by Moss, Sadie
That seemed to wrench their attention away from our little group, and when Olene nodded at me and pivoted to continue on her way, they trailed after her.
As soon as they were out of sight, I made a beeline for the corridor the guard had pointed us to. We found a staircase lined with red carpet and walked down several flights; with each floor we descended, the stairs grew narrower, the ceilings lower, and the decor less ornate.
The holding cells were three stories below ground, down a bare hallway. A guard outside the door watched our approach with serious eyes, but I gestured imperiously as we drew up, and he opened the door for us.
The opulence of the palace above was entirely gone here. Instead of marble, the walls and floor were cement. The cellblock was long, lined on either side by small rooms fronted with metal bars and pulsing blue wards.
Many of the cells were empty, which I tried to see as a positive thing, though the skeptical voice in my head reminded me it was probably because most of the Blighted caught breaking laws were sentenced to death.
I scanned each cell as we passed, searching for Gerald’s large form.
Then I stopped.
Inside a cell toward the end of the block, a man in a beat-up tuxedo lay on a cot.
He was on his back, eyes open and unblinking. Still.
My stomach clenched. No. Fuck. No.
“You!” I yelled to the guard down the hall, and he turned around. “Open this! Now.”
After a brief hesitation, he loped quickly toward us and placed his hand on a pad by the door, disabling the ward. Then he unlocked the cell.
“Leave us,” I commanded, wondering for a moment when I’d gone from pretending to throw my weight around to actually throwing it around.
The guard complied, and I rushed into the cell, my four following close behind. Corin crouched next to the cot, and his fingers went to the man’s neck. His blue eyes were bright with worry when he looked up, delivering the news I knew was coming.
“He’s dead.”
Jae leaned over the body to brush Gerald’s eyes closed. His hand lingered over the once-Gifted man’s forehead. “Not for long. His body hasn’t even gone cold.”
Pity and revulsion filled me as I took in the man lying limply before me.
This was my fault.
If I hadn’t captured him and delivered him to my unknown employer, Gerald would still be alive. I had justified my actions with the thought that one fewer Gifted person in the world would make it a better place, but the reality wasn’t as clear-cut as that. Death didn’t seem to care whether someone had magic or not—when it came for them, it brought them low regardless.
Frustration, anger, and guilt roiled in my mind, and I wanted to hurl the memory potion Marielle had given me at the wall. But instead, I said thickly, “Turn his head.”
Jae glanced at me, his elegant brows furrowed. “What?”
“Just do it.”
I pulled the stopper on the bottle as I stepped up beside Jae. He tilted Gerald’s head to one side, and I poured in several drops of the potion.
“Lana, I don’t think—”
“I know. Fuck, I know! But we have to try.”
Jae looked like he wanted to say something else but held his tongue, turning Gerald’s head the other way. I poured in the remainder of the potion, and all five of us stepped back, as if afraid the witch’s brew would somehow reanimate Gerald’s corpse.
It didn’t.
For several long moments, it didn’t do anything.
Then a wisp of something like smoke drifted out of the man’s large, wide nose. My throat caught. Oh shit, was that breath?
The wisp of smoke rose above his head, twisting and writhing like a snake. It began to thicken into a small cloud, and hazy images flickered within it.
No, not breath. A memory.
“Gerald… how did you lose your magic? Who did this to you?” My voice shook so much it was almost unrecognizable.
A stream of images flashed in quick succession, too fast for me to register half of them. A large orb, glowing white. Long-fingered hands, reaching forward. Streaks of light flowing into the orb, making it pulse.
A face appeared for a split second, but it was gone before I could even determine whether it was male or female.
“Did you… plant the bomb at the palace?” I asked, forcing myself to speak above a whisper.
More hazy images flew by. A bomb, the nonmagical kind made with explosives and wires. Hallways in the palace, all empty. Why were they empty?
Then another face, this one definitely female, though blurry and out of focus. The face turned away, light brown hair pulled back, her head silhouetted by the palace rising before her.
