A Matter of Truth (Fate Series 3)

by Heather Lyons

  Only, a hundred feet take five, grueling minutes to traverse. My head swims in sharpening agony. I stumble on the sidewalk, and my wounded leg buckles under me. Nell barks furiously. Will and Erik grapple to catch me, but the jerking motions steal the air right out of my head.

  And then I do something incredibly, pathetically embarrassing. I collapse right there in front of hundreds of Magicals and flashing cameras and cellphone videos. Worse yet, when I look up, I see a nightmare from the past—gorgeous Sophie Greenfield standing just a few feet away, malicious anger flashing in her eyes.

  What is she doing here?

  She turns on her heels and disappears back into the crowd. As I track her departure, a flash of white hair catches my eyes. Is that—

  “I’ve got you,” Will grunts, his voice echo-y but still solid. But he’s hurting, too, and stumbles just as surely as I did as he tries to pick me up.

  “The hell you do,” Erik says above me. “Pick her up and we’ll be having to carry your sorry ass out of here, too. Cameron?”

  “I’ve got her, son.” Cameron materializes to rest a hand on his son’s tender shoulder. “Erik’s right. Karl’s on his last wind, too. We need to get out of here as fast as we can. Here, take Nell.” And then the man I see as my father picks me up and carries me the rest of the way to the hospital.

  Kate Blackthorn, Shaman extraordinaire, is not currently in Annar at present. Zthane Nightstorm, who met us in the lobby, informs our small group that she’s currently on assignment back on the Human plane. I try not to think about what she’s doing—Kate’s renown for her work with debilitating, nasty viruses. Instead, Sjharn Thunderbridge, the Guard’s lead Shaman, is the one to meet us in the room Zthane had reserved. He looks exactly as I remember him: stern, with a craggy face and skin so dark green it’s nearly black.

  “I’m going to go out on a limb and say there was a leak about Councilwoman Lilywhite’s return,” he says to Zthane in a deeply accented voice as he washes his hands in the nearby sink.

  Will, who is sitting on the couch next to Karl, is outright staring at Sjharn like he doesn’t know what to think or say. I’d told him about Goblins, and of all the other races, but I know it’s got to be a shock for him. Cameron and Erik are sitting on an adjacent couch, quietly talking to one another, not bothered in the least by who’s joined us in the room. But then, both have lived in Annar before, leaving Will the odd man out.

  Zthane leans out of the door, shouting orders at somebody outside about the consequences if anybody he hasn’t approved first comes within three hundred feet of the room. Then, once the door is firmly shut behind him, he says to Sjharn, “No kidding. Heads are going to roll when I get back to the office. What a mess.” He sighs, then focuses on me. “Hello, Chloe. I cannot tell you how happy I am to have you back in Annar in one piece.”

  Sjharn blocks my view when I wheeze a greeting in return. “Leave the girl alone, Nightstorm. You can talk to her when I’m done.”

  Karl lets out a laugh from where he’s sitting when Zthane sputters in indignation, but it’s short. He winces, his good hand automatically going to his chest. “Remind me to never go on a mission without a Shaman again.”

  Sjharn says nothing as he presses his large but thin hands against my thigh. I jolt from the initial pain, but it melts away as he starts to work on me.

  No offense to Erik, but I’ve got to agree with Karl here.

  “It’s funny,” Zthane says evenly, “but you never mentioned until two hours ago that you all were going to need to come to the hospital. I wonder why that is? Especially since the three of you look like you’ve been put through meat grinders.”

  There’s a beat of silence in the room before Karl says, “I figured—”

  But I cut him off. Technically, I outrank every single person in this room. And the truth is, Will and Karl wouldn’t be as injured as they are had it not been for me. “We were in a skirmish with some Elders.”

  His hands don’t leave my body, but I can hear Sjharn’s breath suck in in surprise. Zthane’s does, too.

  Will finally speaks up. He scoffs, “Skirmish? Is that what that was? Funny, I thought it more like a bloody life or death battle.”

  Zthane whips around to face Will. Karl sighs, but then winces as his lungs expand. His mouth opens, but Zthane lets loose a string of biting reprimands.

