by Kelly Meding
The elevator arrived and spilled out half a dozen passengers. We stepped on and moved toward the back so the others could load. Wyatt hit the button for 4, the young couple for 5. The whiskey matron just stood there, slightly hunched. As the doors started to shut, a voice from the lobby shouted, “Hold it!”
The young man hit the Open button, and the doors retreated. A blur of blue scrubs and red hair skidded to a stop near the old woman, a stack of medical charts pressed close to her chest.
“Thanks,” the latecomer said.
I shivered. Gaped at her skewed profile, barely able to see her chin and nose. I’d never forget that voice, though. The other doctor had called her Pat. So much for Wyatt’s minuscule odds.
Pat turned her head in our direction. Shit. I grabbed Wyatt’s shoulder, spun him to face me, put my head down on his chest, and started to fake-cry. He tensed, probably unsure what the hell was wrong with me, then wrapped his arms around my shoulders. I ignored the warmth of his embrace and the gentle circles he was rubbing on my back, and I concentrated instead on bringing some good tears. Just to add a little realism to the act.
But I never counted on my thoughts wandering to Alex. Real tears stung my eyes and closed my throat. God, hadn’t I cried enough for ten people yet? No, it was more than just my grief for Alex. Chalice missed him, too.
“Oh, dear me,” a raspy voice said, probably the elderly woman. “Is she all right?”
“Her, ah, uncle is dying,” Wyatt said. “They were close.”
“The poor thing. It’s so sad when someone we love is taken. God took my Henry from me last year, and I’ve just not been the same since.”
“Your husband?”
“My German shepherd.”
Laughter bubbled up through my sobs, and it came out a strangled gasp. Wyatt held me a little tighter. The elevator stopped and dinged. Doors scraped.
“Our floor,” Wyatt said.
I kept my head low and let him guide me out of the elevator. “God be with you both,” the old woman said to our departing backs.
He hadn’t been around much so far, and I doubted he’d be around today.
Wyatt pulled us to the side, near a polished water fountain. I held on to the laughter generated by that daft woman’s dog comment and used it to drive the grief away. Pound it into the back of my mind, where it needed to stay for a while longer. Wyatt cupped his hand beneath my chin.
“What was that about?” he whispered.
“That was my M.E.,” I replied softly. “The one I scared shitless the other day. It was her.”
He blanched. “Whoa.”
“Yeah, so I had to do some hasty theatrics before she got a good look at me and pulled her fainting act again.”
“I didn’t realize you were that good an actor.”
I wiped my cheeks, cleared my throat, and hoped I didn’t look as weepy as I felt. “I’m not,” I said, and started striding down the hall. Intent on room 419.
Past a nurses’ station, two waiting areas, and at least two dozen rooms, we finally landed in the 410s … 411 … 413. Another waiting area, this time a windowed room with all the blinds drawn. Inexplicably, the door swung open—inward, or it would have cracked me in the face good and hard—and Gina Kismet stepped out.
“You call that making it fast?” she asked, and then after a beat added, “You got it together?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “What’s the emergency?”
She backed up and let us inside. Five people were in the room. Two of them didn’t surprise me, since Kismet was there. Tybalt Monahan stood just inside the door, back against the wall like a sentry. His jeans bulged around the middle of his right thigh, hiding bandages from wounds he’d taken during that morning’s battle. He spared me a nod, and I mirrored the gesture. Directly across the room was Felix, one of his Triad teammates—another young, puppy-dog-eyed face battling at Olsmill that morning. Our paths had crossed occasionally over the last few years, most notably on the occasion two years ago that I now distinctly remember punching Tybalt in the mouth.
Two of the other folks whose presence actually surprised me were seated in chairs opposite the door. Amalie and her bodyguard Jaron, so different from when I’d seen them in First Break, offered polite smiles. They called the human bodies they inhabited aboveground “avatars,” a means to pass among humans without being noticed—if Amalie called being in the body of a tall, leggy wannabe model unnoticeable. Likewise, Jaron had the build of a pro wrestler, which amused me since sprites (in their true form, anyway) look decidedly female. And were the height of your average human toddler.