“Gerald. Who killed you?”
An image of the inside of the cell we stood in now flickered within the smoke. Was that a figure outside the door? I stepped closer, but even as I leaned toward him, the wisps of smoke emanating from Gerald’s nostrils began to dissipate. The image within the swirling plumes flickered and died.
Nobody breathed as the smoke slowly wafted away, leaving only the too-still body lying on the low cot before us.
“Holy fuck,” Fen finally murmured. “I didn’t even know that kind of magic was possible.”
“Did it even help?” I swallowed, forcing down the bile rising in my throat. I wanted to get out of this room. “Everything was so indistinct. We didn’t get any real answers.”
“There was a man… and then a woman. Wasn’t there?” Corin’s words sounded hollow, as if he’d seen a ghost—one much less friendly than Ivy.
“That’s what I saw,” Akio confirmed, even his usually smooth voice rough.
“So it’s two people. Working together? Or unrelated? I mean, is it possible Gerald somehow had the shitty luck to be involved in some magic stealing scheme and a separate plan to attack the palace?”
“I don’t like coincidences.” Jae took a step closer to the body on the cot, green eyes serious as he gazed down at it. “Because in my experience, they usually aren’t.”
Running my tongue over dry lips, I tried to organize my jumbled thoughts. Maybe I shouldn’t have wasted the memory potion on a dead man. Marielle had warned us the memories might be fragmented and difficult to interpret. And that was when she’d thought our subject was alive. I could’ve saved it, given it to someone else who might know something.
The only problem was, Gerald had been our last lead to whoever had wanted Beatrice dead. Without him, I wasn’t quite sure where to pick up the trail.
“Come on,” I said dully, unable to keep my eyes from drifting to Gerald’s lifeless form one last time. “Let’s go.”
We stepped out of the small, bare room, and the door slammed shut behind us, the blue glow of the wards flaring back to life.
When we reached the end of the cellblock, I fixed the guard with a grim stare. “The man in the cell back there is dead. Killed recently. Who else has been down here?”
His eyes widened, and he scrubbed at his short-cropped brown hair, his large ears flushing.
“What? I... No one. No one but me for the past five hours.” The whites of his eyes showed even more as he realized how guilty that statement made him sound. “I didn’t kill him! I swear! His record said he was picked up on a pick-pocketing charge; he’s no one special. Maybe he just died! A lot of these Blighted, they’re—they’re weak. They’re not meant to live!”
Anger flared in me like a burst of fire.
Before I had a chance to reconsider the wisdom of my actions, my fist smashed into his face. A satisfying pain radiated through my knuckles, and a crack filled the air as his nose broke. The guard stumbled back, hitting the wall and sliding partway down it, blood spurting from his nose.
“Oh, fuck,” I heard Fenris murmur, but I couldn’t tell if he was horrified or impressed.
Shaking out my hand, I pushed the door open, heading back into the hall and up the stairs. The men unconsciously flanked me like always, and Jae shot a glance over
his shoulder at me. “How’s your hand?”
“Fine. Did you believe him?”
“About not killing Gerald? Yes.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
No more words were spoken until we reached the main floor of the palace. As we crossed the wide expanse of the entry hall, Rain looked up in surprise. He’d been lingering by the door, speaking to a guard in low tones.
“Miss Lockwood.” His keen brown eyes darted to the blood smeared across the back of my hand, and he hesitated. “Was Ms. Arcand able to help you with your… problem?”
I gritted my teeth, my fist aching to lash out again—at someone, anyone. But Rain had tried to help me. It wasn’t his fault we got to Gerald too late.
“Yes. And… no. It didn’t really work, but her potion wasn’t the problem.”
“Ah.” His thin lips pulled down in a frown. “So you didn’t get the information you were after?”
I huffed out a breath. “No.”
