I kept my chin up and was glad that my voice didn’t shake. “Audrey Whitticomb,” I said.
He held his hand toward me, and I realized with a flare of alarm that he meant to shake mine. I stared directly at him, not speaking. My frequencies were jumbled, but I was getting a sense from him—indecipherable, but strong. I lowered my eyes to his hand, the lines that crossed his palm, the smooth band around one finger.
The ring caught my attention. It looked silver, though it caught the light strangely. It was simple, unadorned. I’d seen rings like it before, but there was something else familiar about it that I couldn’t quite name.
“Miss Whitticomb?” His query was soft, but my eyes snapped to his. He was still waiting.
I swallowed and took his hand. His skin was warm, dry, and not unpleasant. I looked up at him, and his eyes crinkled in faint amusement.
For the space of a second, my senses cleared. My Knowing shot through me, a beam of knowledge and understanding too fleeting for me to grasp. I pulled my hand away, cradling it against me. My gaze shifted from Tigue’s as I caught something else in his depthless eyes.
I know your mother, his eyes told me. I know you.
There are some places it’s best not to look, I thought.
Some places look back.
A shudder ran through me. I drew away, trying to shake the sense that he was staring into me, through me, into the spaces of mind and memory. Into my history, into the dark of my dreams. Harrowers had abilities, I recalled. Just like Kin. And Tigue—he Knew.
I know your blood, he seemed to whisper. And he smiled.
“Let’s go cool off,” Leon said, pulling me away.
“It was nice meeting you,” Tigue said, that crooked smile curving his mouth. His words lingered in the air, attaching to me like shadows.
As Leon propelled me away, I tried to organize my scattered thoughts. I felt off balance, and more frightened than I cared to admit. I’d sensed something in Tigue, something deeply hidden, a secret just out of reach—but I couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d also sensed something in me.
Leon thrust a glass of water into my hands, and I downed it in long gulps, letting it cool my throat. Keeping my gaze at the wall, I concentrated on the music drifting behind us. Soft violins and the melancholy moans of a cello.
“Subtle, Audrey. Very subtle,” Leon said. He grabbed my coat, and before I could protest, he’d thrown it over my shoulders, set my drink aside, and aimed me toward the door. We passed Iris, who gave me a troubled look but didn’t interfere.
“Can you let Esther know I’m leaving?” I called to her, and saw her nod.
Outside, the snow continued. Huge drifting flakes caught the light, the sort of gentle snow that always happens in paintings. I couldn’t enjoy it. My thoughts were in turmoil, and Leon’s hand at the small of my back guided me toward the car, heedless of how fast I wanted to go.
We drove for a few minutes in stony silence. Leon didn’t speak, and I couldn’t seem to form words. Anxious and angry, I twisted my hands in my lap, wrinkling the fabric of my dress. Tigue had scared me, but I didn’t want to think about that. I focused on my anger, instead.
Leon kept his gaze determinedly forward. In the distance, the Minneapolis skyline loomed chilly and bright against the snow. The highway bent toward the city. The minutes dragged on. Now and then, I flicked a glance toward him, noting the tightness in his jaw, the tension in his arms.
Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer.
“We need to have a talk,” I said, trying to ignore the unease that roiled within me.
He didn’t even glance at me. “Damned right we do.”
“Because this attitude of yours? It’s getting a little old,” I said, crossing my arms and staring outward. If he wouldn’t look at me, I wouldn’t look at him. I gazed into the heavy darkness, watching as the lights of passing cars turned the falling snow gold. My throat felt thick; my face felt hot. “Look. I’m sorry, all right? I’m sorry you didn’t have a choice. But I didn’t have a choice, either. I didn’t ask for this any more than you did.”
I heard his breath catch. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you. Being my Guardian.”
He didn’t speak. When I chanced a look at him, I saw his lips part, but no sound came out. Eventually he let out a low sigh. “Audrey—”
“I get it, all right?” Now that I’d started, I couldn’t seem to stop. “I know you have to look out for me, but that doesn’t mean you get to dictate everything I do.”