I’d seen their avatars twice in my life; if they were here, then something big was up.
The fifth person was a stranger. He was sitting with his long legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle. He had a narrow build, salted black hair, a long and narrow face not unlike a horse, and he wore a dark blue suit, sans tie. He looked like an off-duty cop.
“I shouldn’t have doubted you, Evangeline,” Amalie said. The voice was of the sprite I’d met yesterday, royal and small, unbecoming the larger body from which it came. “You succeeded in protecting First Break.”
Behind us, Kismet closed the door. She circled to stand nearby, her expression guarded.
“I don’t like to lose,” I said.
“No one does,” Amalie said. “But often with success comes compromise.”
I blinked, unsure of her last statement. I glanced at Kismet, whose attention was on the far wall. Tybalt and Felix were also looking elsewhere. The trio across from me seemed, for an instant, like a firing squad. “We stopped Tovin and contained the Tainted One.” A tiny splash of panic hit me. “It didn’t get loose, did it?”
“No, it did not. We are creating a new containment spell to strengthen the old. The Tainted is not why we are here.”
Okay, I felt a little better. “Then what’s there to compromise on? Who gets credit for it?”
Amalie shook her head in measured sweeps. “No, your victory against Tovin is not in question, nor is the deficit you created in the ranks of the half-Bloods and goblins. Rest assured of that.”
Rest was all I wanted to do, only no one was letting me. I reached desperately for another explanation. “The goblins are rioting? Calling for my head because of Kelsa?”
I swore Amalie almost smiled. “Rumor has it they are decidedly upset at the loss of one of their Queens, but no. They are not an immediate threat.”
Not yet, right? “Okay, so what the hell are we doing here?”
“Another matter has been brought to the attention of the Fey Council, via the Assembly of Clan Elders.”
Clan Elders meant the weres. I gazed at the stranger, every instinct suddenly rising to the defensive. I sensed an ambush. The man was far too calm and self-assured for it to be anything else.
“This is about the Owlkins, isn’t it?” Wyatt asked. He stepped forward, immediately on my right. To my left, Kismet shifted, fists clenching by her sides. Her Hunters remained stiff, watchful.
“Yes,” Amalie said.
“Who are you?” I asked the stranger.
He tilted his head, regarding me briefly before answering. “My name is Michael Jenner. I speak for the Assembly of Clan Elders, as I also speak for those unable to speak for themselves. Silenced voices who demand justice.”
My eyes narrowed as my heart sped up half a beat. So much for my promise to Phineas. “If you wanted me, why not come and get me? Why drag my ass down here?”
“We don’t want you,” Jenner said.
I frowned. “Then who—?”
“They want Rufus,” Wyatt said.
My stomach twisted. Kismet made a soft, strangled sound in her throat—the only confirmation I needed. “Fuck that,” I snapped. “Why?”
Jenner stood, drawing his lean frame to six feet, all sinewed muscle and strength under that suit. “Rufus St. James led the Triad raid that resulted in the near-total annihilation of one of our Clans,” he sa
id. He could have been ordering a cheeseburger for all the emotion in his voice.
“He was following orders,” Wyatt said, voice low. Entering danger zone. “You want to hold someone responsible, get their asses down here.”
“And risk exposing our allies among your kind?” Amalie said. “Your superiors hide their identities for a reason, Wyatt Truman. Secrecy is necessary for our continued success in controlling the dark races. You, of all people, know the importance of this. Generals will not submit when they can sacrifice a captain in their stead.”
I bristled, hands clenched so hard my wrists ached. “There’s no way in fucking hell Rufus is going down for this. No way. The Owlkins are dead because of me, and no one else.”
“Perhaps,” Jenner said. “But to the Assembly, you are insignificant.”
