling her drunk coworker into her car and off-site. Kal had been in her office ten minutes later. It was past daybreak now, and he was tired, hungry, and in a bad mood. He’d expected to find something he could point to that would justify bringing her research to an end. Instead, he found perfection, not just once, but twice.

  A clatter of wings pulled him straight, and he cracked his back against the familiar ache of long study.

  “There’s a woman in the building,” Orchid said, landing atop the bulky monitor. “She’s coming downstairs.”

  The flickering yellow text blurred, and he waved her dust away before it shorted out the old system. Rick had said no one worked on the weekend. “That doesn’t sound like security.”

  “I’m guessing a secretary,” the tiny woman said. “I doubt it’s Trisk. She doesn’t look like an elf, and she’s wearing jeans and sandals. You want me to follow her?”

  She was probably just what Orchid had guessed, and Kal shook his head, not wanting to risk the pixy being spotted. “No,” he said, scrolling through page after page of code as he looked for anything that might attach to an Inderland cell. “How are you doing? Warm enough?”

  “I’m good,” Orchid said, but she’d parked herself right next to the terminal’s vent, her wings moving slightly in the air being pushed through the clunky system. “How bad is it?”

  Kal frowned, his darting eyes recognizing patterns and loops of code that would need a computer to forecast results. “It’s beautiful,” he muttered, mood worsening. “All the data points to a twenty-four-hour toxic response, and then it dies.” He pushed the rolling chair back to stretch his legs out. “The perfect tactical weapon. It has no carrier, and according to this”—he shuffled through the printouts—“it can’t replicate outside of the lab.” He shook his head, wondering if he had made a mistake. “I don’t know how they did it. With the tools they have to work with, it would be like trying to plow a field with a horse.”