“We’re not discussing this now.”
My phone rang, but I silenced it, not bothering to look at the number. “I didn’t ask to be your burden,” I railed. “I don’t even know why you’re Guarding me, because—surprise, surprise—once again no one thought to tell me.”
Now he sounded impatient. “You’re not a burden.”
“Thanks, Leon. That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“What is it you want from me, here?”
“Nothing,” I choked out.
His face was unreadable, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. “You want another apology? Is that it? I’m not sorry. I’m your Guardian. I’m not going to stop protecting you.”
“I know. It’s your duty,” I snapped.
“It’s not like that,” he said. “I care about what happens to you.”
“You have to. Isn’t that how it works? You don’t have a choice —the switch gets flipped, and now you’re a full-time babysitter. Lucky you.”
“You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” he retorted.
“Because I’m just some dumb kid, right?”
“Because you don’t know what it’s like to be called!” he shouted, then lowered his voice. “I can’t—I can’t talk about this right now.” There was a strange, panicky edge to his words, but I didn’t have the chance to process that. Leon’s phone rang. And, unlike me, he answered.
I slumped back into my seat, fuming silently. But my anger began to evaporate as Leon spoke.
“No, she’s fine,” he was saying. “She’s with me. We’re on our way back. We’ll be there in a minute. What’s going on?”
I fished through my coat pocket and retrieved my phone, looking at the missed call. Mom. Apprehension stirred. I turned toward Leon, waiting.
“Yeah, I know—” He broke off, frowning. There was a long pause. “Understood,” he said finally, flipping his phone shut. Then the stern sidekick who always followed the rules and loved lectures on caution pressed his foot to the gas pedal and started to speed.
“Leon?” I asked.
“It’s Tigue,” he said softly. “He’s got Iris.”
***
We found my mother in the kitchen, surrounded by an assortment of weapons. She stood bent over the table, her hair pulled back in its customary bun, her hoodie draped over the chair beside her.
“What’s going on?” I asked, rushing forward. Her explanation to Leon had been brief: Tigue had kidnapped Iris from the country club, and the Guardians were mobilizing. The details were confused. Someone had seen Tigue pushing Iris toward the door, but before anyone had realized what was happening, it had been too late.
Mom glanced up at me, her expression grim. “We have to hurry,” she answered, before returning to her array. She had knives and throwing stars and a length of chain, a few pieces of metal that might have been darts. Some of the weapons I couldn’t even identify. Methodically, she took each weapon in her hand, then either returned it to its place or stuffed it into the bag slung from her arm. “I spoke to Ryan. There’s Harrower activity all over the Cities. The other Guardians have their hands full. I’m going after Tigue. Leon, I’ll need you with me.”
Leon nodded and started to speak, but I cut in.
“But what happened?” I asked. “Why did Tigue take Iris?”
Mom paused, weighing a knife in her hand. “We’re not certain what his plan is. But if it’s
what we suspect—”
“You think she’s the Remnant?” That hadn’t occurred to me before: Iris was seventeen, a year older than the other girls who had been bled. But if Tigue had her . . .
I felt sick. I thought of Tigue—those blank eyes, the chill in his tone. I recalled that sense that he’d been staring into me, through me, that he had Known me. Known my blood. Iris had been beside us; perhaps his Knowing had given him insight into her, as well.
Or maybe it was just a guess. Maybe he planned to drag her Beneath, open her veins, let her bleed.
I closed my eyes briefly, trying to shake away the thought.
“We don’t have a lot of time,” Mom was saying. “We need to get to her.” She grabbed her hoodie, sliding it over her head as her features darkened into a scowl. “And we have another complication. That idiot cop has gone to confront Tigue.”
I blinked in surprised. “Detective Wyle?”
“He was here earlier.”
“He found out about Anna Berkeley,” I guessed. “He’s going to arrest Tigue?”
