The comment brings a smile to my lips, even though I’m not sure whether he’s serious.
I almost insist I’m fine and that I want to get on the road, but I’m positive we’ll be in the car no more than five minutes before one of them starts pressing me about what’s on my mind. Maybe they won’t press too hard and I can play it off like my distraction is a result of me lamenting my lost childhood. But if they push deep enough, I fear I’ll spill how very much I miss Poe and Silas. And although I don’t plan on hiding that fact from them forever, crying about it the day after our trio connected so very deeply seems inappropriate.
So I force my lips to curve into a deeper smile. “Challenge accepted. I’ll win you the biggest bear in the square.”
Taj grins, offering me his elbow. “Look who’s a poet and didn’t know it.”
Calder gives an exaggerated groan while rolling his eyes. “You two are so adorable it’s disgusting.” But he smiles as we cross the road.
Even before we reach the bustling square, it’s clear the townspeople are in high spirits. People are shouting and laughing. One group by a balloon-pop booth is singing while swaying out of time with their own music. Even though I have no connection to this place, I can’t help being swept up in the excitement buzzing through the air. I’m not sure what I was expecting when I pictured this event, but it was definitely more mellow and subdued. Perhaps it’s a product of my own inexperience. Maybe every town-wide party is this raucous. I really wouldn’t know.
“That stall looks promising,” Taj says, pointing toward a booth stuffed with plush animals. I spy hedgehogs, elephants, puppies, turtles, and an octopus. But the largest toys are dolphins in pink, blue, or purple. It’s not a bear, but I want to win one anyway.
Calder walks in front of us as we cut a path toward the coveted prizes. There doesn’t appear to be much organization to the traffic flow, and several people—men and women—knock into my shoulder as they amble by. The touches are rough, but not aggressive, and I can’t help being set on edge by the unexpected contact.
“Seems a little early for the beer tent,” Calder mutters over his shoulder as we wait for a particularly slow-moving knot of festival-goers to cross our path.
Taj lifts a shoulder. “It’s five o’clock somewhere, yeah?”
Despite Taj’s nonchalance about the matter, I can’t help feeling Calder’s right. It doesn’t matter that this is a party; it’s not even noon yet. Granted I don’t know much about liquor laws, but it seems unlikely the fair would be serving alcohol so early in the day. And even if they were, it’s strange that more people than not would already be imbibing.
I crane my neck to figure out if there’s something I’m missing, but nothing looks out of the ordinary. There are booths for games, tents with food vendors, and trucks selling confections. Nothing appears to be remotely alcohol-related. The most popular beverage is the famous lavender lemonade. I suppose Ginger’s fears were unfounded; it must be just as good as in previous years to inspire such a long line.
Calder, Taj, and I join the disorganized group surrounding the game booth. Taj points to the sea of glass bottles in the center of the booth and describes the trick to tossing a ring around the right ones, but I can’t focus on his words. A sound weaves its way through the general din of merriment—a jarring note that’s out of place amid so much jubilation. It takes a second to identify it, but as soon as I recognize the sound, it sends an icy jolt through my system.
Someone is crying. A young child.
Taj is in mid-sentence when I drop his hand and start toward the source. If someone is crying here, there must be something wrong. Perhaps the child is lost. It would make sense with so many people moving around. All I know is I can’t stand around doing nothing if a kid is in distress.
Although I don’t turn around, I can feel Taj and Calder following me as I push through the crowd to find the child. But every time I think I’m close, the sound gets farther away. The kid must be on the move.
“Mommy? Mommy, please stop!”
The words are chilling, but they’re not what stop me in my tracks. I recognize the voice.
Pushing past a tangle of people standing silently and sipping out of white and gold cups, I finally catch sight of the upset child. It’s Connie—there’s no denying that—but she looks so different than she did last night. The last time I saw her, she was open and happy, her eyes bright. But now, she’s clearly upset. Her face is red and her cheeks are streaked with tears.
