by Kelly Meding
"Your parents are safe now. Why haven't you both come forward? Do you know how many people this is hurting?"
I flinched because, yes, I knew, and for once I actually gave a damn. "Marcellus wants to stay dead for a while longer, and his reasons are his own. I'm playing along for him, and it gives me a chance to sneak up on Vale."
"You have to find him first."
"No kidding."
"I have to tell Astrid."
"That's your call, Marcus, I can't force you not to tell her. But no one else, please. Promise me that, at least."
He grunted. "I promise to keep your confidence, and I'll ensure the same from my sister."
"Thank you. Give me Milo again."
The phone switched hands. "I promise to keep quiet, too, Evy," Milo said. "But goddamn, don't do that to me again."
"Sorry, pal."
"I'm glad your parents are safe."
"Thanks. Now listen up and stop playing junior detective. Your only job right now is to heal, you hear me?"
"I hear you."
"Excellent." Wyatt was making turning gestures with his hands, and I remembered why I'd wanted to make my own phone call. "Actually, while I have you, I need a favor."
With our transportation's ETA still thirty minutes out, we had some time to kill. Wyatt decided to kill it by staring at me like he wanted me to guess exactly what was on his mind, but I was too tired and stressed to play guessing games.
"What?" I snapped.
"Are you really certain that keeping up this charade of being dead is worth it?" His voice was measured and calm, asking without being confrontational. "Your parents are safe now, Evy."
"Elder Dane wants it this way."
"I understand that, and I understand his reasoning. But his decision affects Assembly politics much more than it affects the Watchtower. If Therians and humans begin fighting amongst themselves within the Watchtower because they believe you killed Elder Dane, it could have far reaching consequences."
Marcus's tense breathing on the phone before my announcement that his grandfather was alive came back like a slap of cold water. He'd been furious, and I could only imagine those few moments of thought between hearing I was alive and hearing I hadn't murdered Elder Dane.
Wyatt also had the uncanny ability to reframe a question in a way that got me to think harder, to really question my decisions. Had faking our deaths been correct at the time? Yes. Was keeping up the charade a good idea now?
"It's only for a day or two," I said.
"Lives change in a day or two, Evy, you know that. I know that the list of people you really trust is about as long as my index finger, but being part of an organization again is about trusting the people you work with to watch your back."
He was pulling an old Handler trick on me. "Being a Hunter was different."
"How?"
"We were—" I almost said "all human," bringing back a beaten-down prejudice that had sustained me for four years as a Triad Hunter. Hunters were always human, and we were trained to believe specific things about non-humans. We were to never trust them, and even the few non-humans I'd considered tentative allies were never really trusted friends.
"You were what?" Wyatt asked.
The Watchtower was very similar to the Triads in many ways: strength in numbers, in secrecy, and in maintaining anonymity. It also worked on trust—trusting the guy working with you to not get you killed. Everyone who was part of the Watchtower was there because we had a common goal, and we had promised to work together as a unit.
Shit.
"You have to be able to trust everyone at the Watchtower or this thing can't last," Wyatt said. "Telling them, your allies, that you and Elder Dane are alive won't affect the ransom demand from Vale. Keeping you off the radar and out of sight is still the plan. We'll just have a few more people in on the plan."
He was right. Very right. "I should still ask for Elder Dane's permission," I said.
"Agreed."
So I called Tybalt's phone, and the correct person answered. Once I explained why I was calling, he promised to pass my message along to Elder Dane right away and to call back as soon as he got an answer. It was better than nothing.
"Faking my own death was probably the most rash, un-thought-out plan ever," I said to Wyatt after I hung up with Tybalt.
"Your intentions were honorable." His words couldn't hide the twitch in his jaw that said he agreed with me and that he hadn't quite worked through his anger. Not that I blamed him. Wyatt deserved all kinds of emotional slack over this mess.