Mom shook her head. “I don’t think so. He’s going alone on this one. He’ll be lucky if he just loses his badge and not his life.”
I swallowed, recalling the senses I’d had of him: Those blurred images, that hint of danger. His good intentions, how heavily the deaths had weighed on him. How desperately he’d wanted to help. Anna Berkeley must have been the breaking point. The darkness that chased him was leading him straight to Tigue. I looked at Mom. Her lips were pulled into a thin line, her eyes dark. “What’s your plan?”
She didn’t hesitate. “I take out Tigue. If whoever he’s working with shows up, I take him out, too.” Turning toward me, she took a step forward, placing her hands on my shoulders. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure Iris is safe. I’ll bring her back.”
My throat closed up. I stood looking at her, frightened and unable to speak, then turned toward Leon. His face was blank; he looked entirely controlled, collected, like he hadn’t been in a shouting match with me just minutes ago. I wondered if he was afraid, too. I wondered if he was afraid ever.
“Don’t leave the house. We’ll be back before sun-up,” Mom said, giving me a brief, tight hug. She dropped a kiss on my forehead, then turned and walked to Leon, who placed a hand on her shoulder and drew her close to him. His eyes met mine, but he didn’t speak.
Then they were gone.
***
After they left, I headed to my bedroom, shutting my drapes before I flicked on the lamp. I changed into jeans and a sweatshirt, then sat on my bed with my legs pulled up against me.
Time moved slowly. Cars passed outside my house, their headlights slashing through the darkness. My dress lay on the floor where I’d discarded it, and I thought vaguely that I should hang it up, but I couldn’t summon the will to move.
It was one thing to know, in an abstract sort of way, that my mother was out in the city, fighting crime and demons and whatever else lurked that I didn’t yet know about. It was another thing to know exactly what it was she faced. To have looked into his cold, flat eyes and spoken his name.
Tigue. I remembered that flicker I’d sensed from him, that smallest glimmer, something I had almost seen.
I stirred from my bed briefly to gather my Nav cards. Both decks, my father’s and Gram’s. I shuffled them idly, first one set, then the other, but I didn’t lay them out. Something told me I shouldn’t try to do a reading for Patrick Tigue. Not now, even to try to get back that flash I’d seen. I had the eerie feeling that if I tried to look at him, he would look right back.
Mom would defeat him. She had defeated Verrick, and he was the worst Harrower the Cities had ever seen.
I continued shuffling. Images moved through me: the broad, straight line of Tigue’s shoulders, the cut of his clothing, the smooth tone of his voice that said so much more than his words, that made me think of the cold empty of the Beneath. I thought of him near the dance floor, charming the woman whose hand he took. Bending toward her, reaching, reaching like he would for a girl on a corner in the rain, whose dark hair made a halo about her—
My mind skidded away from that image.
I thought back to the ring he wore. A loop of silver. The shine of it, the way light gathered.
Not a wedding band, I thought. But a way of binding.
I looked down at my hands. I’d been laying out cards and I hadn’t even realized it. And I’d mixed my decks. They sat in disarray in my lap, except for the three I’d placed faceup in front of me. Inverted Crescent. The Garden. The Garden. One from each deck.
The light tap on my door made me yelp.
I felt my heart in my throat even as I forced myself quiet. The knocking continued, and I scrambled off the bed, letting my Nav cards fall all around me. Gram would have berated me. But Gram was dead.
I opened the door and stepped back as Elspeth stepped in. She stood shivering, hugging herself in the half-light of my room. Her dark eyes were huge and haunted. She didn’t speak.
“Elspeth?” I whispered, almost afraid to speak.
“It’s Iris,” she said. Something slid into place.
And I knew what she meant.
29
It wasn’t a Knowing.
It was something I already knew.
It was fragments aligning in an entirely different way: things I’d seen, words I’d heard, moments I should have understood. Connections I should have made.
It was the pattern emerging.
My mind rebelled.