Wyatt caught me around the waist before I could take a swing at Jenner. I struggled against his hold, my temper flaring like a sunspot. I wanted to wrap my hands around the arrogant bastard’s neck and throttle him. Not because he’d called me insignificant—I’d been called way worse things in my life—but because of his consistent, uninvolved tone of voice. As if this were just another errand and not a man’s life at stake.
Jenner quirked a slim, perfectly shaped eyebrow at me. “Temperamental, aren’t you?”
“This is my calm side,” I said.
“I already tried arguing it,” Kismet added. Her voice, usually so commanding, was mixed with equal parts anger and resignation. “The brass won’t return my calls, and the Fey Council supports the decision of the Assembly.”
“What’s the decision?” Wyatt asked.
“The earliest the hospital will release him is Monday,” Amalie replied, standing to join Jenner. The pair of them, tall and self-assured and strong, shrank the size of the visitors’ lounge. “After that, Rufus St. James will be remanded to the Assembly for punishment.”
“What punishment?”
Kismet snorted. “They want to make an example out of him, so we never forget what happens when we Triads cross any line the Fey Council decides to draw in the sand.”
Amalie’s eyes flashed cobalt. “Do not forget your place, child. The alliance between humans and the Light Ones is the only thing allowing your kind their continued control over this world. Recent relations have been tenuous, at best. Do not let this man’s life become an impetus for the dissolution of those alliances.”
“Is that a threat?” Wyatt snarled. Fury rippled around him like a physical object.
“Merely an observation.”
“Bullshit,” I said, pulling out of Wyatt’s hold. Three days. Three fucking days. Again! Am I wearing a sign?
I didn’t advance, just stood in the center of the small room, all eyes on me. Even though Amalie’s avatar towered over me by half a foot, she didn’t intimidate me. Just kind of pissed me off more. “You lord your friendship over us in order to get the brass to agree to any sort of sacrifice, and then you threaten to take it away when we call it for what it is. So, bullshit. It was a threat.”
Jaron stood, completing the trifecta of really tall people squaring off against two Handlers and three Hunters. He (she?) didn’t speak, just glared.
“I’d watch my tone if I were you,” Jenner said, calm as ever.
“Good thing you’re not me.” I predicted a warning “Evy” from Wyatt and cut it off with another question of my own: “Who punishes him?”
“He’ll be turned over to the Assembly on Monday,” Jenner said.
“Yeah, Repetitive Guy, I got that much. Who punishes him?”
“The one who requested recompense in the first place.” Jenner looked past me, to the sound of the lounge door creaking open.
Ice settled in my stomach. Both hands twitched, and I fisted them to stop the shaking. Wyatt made a noise, but I didn’t turn around. Didn’t want to prove what instinct told me was true. The osprey above the apartment building. Only one person left who could demand such an act from the Assembly.
“I’m sorry, Evangeline.”
I winced at the sound of his voice, enough proof to shift disbelief into rage. I turned with slow, steady ease, careful not to look at Wyatt. Just at the jeans and familiar black polo. The face of a man who’d tricked me into a devil’s bargain and had done so smiling.
“You son of a bitch,” I said.
Phineas had the gall to flinch. Wyatt wasn’t fast enough to stop me this time. I hit Phin across the corner of his mouth, snapping his head to the side. He fell to his knees even as I drew back my aching fist for another blow.
“Stop this!” Jenner’s voice vibrated in my chest like a bass drum, charged by emotion for the first time. I froze, my arm still back and ready to strike. My chest hurt, and my lungs ached for a good breath. Heat blazed in both cheeks. Phin raised his head, shock settling into his sharp features. His lip was split, blood oozing from the cut.
“You lied to me,” I said.
“No, I didn’t,” he replied. “Everything I told you was true.”
“Lying by omission is still lying.” Everyone else in the room melted into the background; only the traitor at my feet mattered. “You tricked me into agreeing to help you while plotting behind my back to kill one of my friends.”
“You never would have agreed if we’d met under these circumstances.”
“No shit.”