“Let’s go home, Mom,” Connie begs, tugging at Ginger’s arm.
Ginger doesn’t acknowledge her daughter. Although the ghost of a smile curves her lips, her gaze is unfocused. She teeters on her feet ever so slightly when Connie pulls her, but she doesn’t lose her balance. She doesn’t react at all.
I close the remaining distance to her. “Connie, what’s wrong?”
The girl’s brown eyes narrow in confusion for a beat before widening in recognition. “It’s my mom. It’s like she can’t hear me.”
I turn to Taj and Calder, but they look as worried as I feel. “Did something happen?” I ask Connie.
She shakes her head. “No. I went to buy a funnel cake while she stood in line for her lemonade. She was really happy when I came back to get more tickets, but then she stopped laughing and started staring. Like this.” She waves her hand energetically in front of Ginger’s face to demonstrate.
My head spins with possibilities. I this some kind of spell? I don’t know Ginger well at all, but she seems like a nice person—not the type someone would target for a curse. And while my reconnection to nature has strengthened my natural affinity, it hasn’t magically imbued me with knowledge about properties of spell ingredients. While I created many potions while imprisoned by Mona, I couldn’t sense the properties of the components I worked with. And although I’ve had a lot going on since escaping from Mona’s compound, now I wish I’d carved out time to study the craft of magic—anything that might help me identify what’s happening to Connie and how to fix it.
A warm hand squeezes my arm with a gentle but urgent pressure. “She’s not the only one,” Taj says quietly, his lips close to my ear.
I glance around to glimpse what he’s talking about, but I don’t have to look far. He’s right. Ginger is far from the only person standing still with a vacant smile and glassy eyes. Is this some magical malady I’ve never encountered? But if that’s the case, why hasn’t Connie been infected? Why haven’t I?
A shadowy memory lurks around the edges of my consciousness, but it’s too nebulous for me to grab hold of. There’s something familiar about the scene. Did I witness something like this in Mona’s compound?
A squeal of feedback slices through the air, jerking my attention back to the present.
“Attention, people of Wisdom,” drawls an amplified male voice. I scan the square for its source, but the volume makes it sound like it’s coming from everywhere all at once. “I’m sorry to announce that we’ve run out of lavender lemonade.”
About half of the people standing in the long line surrounding the lemonade stand release frustrated groans. There’s jostling toward the front of the line. But it’s difficult to ignore the fact that there is no reaction at all from a large number of people—Ginger included.
“But don’t worry,” the voice continues with a cadence that conjures the image of a smirking mouth. “L’s Lemonade will be back with more in a few days. But this time it won’t be free.”
His words clash in my head. This new company came to the festival today to give away all its stock for free? That doesn’t seem like solid plan. And what does he mean, they’ll be back in a few days? Yesterday, Ginger said she looks forward to this lemonade all year, so I can’t imagine it’s available frequently.
Before my conscious mind has caught up with the dark suspicion forming in my head, my feet take a few steps closer to Ginger. She gives no indication she heard the announcement and stands in the same spot, holding a white and yello
w cup close to her chest. I lean forward and inhale the soapy-floral scent of lavender and the bright, tangy notes of lemon, but there’s another smell that mingles with the two. The overly sweet aroma floats above the other smells, lodging itself in the back of my nose in a way that’s so familiar it makes my stomach churn with bile.
I step backward so fast, I stumble. Calder is behind me in a flash, his strong hands keeping me from falling. “What is it?” he asks, his voice tight with concern.
I shake my head, not wanting to accept what my senses are confirming. As if the smell was the key to unlocking my most deeply buried memories, flashes of childhood moments pinwheel through my head. The over-the-top happiness followed by a vacant smile, glassy eyes, and a complete disconnect from the world. I’ve seen these symptoms countless times before. Couple that with the odor emanating from the cup and there’s only one thing that can be causing all the behavior we’ve seen at the festival.