"At least this way I'll get to talk to the Frosts." Not that the idea thrilled me in any way, shape, or form. I had no idea what I was going to say to them about any of this. The whole "your daughter killed herself and I reincarnated into her body" truth wasn't happening. They'd have me committed to a nut house faster than a gargoyle turned to stone in sunlight.
"You look like you'd rather go six rounds with a shifted were-bear than talk to the Frosts."
"Am I that obvious?"
"Only to me."
My phone rang. The number was local, but not in my phone's memory. I hesitated, then answered, "Joe's Pizza, will this be pickup or delivery?"
"Is this Evangeline Stone? It's Demetrius."
Someone who had absolutely no reason to be calling me. "Yes, it's me. What's wrong?"
"The Coni are gone."
I jolted to my feet, heart pounding, stomach twisted hard. "What? Were they taken?"
"No, there is no sign of forced entry or removal. They simply left."
"Why the fuck would they leave? Joseph's dying."
Wyatt's raised eyebrows reminded me that I hadn't passed along that information yet.
"I don't know," Demetrius said. "I truly don't. Another guard told me he saw them shift together, and then fly away to the northwest."
This was bad in so many ways. Aurora felt abandoned by Phineas. She was waiting for Joseph to pass away from old age. She'd held my hand while I "died" in front of her—shit. "Shit! This is my fault."
"You don't—"
"Yes, I do. I should have told her I wasn't really dead. Fuck!"
Wyatt grabbed the phone before I sent it sailing across the living room. He spoke quietly to Demetrius while I raged at my own stupidity. I could rationally explain this to the people I worked with at the Watchtower. I hadn't given proper thought to what this must have been doing to Aurora. The poor woman had been through so much these last few months—the death of her husband, as well as her entire Clan. Being kidnapped twice. Enduring her child's kidnapping and watching Ava tortured into shifting too soon for her age. Losing Phineas to some idea of finding long-lost Coni relatives. Joseph's mortality.
I seriously considered giving the living room wall a fist-sized hole, but Wyatt got in my way. I didn't realize I was shaking until he pulled me into a hug, and the soft fabric of his t-shirt absorbed the tears that began falling. God, I was getting soft. But Ava was my goddaughter, and I couldn't protect her if I didn't know where she was.
"We'll find them, Evy," Wyatt whispered.
"How? What if Aurora takes them out of the city?"
He didn't reply.
"I did this, by not telling her I was alive," I said. "If anything happens to them, it's on me."
"Leaving the safety of the Dane compound was Aurora's choice."
"She wouldn't have left if she hadn't seen me die."
I knew he wanted to make me feel better, to make it all right, but he didn't patronize me by arguing my very valid points. "I don't know how we'll fix this, Evy, but we'll do our best. We'll try."
"Ava's still so young."
"I know, but she's strong like her mom. Like her Aluli."
"I wish Phineas was here. She'd have stayed if he was here."
Wyatt tensed only a fraction, but I felt it. "Probably. Again, leaving was Phin's decision. We can't change what's happened."
"We just have to deal with it, yeah, I know."
"Demetrius had one b
it of good news. The Assembly is calling an emergency meeting in the morning to discuss the new Felia Elder. Apparently with everything happening with Vale, electing a new Elder is a priority."
"That's something, I guess. I'm sick of sitting here in your apartment, hearing about everything second-hand. I hate not being part of things."
"I know." He kissed my forehead, and I inhaled the earthy, wet leaves and cinnamon scent of him. "But you have to admit, this is some personal growth for you."
"How's that?"
"A few months ago, you'd have barreled off on your own, caution be damned, and done what you thought was best. Now you're letting other people handle things and take the lead."
"I don't have a lot of choice." I saw his mouth open, saw the bon mot about to drop, and beat him to it. "Yeah, yeah, there's always a choice. Fine."
"Good."
"My personal growth is your new ulcer, you know."
"I'll take my chances."
Chapter Eighteen
8:55 p.m.