He stood up, flexed his shoulders. “As I said, everything I told you was true, and what’s happening here does not change that. I still need your protection. They need your protection.”
“And if I refuse?”
“You won’t.”
Annoyance flared. “I won’t?”
“No, because you gave your word, and I know what that means to people like you.”
I was too angry to come up with a sarcastic response, so I settled on a terse “Oh?”
“You live by a code of honor, you and your fellow Triad teammates. Your word means everything to you.”
“More than the life of a friend?”
“If that friend is deserving of his fate, then yes.”
“He wasn’t alone, and he was following someone else’s orders. Don’t put all of this on one man, Phineas. He doesn’t deserve to take the blame for all of the Owlkins.”
“You don’t think so?”
“You said it yourself. It wouldn’t have happened if I’d just turned myself in.”
His expression softened for an instant, then he looked away. My arguments were getting to him, wearing him down. Meeting before this moment may have tricked me into helping him, but it had also affected his opinion of me. Perhaps made him sympathetic enough to see reason and not execute Rufus for the crimes of more than a dozen people.
“I won’t let you kill him,” I said softly.
He looked up, mouth tightening. Tactical error. “Stopping me will defy not only the Assembly but also the wishes of the Fey Council. Good luck explaining that to your superiors.”
“He’s right, Stone,” Kismet said. “We’re fucked six ways from Sunday on this one.”
No, I didn’t accept that. Rufus had trusted me when he had no reason, risked his life to help us, and had nearly died last night in the pursuit of answers. I owed him more than whatever punishment and death Phineas had planned. We couldn’t afford to lose any more experienced Triad members, whether Handler or Hunter; not after last night’s losses. The brass was hanging us out to dry on this one.
“What if I offer you an alternative?” I asked.
“I don’t want you,” Phin said.
I snickered. “I don’t want you either, pal, but that’s not what I had in mind.”
He furrowed both eyebrows. “Go on.”
“Outside.”
Wyatt protested when I closed him into the visitors’ lounge. The hallway wasn’t quiet, but it was more private than the seven other sets of prying ears we’d left behind.
“What is it you’re offering?” Phin asked.
“Rufus has three days before he’s released f
rom the hospital. Four if you count today. Aurora has about four days until she gives birth. Give me until Monday to get you an upgrade on your sacrifice.”
“Upgrade to what?”
“Three high-ranking members of the Metro Police Department know about the Triads. Tovin may have influenced their decision, but at least one of those three men or women gave the order to destroy Sunset Terrace.” I swallowed, the rest of my words surprising even me. “Give me four days to find them, and you can have one of them instead of Rufus. One of the people really responsible for the slaughter of yours.”
Phin went completely still, his eyes fixed somewhere below my chin. He blinked. Looked up. “You’d defy your superiors for this?”
“They may run this operation, but they’re not my superiors. They turned on me without giving me a chance. They killed your people out of spite. They’ve sat up in their ivory tower, anonymous, for too goddamned long. It’s time to take some fucking responsibility for all the shit they’ve stirred up.”
He nodded once, a sharp tilt down and up. “All right, then. Monday.”
“Monday.”
We shook hands, sealing our second bargain in as many hours. This one, though, I wasn’t at all sure I could pull off.
Chapter Four
9:16 A.M.
A white curtain was drawn around his bed, offering privacy from anyone passing by in the corridor. My shoes squeaked on the shiny linoleum floor, announcing my presence long before I reached the edge of the curtain. Wyatt had agreed to let me go in alone.
Rufus lay with his head tilted toward the room’s single window and a view of the Anjean River’s dark, slow-moving water. His shoulder and chest were still bandaged from the old gunshot wounds. New bandages covered his right hand and forearm. Ointment glistened on his neck and left cheek, a protective coating for the angry, blistered burns there.
His head listed toward me. He blinked several times—his only show of surprise at my presence. “Gina said you were alive,” he said, hoarse. “Don’t know why I didn’t believe her until now.”