  “These stitches are good,” Sjharn says, cutting Zthane’s rant off. He glances over at Erik. “Your work?”

  Erik stands up and comes over to where we are. “Yes.”

  The Shaman’s eyes narrow as he takes Erik in. “You look familiar.”

  “As I tend to look more like my mother than father,” Erik says flatly, “I am not surprised.”

  Zthane throws his hands up. “Somebody better start talking, and they better do it soon.” He rounds on Karl. “You do not get into skirmishes with the Elders without telling me about them! Gods, Karl! You helped me write the most recent sets of Guard protocol, and now you’re choosing to only selectively follow them?” He switches over to Erik. “You obviously know about our kind—and I want to know why!” To Will and Cameron, “The same for you two! Why a non is fighting Elders with two Council members . . .” His fists clench. To me, “And for the gods’ sakes, where the hell have you been for the last half year, Chloe?” He snaps his fingers. “I want answers, people! NOW.”

  So we give them to him. I tell him everything, including the truth about my Connections to both Whitecombs. We tell him about the Métis, their colonies, and how the Elders are attacking them, too. We explain how Cailleache tracked me down in Anchorage, how I discovered I could destroy her kind. Of what happened in the warehouse just days ago. Hours pass, people are healed, and Zthane finally gets all his answers.

  “Holy hell,” is what the head of the Guard says when the truth is laid bare for him to see. And then, to Karl, “Well, this is a game changer, isn’t it?”

  Karl laughs quietly, but any mirth is replaced with exhaustion.

  Zthane rubs at this hair, pacing the room for a good ten seconds before coming back over to where I’m sitting with Will. “This has been an official debriefing, Councilwoman Lilywhite. I will send you the paperwork concerning just such to review and sign tomorrow. Until then, I advise you not to talk to anybody else about what you’ve just told me.” His dark eyes flick over toward Karl. “I know you are tired, friend, but we have much to discuss tonight. You might as well call Moira and tell her you won’t be home until late.”

  Karl nods and pulls out his phone.

  “Will you be heading to your old address?” Zthane’s question is quiet in the already sterile room.

  Is my old address even still mine? I shake my head. “I’ll be staying with . . .” I turn toward Cameron, who smiles and finishes for me, “Us. Let me give you our address, in case you have need for further clarification.”

  While Cameron types in his address in Zthane’s proffered phone, the Goblin says, “I’ve heard tales of Molliaria Hellebore’s work before. She could do things to metal that many Smiths only dream about. There’s still a plaque in the front of HQ that she fashioned.”

  Will stands up and goes over to one of the windows to peer out into the fading sun. “Too bad she had to go and have me, right?”

  “Son,” Cameron warns softly, but Will is already issuing a bitter apology of his own.

  Awkwardness fills the room; Zthane’s feet shuffle uneasily against the parquet floors. My next question only adds to the unease. “The team that went missing while protecting me from the Elder attack in the Elvin forest . . . were they ever found?”

  Zthane’s lips thin. “Unfortunately, no.”

  I swallow back the rising guilt. “What about Jens Belladonna? Was he ever found?”

  Zthane slowly shakes his head.

  As much as I disliked Belladonna, my heart sinks over his continued disappearance just as strongly as that of my team. “Are you guys still looking for them?”

  A sigh precedes, “
No. We don’t have the resources or the time to spend searching anymore.”

  Not when they were searching for a runaway Creator, is what he isn’t saying to me.

  I ask quietly, “When will Jonah be back?”

  “If all goes as planned, tomorrow morning.” Zthane steps forward and hugs me; I sink into his familiarity, grateful for his willingness to not treat me like the pariah I deserve to be. “Go easy on him, Chloe. Go easy on them both.” He smiles sadly. “That said, don’t be mad at the escort I’m sending with you to the Danes’ apartment. I don’t want a repeat of that melee outside of the Transit Station.”

  He’s worried I’ll run again. I bite back my own sadness and nod. I really have no one to blame but myself for the doubt that’s replaced years of hard-earned trust.