Wyatt and I were on our way downstairs when Tybalt called me back. Marcellus had agreed with my decision to tell our Watchtower allies that we were both alive. He knew the Assembly vote would happen tomorrow, and he understood my need to mend fences with my coworkers. I told Tybalt to pass along my thanks, and then gave him the heads-up about Aurora.
"We know," he said. The noise from his end of the line suggested he was in the field somewhere—sounded like music. "Someone from the Dane compound called and told Astrid. I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry, pal, I just want them found."
"I know. We'll do what we can."
"Thanks."
"So when are you making your grand resurrection?"
"Officially in a few hours, I think. Wyatt and I are checking out some leads first. Tell Astrid she can let the cat out of the bag."
"So to speak."
"Exactly."
"Be safe."
"You too."
We hit the sidewalk and made tracks straight for the black SUV idling by the curb. Marcus flashed us a droll look from the driver's seat. He'd surprised me by offering to pick us up and help with the motel search. "Two noses are better than one," he'd said.
I'd accused him of working too soon after being shot—I still hadn't thanked him for knocking me down that night—and he had said it was the perfect cover for getting out of the Watchtower for a few hours. He was off-duty, officially, so he could come and go as he pleased.
I took shotgun so I could navigate, and Wyatt sat behind me. Our first stop was only four blocks away, on the edge of Mercy's Lot, a pay by-the-hour place I wouldn't have slept in if I was wearing a full-body Hazmat suit. Wyatt went inside to talk to the clerk while Marcus sniffed around outside. It didn't take long for my pair of Therian noses to suss out that Vale hadn't been there.
Motel number two was ten blocks north.
Marcus cast frequent glances in my direction, none of them hostile, but they were intent enough to make me squirm. He was entitled to be unsettled, considering what I'd put him through today, so I endured the discomfort for four more motel checks. The boys alternated who went inside and who stayed outside, and this was Marcus's turn to stay put.
While Wyatt went into the office, I pinned Marcus into the driver's seat with a frustrated stare. "Okay, what?"
"I understand your reasons for faking yours and the Elder's deaths today," Marcus said, his tone tinged with danger. "Family is important, and I know that fact well."
"But?"
"Today I found myself in the unique position of having to lie to Milo, and I'm furious at you for putting me there. He's seriously hurt, and he didn't need the added stress of hearing that you'd died. He values your friendship, Evangeline."
"Milo's my best friend, you know that. I didn't want to hurt anyone, Marcus, especially him and Wyatt." I hadn't properly thought this plan through today—that was becoming abundantly clear as I cleaned up the damage I'd done. Not that I'd had time to consider the consequences of my actions beyond saving my parents.
"I'm grateful that he didn't believe you'd died. I didn't want him to carry that emotional pain, along with the physical pain he's battling."
"Why did you kiss him?" I hadn't meant to ask the question, and especially not in the middle of an investigation. It slipped out without conscious thought.
My pulse raced when his face twisted into an epic frown. Marcus was genuinely scary when he was angry. "He told you?"
"I knew something was up between you two, so I kind of pushed."
Marcus studied the steering wheel with intense concentration, then looked at me with perfect calm. "I care for him a great deal."
"As what?"
"That's for us to define." With that, he climbed out of the SUV and checked the perimeter of the motel.
He was pissed and entitled to it, given everything he wasn't saying out loud. No matter where their fledgling relationship did or didn't go, I was glad that Milo had him. I was far from an expert on relationships, but they seemed good together. I didn't have to warn Marcus about handling Milo with care. We'd both seen Milo fall apart when Felix died; he wouldn't give his heart away so easily again.
The motel check has seemed like a good idea at the time, but when we were three motels from the end of the list and nothing had panned out, I'd added this little adventure to the long list of Shit I Did Wrong This Week. We hadn't even rustled a nest of Halfies to take the sting out of several wasted hours.
"At least we know where he isn't," Marcus said.
"Yay," I replied with an eye roll. "A city this size and we've deduced he's not in one-thousandth of a percent of the square yardage."
"We still have three locations left to check."