“It’s euphorium.” The word scrapes against my throat like glass.
“L’s Lemonade,” Taj says, his voice low. “It’s Lillian.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Calder says. “Mona’s the only one with the formula for euphorium. No one else has been able to duplicate it.”
I want to agree with his logic, but another memory floats to the surface of my mind. The man I bumped into yesterday as I was walking into the square had a tattoo. It was familiar, but I wasn’t able to place it—until now. “The ankh of flame. I saw someone here yesterday with Lillian’s mark. What if the psychics who tortured Mona somehow got the recipe for euphorium out of her head?” Tears sting the backs of my eyes. “Now Lillian has it. She’s hooked almost the whole town. And she won’t stop here. You heard that guy—they’ll be back.”
“What about my mom?” Connie’s voice is so small and fearful it nearly breaks me. But I can’t let her see that.
Instead, a force a smile onto my face. “She’ll be just fine. My friends are going to call some people they know who can come help. Your mom will be all right.”
Without warning, Connie darts forward, wrapping her arms around my waist and burying her head against my abdomen. As she murmurs thank you around her sniffles and cries, I pray to whatever spirits may be listening that I can keep my promise.
Chapter Eight
Silas
Even though it’s ten o’clock in the morning, it’s hard to tell from my perch at the bar. I’ve never noticed before, but there aren’t any windows in the bar area of Waywards. I suppose it makes sense, though, since half the clientele doesn’t fare well in sunlight.
Last night, after Oscar dropped the bombshell about Lillian and her plan to hook supernaturals on euphorium, I stayed at the table so he and the guys wouldn’t think the information concerned me. It was the most torturous hour of my life—and that includes the times when I tried to fight against a master’s orders. I didn’t like any of those guys to begin with, but after enduring them laughing about the most addictive magical drug in the known universe being unleashed on unsuspecting supernaturals, it was all I could do to keep from punching their smug faces.
Not that punching vampires would get me very far. But it sure as hell would have felt good.
When the four finally stumbled out of the bar, I made a beeline for Jesse, confident that if he didn’t have the information I wanted, he’d know where to get it.
I tried to grab some sleep after Jesse assured me he’d fast-track my request, but I doubt if I managed to cobble together more than an hour.
The scrape of a ceramic mug against the wooden bar draws my attention. Jesse stands behind me, his violet eyes regarding me closely. “Be careful. This man you’re meeting… I can guarantee there’ll be a steep cost for the information you’re after.”
I can’t quite suppress a snort. “Isn’t that always the way with people who deal in secrets?”
But Jesse’s lips don’t twitch. If anything, his gaze hardens. “Be careful,” he says again.
Before I can summon a response, he’s is already halfway to the swinging doors that lead to the kitchen. Damn, he’s fast. I can’t help wondering if the man ever sleeps, and guilt twinges my insides for keeping him up well into vampire nighttime.
Although I didn’t order the drink, I cup the steaming mug against my palm, enjoying the burn against my skin. Coffee. I must look as awake as I feel.
But as I take a sip, the heat in my throat isn’t just because of the temperature of the liquid. Jesse added a measure of whiskey to the brew.
Yeah, Jesse always knows just what I need.
I take another gulp before checking the time on my phone. Six after. My leg bounces impatiently. Although Oscar may have been full of shit when he said that euphorium will be inescapable within a week, I can’t help thinking that if someone as low in the pecking order as him knows about it, it must be happening soon.
The front door creaks open, a shaft of light cutting across the floor like a search light before shrinking back into nothingness. The man who entered pulls a black cowboy hat off his head and scans the room thoroughly, though I’m the only one in the place. Even the usual sizzling and clinking of silverware from the kitchen is silenced. But I suppose someone in his line of work can never be too careful.
