by Ashia Monet
“Roc,” says one of the men, eying the other Guardians.
Rocco looks up. And his face hardens.
“Oh, sorry, I forgot to introduce you,” Jay smiles, leaning his body into Rocco’s and outstretching a hand to them. “Roc, this is Antonio, Blythe, Cordelia, Storm, Daniel, and Caspian’s…somewhere.” He snaps his attention to Rocco. “Apparently, anyway? I haven’t seen him. They might be fucking with me—”
But Rocco is still squinting at them. “Jaybird…how long’ve you been hanging with these kids?”
“Just the past few days.”
Blythe can’t take this anymore. “He broke my arm!”
“I thought you said they dislocated it…” Daniel mutters.
“Broke your arm—they kidnapped me!” Cordelia yells.
Storm is ready to lunge straight through Rocco. “They’ve done a lot more bullshit than that,” she growls.
Jay’s smile slowly fades. “What are you talking about…?”
Rocco shakes his head. “Okay, look. There was an altercation back in Philly. Nothin’ too serious. It’s in the past. Over. And we don’t need to dig into other people’s business, do we…” His gaze cuts into Storm. “Napoleon?”
Storm freezes. She told Blythe she donned that name to protect her true identity. And yet here her real name is, spilled out in the open.
Rocco lifts his chin, flexing his fingers. “Got on the same skates and everything. Storm, right? Can’t be too many girls with names like that—”
“No,” Jay interrupts. “No, no, no. We are not doing this, we aren’t.” He shoves Rocco away from him. “Somebody better tell me what the fuck is going on.”
“What’s going on is these assholes telling me what I need to know,” Storm jumps off the truck. Magic no longer runs on her side, but that doesn’t stop her from snatching out her switchblade.
Rocco is the only Angelus member who doesn’t draw their gun.
“What the fuck?!” Jay screams. “Don’t shoot her!”
The men hesitate. Their grips loosen. “Uh,” One of them turns to Rocco. “D-Do we listen to him or—”
Rocco’s nostrils flare. The only person he seems to care about, in this moment, is Jay. “You aren’t allowed to shout orders at them.”
Jay’s fists have clenched. In his eyes is the same defiance he showed Blythe when she tried to coerce him into admitting he was a magician. This Jay is beyond reason.
“You work for my family,” he growls. “I do whatever the fuck I want.”
“Jaybird,” Rocco’s voice strains with barely concealed rage. “There’s a whole situation going on that you can’t understand—”
“And whose fault is that? Nobody has ever fucking told me anything. And I understand perfectly that she—” He jabs a finger toward Storm. “—is with me. Which means you can’t touch her.”
The Angelus must understand this, because the guns go down and away, even as they raise their brows and let out low, confused breaths. “They don’t even have the shard anymore, so what’s the point…” someone mutters.
Rocco’s gaze skirts across all of them before narrowing on Jay again. “Come here,” he orders, and again when Jay doesn’t move.
Blythe fears they’ll fight, but they simply back away a couple paces and speak in voices too low for Blythe to hear.
The Guardians and the Angelus are left alone. Staring at each other. Because this situation can’t get any weirder.
“H-Hey, isn’t that my switchblade?” Twin gestures toward the knife in Storm’s fist.
Storm glares at him. “I can stab it into your arm if you want it back.”
Twin pales. “You can keep it.”
Blythe jumps down to guide Storm back a bit, but she yanks away.
“Just relax, okay?” Blythe whispers. “We don’t have magic—”
“Ion’t need it.”
“Storm, please. We can’t risk it.”
Storm presses her lips together. She looks over her shoulder, to Caspian, Antonio, Cordelia and Daniel, crowded together atop the truck. Her muscles, finally, go loose.
Blythe glances to Jay and Rocco. Jay is like a statue, arms folded and silently unconvinced as Rocco speaks avidly with his hands.
Who, exactly, is Jay in the world of magic? And why does the Angelus bend to his words? Jay said something about the Angelus working for his parents—but why would the Hoffmans hire a magician gang?