I gave him the next address, and he pulled out into the street. I glanced behind me at Wyatt, who'd been quiet since returning to the car. He was frowning at the back of Marcus's seat, eyebrows furrowed in a deep vee. Silver flashed in his eyes, and something about that drew Marcus's attention.
"Wyatt?" I said.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, then blinked hard. "I had the oddest feeling just now."
"Like what?" We were still discovering the nuances of his half-Lupa state, and I needed to know if he was about to go all wolfy on us so we could find a deserted building or something.
"I don't know. A sense of dread, but not mine."
"Have you been in contact with the Lupa children?" Marcus asked.
We both stared at him, surprised Astrid hadn't clued him into that particular subterfuge. "I have," Wyatt replied.
"Lupa Clans have a powerful sense of each other, even when not in proximity. Few other Clans have such a sense. It could be their dread—"
Wyatt yanked out his phone and dialed.
"—you're experiencing," Marcus finished.
I leaned between the seats, barely able to hear the electronic sound of the phone ringing. And ringing. Wyatt's face turned to stone. It rang until the service transferred him to a generic voice mail. He hung up.
"Take us back to my apartment on Culpepper," Wyatt said.
Marcus immediately made a right onto a connecting street. "They're in your place?"
"Yes. Something's wrong. They know to pick up when I call."
I squeezed Wyatt's shoulder. He reached up to twine our fingers, and I held on. I couldn't take away his anxiety for the three boys he'd adopted into his life, but I could be there for him. I'd fight for him, and I'd fight for them, because they were important to him.
Marcus pulled into the first free space he found on Culpepper, and we three tumbled out. We were a block away from the apartment building. Wyatt strode with purpose, desperate to get there, but unwilling to break into a full-out run with so many unaware pedestrians around us. This close to midnight, Mercy's Lot was just waking up.
At the door to the building, Wyatt froze. If he'd had hackles, they'd have raised on-end. "Vale," he said, the word almost a growl. "I smell the bastard."
Marcus
made a noise in his throat was almost a hiss. "As do I."
"Evy?"
"I'll cover you both," I said.
As we went inside, I drew the pistol I'd kept tucked in my waistband. I preferred fighting with knives and that would never change, but I'd rather not have to get up close and personal with a were-cat's claws tonight. I'd much prefer to just shoot one between his damned copper eyes.
Wyatt went up first, and at the third floor landing, he paused to listen. Gave the all-clear signal before opening the door. We filed out into a quiet hallway. Wyatt growled again, and I could see the effort it took to not let the Lupa take over. To keep the bi-shift under control. He listened at the door. Held up two fingers.
Two people inside.
I swallowed down a flutter of fear.
Wyatt tested the door—unlocked. He pushed it open and charged inside. The kitchen and main rooms were empty, but the place was a disaster. Chairs overturned, books off shelves, pottery shattered on the floor. Two pizza boxes were broken open, their contents spilled on the carpet. Something about the chaos was too ordered, as if the ransacking was for show. A distraction.
We found them in the bedroom.
Mark and Peter were unconscious on the bed, stripped and beaten, their pale skin livid with blossoming bruises. Their hands were cuffed behind their backs, and those awful silver collars were blistering the delicate skin on their throats. A blast of fury ripped through me so unexpectedly that I almost hit my knees—and it wasn't only my fury affecting me. Wyatt's rage filled the small room.
"Where's John?" I asked. If Wyatt only heard two heartbeats—no. Not going there.
Wyatt let the bi-shift take over, and I avoided seeing it by grabbing some blankets from his hall closet. Marcus left us alone to search the apartment, and when I returned to the bedroom, Wyatt had snapped the cuffs apart. We turned the boys onto their backs, then covered them up. Their heartbeats seemed strong, their pulses steady.
"Vale's scent is all over them," Wyatt said, his voice horrifying and rough through his bi-shift teeth. "And another scent I don't know."
"So two Felia took down three Lupa?" It seemed a little impossible. Even if the pups couldn't fight, they should have left more of Vale's blood on the floor. Unless…