The tall man dipped his head, the gray streaks in his brown hair looking almost silver in the light of the chandeliers above. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He glanced around us. The palace was clearing out as the evening wore on. “Well, I’ll do what I can to help you find another way. Go home and get some rest, Miss Lockwood. There’s always tomorrow.”
“Right,” I choked out, worry and bitter regret burning through me. “Tomorrow.”
Chapter 22
There’s always tomorrow.
Rain’s words echoed in my head as we drove back to Beatrice’s estate.
He’d meant to placate me with his reassurance, but it hadn’t worked. Because he was wrong. There wasn’t always tomorrow.
Not for Beatrice.
Not for Rat.
Not for Gerald.
“Tomorrow” was a politician’s way of saying “never,” I realized. People could waste entire lifetimes waiting on the promise of tomorrow. Beatrice had harbored a grave suspicion about someone in the very government she was a part of, but she’d kept that secret for years. Had she told herself every day that “tomorrow” she would do something?
The more I thought back on my conversations with her, the more certain I became that she knew full-well the government was corrupt, the Blighted were being oppressed, and the Touched were treated like second-class citizens. But even though it had bothered her, she’d never done anything about it. Only my arrival in her life, and the upheaval that followed, forced her out of her inertia.
I didn’t want to wait until tomorrow. I wanted to act now.
The only problem was, I had no idea what to do.
When Jae pulled the car around and we all piled out in front of the large house, I closed my eyes for a moment, sucking in the cool, lilac-scented air. The aroma reminded me of Beatrice, and my heart ached. How could I miss her so deeply when I’d only known her less than a month? Then again, maybe our short time together was why I missed her so much. All I really had left of my grandmother were little fragments—bits and pieces of who she was. I could try to fit the pieces together, but I’d never be able to complete the picture now.
A cool hand slid into mine, and I looked up into Jae’s shining green eyes.
He brushed my hair back from my face, his long fingers tracing the contours of my cheek and jawbone. “It’s not over, Lana. We’ll find out who’s behind this.”
“I know.”
I squeezed his hand, struggling to find in myself a fraction of his calm and certainty.
The large house felt different when we stepped inside—and I realized why immediately. It had always seemed a bit like a museum, with too many empty and unused rooms to be a real home. That feeling had diminished when my four arrived, and it was almost completely gone now.
A young boy with floppy red-brown hair darted into the hallway. A little girl followed him and almost plowed into his back as he came to an abrupt halt, his wide eyes locked on us. Retta bustled after them both, ducking her head and flushing when she noticed me and my four standing in the foyer.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Miss—Lana. William, Sophie, go upstairs now.”
The pair nodded and walked up the stairs at a much more subdued pace than they’d entered the hall with.
“That’s your son?” I asked Retta, and a wavering smile broke across her face.
She pushed her glasses higher up on her nose. “Yes, and his friend Sophie. A few other families with small children came. I put them upstairs. I… I hope it’s all right. Tarik said you told him—”
I held up a hand, trying to assuage her fears. “I did, and it’s fine. I’m glad they came. Thank you for taking care of them all.”
She blushed, ducking her head again in a half nod, half bow. “My pleasure, Miss Lana. Thank you.”
The last words were spoken so low I almost couldn’t hear them, but they eased some of the pressure choking my heart. I’d done something useful. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
“Of course. Is Darcy still here? I—”
“Lana? Is that you?” Ivy’s voice rose over the soft murmur of the TV from the living room, interrupting me.
“Yeah, I’m here!” I called back, heading for the stairs. I wanted to get this dress off then sit down with my four and put together some kind of plan of action.
“Come in here a minute! I think you need to see this!”
I heaved a sigh. Ivy had made me watch enough of her favorite shows for me to know we didn’t share the same taste in entertainment. Still, I changed direction and walked down the hall to pop my head around the corner of the living room.
“Ivy, I really don’t have—”
“Watch this.”
She didn’t even turn around to face me, and I noticed for the first time that the usual brightness in her tone was gone. My gaze flicked up to the TV screen.