More importantly, why would they hire a magician gang who works for the Trident Republic?
Rocco stills, looking angrily defeated. Jay only returns to the group, shoulders set, while Rocco ambles behind him, hands stuffed in his pockets.
“Alright kids,” Rocco announces. “We’ll take you to Electric City. Including Napoleon.”
Storm eyes Jay. “Ion’t need you pulling favors.”
“Well, we ain’t telling you shit and we ain’t fighting you either,” Rocco snaps. “So get on or go the hell home.”
“Storm,” Blythe pleads. “We have to get to Electric City somehow. And this is our only option.”
Storm stays battle poised and rigid. And then she tucks the switchblade into her pocket.
It’s time to go.
The Angelus mounts their bikes. “Pick a seat and hold tight!” Rocco shouts over the revving engines. “These are not amusement park rides and we are not responsible if one of you falls off and cracks your neck!”
The Guardians scuttle from the rooftops and onto the Angelus’ bikes, including Storm, who tosses herself behind one of the men like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Blythe chooses to ride with one of the twins—they seem the least dangerous.
Jay is the only one still standing, arms crossed tight in front of Rocco’s bike, eyes spearing sharp into him.
“Alright, look, Jaybird,” Rocco says to him, in a voice softer than Blythe ever thought he was capable of using. “We fucked up. I was shitty to your friends, but it’s all good now. You can go to this city and do…whatever it is you said you wanted to do, alright? C’mon, let’s go.”
Jay’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, considering this. Finally, with a roll of his eyes, he swings himself onto Rocco’s bike.
They shoot like rockets through the desert. The only voice shouting above the growing crescendo of the bikes’ growls is Cordelia’s as she shouts directions.
Soon, Antonio starts chatting it up with his biker. That boy can make friends with anybody. Then again, so can Blythe.
She leans closer against the boy in front of her. “Hey, Twin!”
He scoffs. “You too, huh?!”
“Sorry, um, I don’t know your name!”
He hesitates. “It’s Jerry,” he says. “Lil’ Jerry!”
“Yikes! I can’t call you that and still take you seriously—”
“Did you have something to say? Or did you just want to bully me?!”
“Oh, yeah, no, sorry! How do you guys know Jay?”
“We work for his ol’ man!”
“How’d that happen?”
“I don’t know the details, not my job! All I know is, Hoffman paid us to start watching out for his kid. Gettin’ into too much trouble, I think! We were just supposed to keep an eye out for him on the streets and shit until Rocco…I mean, the rest is obvious!”
It’s enough for Blythe to chew on as they drive. How mischievous do you have to be for your father to get a magician gang to babysit you? And how reckless do you have to be to start hooking up with the leader of said gang?
Joshua Hoffman needs Jesus.
Blythe is still lost in thought when she sees something rising from the horizon. At first, she does not realize where those lights are coming from.
And then she feels it—that hint of magic carried on the wind that raises goosebumps on her skin, telling her that a magician city is near.
Her breath, every bit of it, escapes her. Her mind goes empty and her heart races.
Lying ahead are the remnants of a city skyline. Large, awkward spaces
separate the remaining towers. The closer they draw, the more details Blythe can make out: chunks blown out of buildings, a skeleton of a structure made not of brick or concrete but steel beams. Stark white light bursts from deep within the heart of the city as if somewhere, deep inside, life still thrives.
A whole city of magicians, cloaked by the heat and dust of the Nevada desert mixed with a heartbeat of magic to shield it from Common’s eyes. A whole metropolitan existence hidden from prying eyes, turned to a wasteland because of one attack.
Electric City.
Blythe blinks rapidly to keep tears from welling her eyes. Amidst the wreckage and the debris and the confusion, her mother, her father, and her little sisters are waiting.
They are here. And it is time.
The white light of the city’s heartbeat grows brighter and brighter until they reach the city’s edge, where fields of sudden, magic-formed grass grows amongst dilapidated, empty brick houses. The people who once called this place home have only recently evacuated, if the destroyed décor still lingering on the doors and lawns is any clue.