Elspeth was speaking, but I didn’t hear her. In the contours of her face, I saw her sister’s image: Iris smiling softly, Iris watching, Iris turning away. I remembered her huddled in the rain, blinking as a hand reached toward her.
It’s personal, she’d said, when I’d glimpsed that moment. She hadn’t wanted me to see his face.
But—no, I thought. No. That couldn’t be right.
I sank down to my bed, where my cards were still scattered. The same three remained faceup. I dropped my hands across them and flipped them over.
Elspeth was still speaking to me. Her eyes were wide, her brow creased with worry. “I can’t talk to Grandmother,” she was saying. “I can’t tell her. So—so I came here. I took Iris’s car, I—”
“Slow down,” I said, trying to make sense of her words. “Start over.”
“When I got home from rehearsal tonight, Grandmother told me that Patrick Tigue had taken Iris. Only, I don’t think he did. I think...”
“You think she left with him,” I whispered.
She nodded, hugging herself tightly.
I looked at my cards. The Garden. Iris’s card. I realized now why Patrick Tigue’s ring had seemed familiar to me. It was made of the same material as the triple knot she wore at her neck.
Other memories flashed through me. It was a present from my boyfriend, she’d said, handing me her necklace. And the way she’d fought that Harrower—she hadn’t fought like a Guardian. She’d fought like a demon. Using a demon’s abilities.
But I still couldn’t fathom it.
“How long have you known?”
“I didn’t. Not—not really. I wasn’t certain.” She took a long, shaky breath, almost a sob. “It got bad after our parents died. Really bad. She wouldn’t even speak to me for months. She wouldn’t speak to anyone. I used to wait up at night, listening, hoping she’d come home.” Another breath. She dragged a trembling hand through her hair. I waited, my heart hammering. “And then—she got better. She started seeing someone. She didn’t tell me, but . . . I had an idea. I thought it would be okay. Some demons are neutral. We’re not really so different, Harrowers and Kin. We come from the same place. And he helped her, he really helped her.”
And she helped him, I thought, with growing horror.
I closed my eyes, trying to process. “There’s something wrong here. I can’t believe she would go along with—with what he’s doing. Killing people. Going after the Rem—”
The words d
ied on my lips.
The Remnant. She’d wanted us to find the Remnant. She’d placed her hand on me to reach out into the unknown and seek what she couldn’t find.
And she could share powers. She could amplify them. Tigue wouldn’t need another Harrower helping him. She could make him stronger all on her own.
She wasn’t the Remnant. She was his accomplice.
“My mother went to save her,” I said, standing. “She thinks Iris is a hostage.”
Elspeth’s face crumpled. “We have to help her. She doesn’t want to be this way, I know it. He’s tricked her somehow.” Her voice went high and plaintive. “She’s my sister.”
“We’ll help her,” I said. “But you have to go home. You have to tell Esther. And then we’ll figure this out.”
She nodded once, quickly. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to find my mother.”
***
I took Mom’s car.
I chose not to think about the fact that both Elspeth and I were driving through the Twin Cities without licenses. On my growing list of catastrophes, losing my permit was nearly at the bottom. My mind was spinning. Mom had told me not to leave the house, and I’d broken promises to her before—but I’d tried calling both her and Leon, and neither had answered. They had to be told. Tigue had Iris with him. He could be pretending to use her as a hostage. As leverage.
I imagined Iris standing before my mother, pleading, pretending, distracting—and then Tigue swooping in from behind, a blur of scales and red teeth.
I shook my head. Tigue was using Iris; that much was certain. He’d confused her somehow. That was the only reason she would go along with this.
The road dissolved around me. The snow stopped, clouds scattering overhead. The highways rushed by in a blur of headlights. Beneath my coat, I trembled, my heartbeat so fast and loud it drowned out the sounds of the radio and the engine and even the traffic. I’d printed out directions to the address and tried to calm myself by focusing on my destination, concentrating on exit signs and avenues. Small, easy steps, I told myself. Reach Tigue’s estate. Find Mom and Leon. Tell them what I knew.
Dark Star Page 23