  Cameron and Molly’s apartment is nice—homey, albeit dusty and mostly knickknack free, which makes sense since they left it behind years ago. It’s a four-bedroom, so there’s more than enough room for us all, including Erik. And since we came with a duffle bag each of clothes and personal items, I get to work right away with replacing key items, not to mention clean sheets, bath towels, and toilet paper.

  “You’re quite handy to have around,” Will tells me after he requests a hand duster. Nell snuffs at my new creation. “Although we still need to go to the store soon for food and the like.” I laugh at this, but then he says, more seriously, “Don’t you have a phone call you need to go make?”

  It’s pathetic to admit, but, despite my overwhelming need to hear his voice, see his face, I’ve so far avoided texting Jonah. There’s this fear that I’ll only distract him during a mission that requires him focusing on his safety, but if I’m being honest, I’m also terrified of finally standing trial for the choices I’ve made over the last year.

  No, that’s not fair. Jonah isn’t the sort who’d judge me, but he certainly has every right to have the opportunity to hear what I have to say and have his say in return. And Kellan deserves that chance, too. I haven’t been fair to either of them.

  I haven’t been fair to myself.

  “Look,” Will says, setting the newly made duster down on a nearby kitchen counter, “if you aren’t ready, you don’t need to make the phone call.” He props his hip against the granite. “This Jonah of yours deserves a proper apology and explanation. If you’re not in the right frame of mind to do so, then I suggest you wait until you know you’ll be able to do a bang-up job.”

  I don’t take offense at what he’s saying. If anything, I’m excruciatingly grateful that Will’s brutal honesty acts as a firmly yet lovingly placed reality check. “I appreciate that, but I’ve waited long enough.” I twist my hair up and tie it back with a rubber band I create. Then I bend down and scratch Nell’s belly. She flops over, kicking a leg. “I wish you could have this talk, too.”

  He knows what I mean. A long breath escapes him as he plants both hands against the counter. “You know what? I wish I could, too.” His head tilts toward me, a low, bitter laugh passing through his full lips as he tugs on his ear. “As tough as it will be for you, at least you have the comfort of knowing, good or bad, when you guys talk, it’ll be . . .” I watch his eyes close, his shaggy hair swing side-to-side as he groans. “If I were to confront Becca, tell her how I felt—still feel about what she did—it’d be pointless, you know? Within a few hours, she’d forget, and we’d be back at square one the next day.”

  I could fix this, I think. Cora could fix this for me. I could send her to Glasgow and nobody would ever know that I’ve called in a personal favor. She could heal Becca, and maybe Will would finally have his closure.

  Only, Cora and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms at the moment since I abandoned her, too. Dammit.

  Will pushes my cheap Alaskan cell phone toward me. I say his name, load that one word with love and questions, but he picks the duster back up. I watch him leave the kitchen, his shoulders stiff and weighted down.

  Someday, I promise him silently, I will help you like you’ve helped me.

  In my new bedroom, as I turn my new phone over in my hands, I wonder if my old phone is still in my old apartment. Wonder if that apartment is even mine anymore, and what happened to all of my stuff. Did Jonah leave everything there, hoping someday I’d come back? Box it all up and put it in storage, not knowing what else to do? Sell it in a fit of anger and betrayal? Surely my parents don’t have my things, as they made it clear that I was out of their lives.

  But all that stuff? They’re just things. Whether or not I get them back . . . I’ve made my peace with letting them go, except for possibly the ring I took off my finger before running. Jonah’s what matters. Jonah and Kellan and all the people I love whom I left behind.

  Zthane says Jonah ought to be en route back to Annar sometime in the morning, which means I can’t let this go on any longer. As Will pointed out, good or bad, I need to explain to him what I did, and how I feel. Starting with: Hi, it’s Chloe. I’m back in Annar. If you have time, can I see you and Kellan tomorrow?

  It’s lame and fairly ambiguous, but texting my feelings to him isn’t going to solve anything. I chew my lip until it’s bloody during the three minutes it takes for Jonah to answer, consoling myself but petting Nell. We’ll be in Annar in 16 hrs. Where are you?

  This is the part I dread—admitting I’m staying with someone else. But I do. I tell him I’m at a friend’s, including the address. And I don’t know why it surprises me when he’s clinical with his answer, but it does.