The bikes slow until they come to a complete stop. The white light echoes across the front of the motorcycles and makes odd shadows out of their Angelus’ faces.
Blythe is on her feet immediately. It is as if the city is drawing her in. Her family is here. And they are waiting for her.
With every step she takes, she feels a humming grow louder within her, stretching and filling every vein as if a dam within her has broken.
They are back on magicians’ soil. Their magic has returned.
Blythe can feel the Guardians’ energy as they rush to catch up with her. “Be careful out there,” Rocco says as Jay jumps off. Jay doesn’t look back at him.
Antonio hurries to Blythe’s side. “Thanks!” he calls over his shoulder, waving to the Angelus.
Storm skates past with her jaw clenched hard. “Don’t thank them.”
“Oh, sorry! I have to take that back!”
One of the Angelus bikers cups his hands in front of his mouth and shouts, “Don’t forget to text me that tostones recipe!”
“Yeah, bro, of course!”
“You got his number…?” Another biker murmurs.
But Rocco stands. “Wait!”
His voice pins them in place. Blythe watches his every move as he jumps to the ground. She is very surprised to find him actually staring back at her.
“Lemme talk with the curly haired girl,” he orders.
“Her name is Blythe,” Jay snaps.
“Yeah,” Rocco is unbothered. “Whatever.”
Blythe hasn’t even agreed before Rocco is walking off, somewhere where no other ears will be able to pick up on their words.
“What if I don’t want to?” she shouts.
His expression is grave. “I think you do.”
There is very little in the world that Rocco, leader of the Angelus, could ever offer Blythe. But her curiosity has been peaked, and Blythe would never pass up an opportunity to learn something she didn’t know before.
“Go ahead,” Storm prods her. “We can use our magic here. I’ll snap his neck in half a second if he tries something.”
Blythe smiles at her as she starts off, following Rocco to the driveway of a house with a sweeping white veranda—and all of its windows blown out.
Rocco takes out a cigarette. He snaps his fingers and a flame jumps from his bare skin, lighting the end, smooth and easy.
“Is this to apologize for my arm?” Blythe asks. “Because if not, I don’t wanna hear shit.”
Rocco sucks his teeth, snapping his head to the side. “It’s more important than your damn arm. You’re lucky I didn’t break it.”
Blythe glares right back. The Angelus can’t hurt them, not now and not ever—or at least, not for as long as Jay likes them. She can stand here, silently, until the end of time, and absolutely nothing will happen to her.
“No one’s afraid of your hissy fits, little girl,” Rocco bares his teeth. “You aint getting’ a fucking apology out of me.”
Blythe doesn’t budge.
Rocco groans in frustration. “I swear to—fuck this shit—fuck, I’m sorry about your damn arm,” he growls. “Now listen. This is serious.”
Nothing about Rocco’s appearance reveals any new information—dark hair styled like he’s an uncaring bad boy who is still ruggedly handsome, snake tattoo twisting across his neck along with more (honestly, pretty cool looking) tattoos dancing across his fingers. He’s young, probably in his twenties—definitely older than Jay, who is a minor, and Blythe could totally send Rocco’s ass to jail if she just dialed 911.
She doesn’t respect him any more than she did back in Washington.
Rocco’s voice drops low. “Jay likes you guys,” he whispers. He actually sounds sincere for once. “And he wants to tag along on your little adventure, so we gotta let him, but I figured I’d talk to you about this since you seem like you’re calling the shots.”
Blythe raises her eyebrows.
“The Hoffmans are cool with the Trident Republic,” Rocco continues. “Jay doesn’t know it, but they won’t hurt him—”
“Wait, what?” Blythe interrupts. Jay’s a Guardian. Well, maybe. Probably. But still, it’s one thing to hire a gang to babysit your kid. It’s another to be on good terms with the Trident Republic.
“I said what I said,” Rocco snaps. “But just because the Trident Republic won’t hurt Jay, doesn’t mean some other crackhead in this city won’t.”
