Hollows 11 - Ever After by Kim Harrison Page A

leaves.
    “Consider yourself warned,” I said grimly, and after seeing Ray wide-eyed and quiet, I shifted her to sit more firmly on my hip and blew up two more trees. It was an ungodly mess, but there was room now, and better yet, the ambulance would know exactly where to land. Growing more angry, Tulpa withstood it all, held to the spot by Trent’s will alone.
    Trent was silent as he joined me in the new sun, squinting up as the sound of the copter blades grew closer. I felt ill as the imbalance for the curse rose up, lapping about me. I could feel it cresting, and with no regret, I lifted my chin. I pay the cost for this, I thought, feeling the smut slither across my soul. The sun didn’t seem any dimmer, the sky was just as blue, but looking at the shattered stumps and splintered branches and wilting leaves, I knew my soul was a little bit darker.
    But what was the point of a clean soul if Quen died and I could have helped?
    “Thank you,” Trent said, and then he darted back to Quen as the long medical helicopter began to land. What wasn’t nailed down blew to the edges—and there was a lot. Ray began to wail, and I held her face to me, covering her head as I turned my back on the copter. Swearing, Jenks tucked in at my collar, and I stood there hunched and shaking, feeling as if I were at the center of a tornado.
    Finally it was only bits of grass striking me, and I turned to see three men in scrubs jump out of the side, a stretcher between them. The blades slowed but didn’t stop, and Trent stood over Quen, his worry coming back threefold.
    “No spinal damage,” one said, squinting at an amulet held against Quen’s temple. “We can move him,” and the other two manhandled him onto the stretcher, starting an IV and taking vital signs.
    “Sir?” the one with the amulet asked, and Trent pulled his attention from Quen’s face. His eyes looked better.
    “Treat it as a demon attack,” he said, voice raised against the wind. “Yes, it’s daylight,” he added when the man looked doubtfully at the sun. “He was possessing someone.”
    Jenks left me, Ray starting as the silver sparkles sifted down. “His aura is wonky,” the pixy said, standing on Quen’s chest to garner everyone’s attention for a brief instant. “It’s cycling through shades like it’s ringing. It’s getting worse, though. Five minutes ago, it was taking thirty seconds to cycle and now it’s down to twenty.”
    Brow furrowed, the man put on a pair of glasses another handed him. His eyes widened, and his motions took on a new urgency. “Get him in the chopper. Now!”
    “I didn’t see it happen,” Trent said as they counted to three and lifted the stretcher, the first man holding the IV bag high. “Morgan and I were out on another trail and felt the disturbance. I think they took Ceri and Lucy,” he said, fear crossing his face before he tried to hide it. I could see it shimmering behind his every move.
    With an efficiency of motion, they loaded Quen, the sound of the blades drowning out the new conversation between the two techs. Jenks had darted in with them and out of the wind, and Ray was watching for him to come back out—silent, so silent. Still beside us, the head guy looked at the pilot, motioning for a moment of time. Concern showed in his eyes as he leaned in to be heard. “Sir, I don’t know what this is. We have to take him to the university hospital.”
    Trent looked up at the whirling blades, and I held Ray tighter to me. “Are you sure? I don’t want a media circus.”
    But the man was shaking his head. “We’re running out of time. He needs to be in a desensitization tank, and you don’t have one. We can try a quiet room—”
    “No.” Trent looked inside, fear flickering over him like a second aura. “Go. Take him.”
    The man made a motion to the pilot, and through the glass, I saw him grab a radio. “We’ll call ahead,” the tech shouted. “They’ll be ready for him. I think we’re in time,