Once he’s satisfied this isn’t a trap—or whatever other worry might be on his mind—he finally locks his eyes on me and crosses the room, his boots thudding against the worn wooden floor with each step. He pushes back his long black duster as he sits on the empty stool to my right. “Silas Kim, I presume.”
He doesn’t offer his hand, so I keep mine around my coffee mug. “Yeah. And you are…?” Jesse didn’t relay a name to me; he just told me to be down in the bar at ten o’clock. My trust for Jesse is the only thing that got me to this meeting without such a vital piece of information.
His thin upper lip curves in the barest hint of a smile. It’s almost a sneer. “My name is unimportant. And, as you can imagine in my line of work, the fewer people who know it, the better.”
I don’t push the matter. This guy can keep his secrets as long as he divulges what I want to know. “I’m looking for the location of the Liberation Front.”
The loathed smirk twists the guy’s mouth again. “Liberation Front, you say? I’m not sure I can help you with that one.”
I tip my head, trying to keep my irritation from leaking through my eyes. There’s no way this guy came to this meeting just to tell me he can’t give me the information I want. I told Jesse what I was looking for, and there’s no reason he would have kept it from this tool. “And you came all this way just to tell me that?”
He holds up his hands in a don’t-shoot motion. “It’s just the Front is pretty secretive about where they bunk down. Plus, word has it they move around pretty frequently. As you can imagine, they tend to piss off some not-so-friendly supernaturals in their line of work, and they aren’t exactly keen on their headquarters being crashed for retribution.”
“A lot of people don’t want to be found. What makes this group so different?”
The guy holds my gaze for several seconds before chuckling. “They pay me to keep their whereabouts secret. A lot. It’s not usually an arrangement I accept, but they—what’s the phrase? They made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”
Damn. The Front paying this guy to keep their location secret isn’t something I was anticipating. I’m sure Jesse didn’t know it either, otherwise I don’t think he would’ve invited him. Last night Jesse told me he’s the best. I’m not sure how someone gets to be the best at knowing things people shouldn’t know, but it’s clearly something this guy has made a living from. And if the Front is paying him to keep their location secret, that either means they’re paying anyone who knows and might sell the information—or this guy is the only one who’s figured it out.
Either way, I don’t have time to figure it out. I need the information now. “I’m not planning anything against the Front. A couple buddies of mine actually work for them.�
�� Something in me lurches at the thought of Calder and Taj. “Actually, they tried to get me to join up.”
The guy eyes me curiously. “Have a change of heart?”
I shake my head. I could tell him the truth—that I need to tell them what I overheard about Lillian’s plans. But I don’t know if that sort of information would be safe in the hands of a man like him. Instead, I skate into the murky space between truth and fiction, between facts and fantasy. “It’s… about a girl. She… She’s with the Front now, and I need to see her.”
It’s not until I say the words that I know how very true they are. Yes, I want to see Bryn to tell her what I know—but I also want to just see her. To be near her. To bask in her sunshine smile and sweet cinnamon scent. I would give just about anything to feel her arms around me in a friendly embrace. I wouldn’t mind if the embrace were somewhat more than friendly, but I don’t let my imagination travel too far down that path. She’s made it clear where we stand, and I accept it. And I’d do anything to spend just a few more minutes in her presence.
The man across from me lifts his sharp chin, gazing down his hooked nose at me like some royal examining a peasant. Then he chuckles under his breath, shaking his head as the corner of his mouth quirks upward. “You have any idea how many people try to bullshit me? In my line of work, you’ve got to have a pretty strong nose, if you know that I’m saying.”
I don’t, in fact, know what he’s saying, but before I can say as much, he straightens his back, suddenly all business.
“Jesse already vouched for you, and I can tell you’re not some rogue bent on destroying the Front. So let’s talk terms.”
The acrid tang of bile creeps into the back of my throat as Jesse’s words come back to me. Be careful. But it isn’t as if I have much control over that now.
“What’s the price?” I ask, pleased when my voice comes out even.
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