And my blood froze.
It was a live broadcast. A large pavilion set up on the banks of Cherry Creek was illuminated by bright lights. Four figures stood on it, two men and two women, all with their hands bound behind their backs. Their heads drooped and their bodies swayed slightly. I recognized that look. The handcuffs binding them must be charmed, keeping them conscious but unresistant.
The camera panned farther to the right as a figure with tufts of dark, curly hair stepped onto the stage.
Victor Kruger.
I was vaguely aware of my four entering the room behind me as I stepped forward, pulled toward the television by a helpless, dreadful anticipation.
“These four Blighted,” Victor said from the TV, his voice magically amplified to carry over the crowd gathered before the pavilion, “are traitors. Not satisfied with the concessions we have already given them despite their great crime against the Gifted, they have conspired against your government, seeking to destroy us and bring an end to all magic. They are part of a ‘Resistance’ whose mission is to sow disorder and chaos in our peaceful society. These Blighted are responsible for the assassination of Representative Lockwood. And for their crimes, they have been sentenced to death.”
There was a roar as the crowd cheered, the sound almost drowned out by the rushing in my ears. Victor read out the names of the four captured Resistance members before raising a hand, his round, deeply wrinkled face stretching into a smile. Four mages stepped up behind the bound captives.
Victor licked his lips, as if what was about to happen next was a five-course meal—and he was very hungry.
Then he brought his hand down. Water erupted from the mages’ outstretched fingertips, engulfing each of the Blighted prisoners and freezing solid instantaneously. A glittering coat of ice surrounded each one of them, at least six inches thick, trapping them inside.
They looked like statues.
Unmoving.
Dying.
The ice was so strong they couldn’t even struggle for air as their bodies slowly asphyxiated. The living room was silent, and even the crowd in front of the pavilion grew quiet as long minutes ticked by. Four warm bodies pressed close to me as we
watched the execution take place, but even the comfort of having my men close by couldn’t banish the cold that crept over my skin. As if I were on that pavilion with the Resistance members, encased in ice too.
Finally, Victor gestured again. The mages sent out bolts that shattered the blocks of ice, and the figures encased within them crumpled like empty sacks.
That was it. Four lifeless bodies lay strewn across the stage, surrounded by slowly melting chunks of ice. And the crowd was cheering again.
The Representatives had made a return to public executions.
And they’d done it with four Resistance members who weren’t supposed to be targeted until tomorrow.
“Corin.” My voice was a rough whisper. “Call Christine.”
“Yeah,” he breathed, his gaze still locked on the TV as he reached for his phone.
I snatched the remote off the couch next to Ivy and mashed the button to lower the volume. For once, Ivy didn’t complain. Her big brown eyes watched me anxiously, and she got up on her knees to lean over the back of the couch and listen in on Corin’s phone call with the rest of us.
“How did they…?” My voice trailed off as I glanced around the dim room.
I’d spent all morning in a soul-crushing meeting with the Representatives. Yet somehow I hadn’t been privy to the knowledge that they’d moved up their attack on the suspected Resistance members or that they planned to publicly execute them. Was this what Victor and Nicholas had been hounding Olene about when we’d crossed paths with them earlier? Had she agreed to it?
“Christine?” Corin’s voice was sharp as he held the phone to his ear. “Yeah, we just saw.” He paused, his nostrils flaring. “That was the information she had, and she passed it on. If the intel wasn’t good, it’s not her fault.” He broke away from our group, pacing across the floor. “Well, why weren’t they moved to a secure location already? We gave you a warning about it this morning!”
My stomach twisted like I’d eaten a live snake as I watched Corin’s face flush. He and Christine talked tensely for another minute, and then he hung up.
“Well?” My voice was too high.
He raked a hand through his sandy blond hair, leaving the short strands sticking up in all directions. “The Peacekeepers came too fast. She said she didn’t even have a chance to warn them.”