  10am okay?

  It’s just so—I don’t know. Normal. Like I haven’t been away for half a year after abandoning him. But he’s extremely guarded with his emotions, meaning there’s no way he’s going to show any of his hands to me right now, especially in a text.

  I know him well enough to know this.

  So I tell him ten o’clock is fine, even though it’s only 2 hours after he’s supposed to return. And then I prepare myself for a long night of nervous waiting.

  The bedsprings creak as Will slides under the covers next to me, shoving Nell to the side. I quickly wipe at my eyes, even though I know there’s no way he can see me in this darkness.

  “Dad’s snoring sounds like a buzz saw,” he tells me quietly. “Erik’s fighting him on that front, matching snore for snore. Would it be too much to ask you for a pair of sound-cancelling headphones?”

  I let out a gurgly laugh and do exactly as he asks. “Anything for you.”

  “Cheers.” He takes the headphones from me and is silent for a long moment. “This is surreal, you know.”

  I can’t help but razz him. “What, us in bed together? Should we torture Frieda by sending her a picture of us?”

  He lets out an exhaled chuckle. And then, more seriously, “I—Christ. I feel a little lost, Chloe. Like I’m in over my head.”

  I fumble in the dark for his hand so I can squeeze it.

  “Dad and Erik, they’re—this is nothing to them. This is old hat. The same with you. I felt like a bloody alien today when we were at the hospital. A freak. All this—” He waves around in the dark with his free hand. “I’m a fish out of water. Maybe Mum and Dad had a point after all.”

  “You’ve been here for less than a day. I know it’s got to be a lot to take in. I’m overwhelmed being back, too.” I squeeze his hand once more and let go. “But we’ll get through this together.”

  The two of us are silent for a long time, listening to the dueling snores of Cameron and Erik through the door, Nell’s deep breathing, and the sounds of life outside the window. In this small bedroom, in this bed, it’s like we’re in an in-between world of our own. My mistakes, his unknown history—all of it is outside those walls.

  “I’m scared,” I admit out loud to the both of us.

  “You’d be daft not to be.” He lets out a long sigh. “I wish I could promise you that it’d turn out okay tomorrow, but I won’t lie to you like that. But I will promise that Dad and I will be right here with you, no matter what happens. You�
��re not alone anymore.”

  I don’t think I slept for more than ten minutes the night before. It shows, too—as I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror, I marvel at just how dark the bags under my eyes are and just how fried my hair looks. I briefly debate running out and getting a box of hair color to re-dye it back to its natural state, but if I’m honest with myself, I know I’d only be risking making it look worse. It’s best if I just hold tight and find somebody local to fix it for me.

  But that leaves me anxious, knowing the first time I see Jonah and Kellan in half a year, they’re going to realize, right off the bat, that I purposely tried to hide myself by altering my looks. My colored contacts are gone, true, but there’s no way to hide the fact my hair is significantly shorter and white-blonde.

  I wonder what they’re thinking right now, what they’re feeling. If they’ve slept at all or if they suffered through the night, wondering about all the possibilities of today, too.

  I wonder what they’ll say.

  If they’ll forgive me.

  If I’ll ever forgive myself.

  Erik left ten minutes ago, claiming he wants no part of my drama. I totally get it and don’t blame him for taking off. Cameron and Will have offered to stay in the apartment and hang out in the back bedrooms where Nell is contained, just in case I need them. Even still, now that it’s a few minutes before ten a.m., the urge to run out of the door and not look back is tempting because my heart is hammering down on stubborn nails inside my chest. I briefly debate whether or not to construct a shield, but it’s a crutch I can’t fall back on. From here on out, no matter where the chips may fall, I’ve got to be honest not only with myself but with both Jonah and Kellan. It’s only fair.

  So not only am I nervous as all hell, I’m also terrified and excited and a handful of other nuanced emotions. Nervous I’ll hurt them again with my truths. Excited because this’ll be the first time I’ve seen either man in over six months. Terrified that they won’t forgive me for what I’ve done. Overwhelmed by all the changes in my life, even though I’ve been the architect behind them.