“Careless use of the word ‘crackhead’ is really insensitive to—”
Rocco steamrolls right over her. “And Jay gets…in these moods. He’ll get real quiet and just be alone for a while or just…gets freaked out by stuff. Starts to panic. So keep an eye on him.”
Oh, Blythe knows. She remembers the Guardians’ very dramatic introduction to him. Blythe wonders if it’s just nervousness or actual, chronic anxiety—or if Jay even recognizes the difference within himself.
But Rocco definitely doesn’t care about any of that.
“You really just pulled me aside to—”
“Shut up and watch out for him,” Rocco snaps. “‘Cause if anything happens to that boy, the next part of you that gets dislocated will be your skull.”
Rocco breezes past her, as if that line was a mic drop worthy of a dramatic exit.
But then he walks back. “Listen, I feel real bad about that. You’re like, sixteen. My sister’s your age. I can’t be out here threatin’ sixteen year old girls, I’m not a monster. I apologize.”
“It’s a little late to care about that since you already fucked up my arm,” Blythe says. “But it’s fine. I’m not scared of you.”
“A’right. Cool, cool. I will have to hurt you though, if, y’know.”
“Yeah, I get that.”
“Okay. We on the same page?”
“Uh…I think we’re on the same chapter, which is as close as we’re gonna get.”
Rocco bobs his head in a nod. He’s turned to leave, for real this time, but the twist of his brow says that there is something else he wants to add.
“And tell Napoleon…” he hesitates. “Tell her Madame Deveraux goes by a different name when she’s not in the Fae Lands. And if she really wants to find her, she needs to try New Orleans. But you didn’t hear it from me.”
Blythe doesn’t understand any of those words, but that’s okay, because they aren’t meant for her. The only thing that surprises her is that Rocco has actually given up the information Storm needs.
She didn’t think this boy was capable of doing anything even remotely positive.
“…thanks,” Blythe says.
“You kept Jaybird safe when I couldn’t,” Rocco shrugs. “Favor for a favor.”
The Angelus leaves in a symphony of roaring bikes, sinking toward the horizon, the same way they appeared.
And the Guardians are left in front of Electric City.
Twenty-Four
Blythe
has never seen a city that is both regal and destroyed, like a person struggling to their feet after being shoved to the ground. Katia said this place would be crawling with monsters, that they’d be fighting for their lives the second they stepped into Electric City.
But the air is still, hot, and silent. It smells like burning gas and despair.
Cordelia’s research has resulted in a list of buildings where Blythe’s family may be waiting. Their first destination is an abandoned prison where people have, reportedly, spotted groups of militia-like men hurrying in and out, along with various other suspicious activity. It’s not much, but it’s enough reason to investigate.
Storm warns them to stay on guard because the Trident Republic is known to associate with the Fae, and the Fae are—and her brow knits at this word—unpredictable.
“We cannot make a commotion or draw any sort of attention,” Cordelia says. “The Trident Republic is already expecting us. Our best course of action is to keep them from knowing we’re here. We are sneaking into these buildings, searching for any traces of Blythe’s family, and sneaking out. No large fights, no explosions of magic, none of that.”
They are silent as they travel, stepping over rubble and fallen street-lamps strewn across the sidewalks, keeping their eyes on the darkness behind the windows of every building.
While most of Electric City has been destroyed, some spots glow like polished pearls. Blythe notices this as they travel down a road that stretches endlessly toward the horizon. On the left side, neon lights flash outside of casinos, glass windows display finely dressed mannequins, restaurants boast their decorated outdoor tabletops. But there isn’t a face or person to be seen.
On the right are craters burned deep into the ground, the edges singed black as if scarred by fire. Loose metal bars dangle from buildings, dropping to the ground with a cracking sound that spills into the silence. A coat has been has been discarded on the ground, trampled by dirty footprints and covered in ash.
Electric City must have truly been electric.
“What happened here?” Jay asks.
“The Black Veins attacked,” Blythe says. “To take a stone.”
