“London isn’t responding.”
His blood went cold as Tomás’s smirk cut through his thoughts. Good luck. What had the Kin known? “What?”
Despite the direness of her words, she seemed nonchalant about it all as she wrapped the rag around her forearm and used her teeth to tie it tight. Her movements were well practiced. He couldn’t even imagine the number of times she’d done it. And without letting an Earth mage heal her after...
“The troops that left...none of them have returned.”
It was general protocol—whenever troops were deployed, at least one Air mage was sent back to report to the main Guild once the destination was reached, to give updates or ask for reinforcements. Short-wave radio was too easily intercepted and didn’t reach that far anyway. As the mage flies, London should have been a short return trip.
“What do you think it means?” he asked.
“Either they got lost on the Underground, or the Guild’s been jeopardized.”
“And what do our overlords want to do about it?”
She chuckled. “You used to be an overlord.”
“And I relished in it.” He leaned forward. “Please tell me you convinced them to let us go investigate.”
Her lips twitched into a grin. “I didn’t fight my way up through layers of British bureaucracy without learning how to get what I want.” She gestured to the bullets. “Thus, the arsenal. They’re sending us out tomorrow morning. Low-key operation. Small command.”
“Speaking of command—”
“No such luck. You’ll be taking orders from me, wee man.”
He slumped back. He tried to convince himself it didn’t matter—he was still getting out to the field and down to London. Once he got the shard, the rulings of the Glasgow council wouldn’t matter anymore. He just had to be patient. Which was never a virtue he held dear.
Kianna stood and pulled the kettle from the stove, muttering to herself about how Americans sucked at making tea, then poured the steaming water into a teapot.
“I thought you’d be more excited,” she said. She set the kettle back by the hearth.
“I am,” he said. He pushed through Fire, just enough so he could truly mean it. “I was starting to go crazy.”
“You were already there,” she said. Looked down at her bandage. Red seeped through the cloth. “Damn it. Cut deeper than I thought.” She reached over and grabbed a fresh bandage—dry this time. He watched with morbid fascination as she redid her work.
“Why do you do this to yourself?” he asked.
He hadn’t actually meant to voice the words floating through his head, words he’d thought countless times before. Why not let someone heal her? Why not get attuned? Why live in this world of magic and monsters and intentionally deny yourself the best part of it?
Without magic, Aidan couldn’t see much point to life. So where had her drive come from?
He hadn’t meant to ask it, and he hadn’t expected her to answer. She never had in the past.
“Because magic makes everything worse.” She glanced up to him. Then her eyes flickered to the bullets. “And I’m already bathed in blood. Might as well use what I’m used to.”
He didn’t press her for more. He’d tried, once, when they met at the abandoned hostel up north. He’d tried, and she’d nearly walked out the door on him, leaving him to die, without magic and without family, by Loch Lomond.
He’d come to her without any more tears to shed, and she had at least given him the dignity of never asking why that was.
“My parents were killed a few days before the Resurrection,” she said. Her words were heavy. Thick as the blood congealing on her workbench. “By magic.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. Necromancers had taken so many, it was almost like saying your family member had died of cancer. Common, but no less heartbreaking.
“It’s not what you’re thinking.” She stared at the bloody rag in her hand, and he knew that she wasn’t seeing the cloth. “It wasn’t a necromancer. And we didn’t know about the Howls yet. No. This was some dumbass, high on power, and we were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
She glanced at him before looking away. For the first time in the years that he’d known her, she actually looked lost.
“That’s the worst of it, you know? They didn’t die because of monsters. They didn’t die because of evil, or a war, or anything that we fight against. They died become some arsehole wanted them to die. I watched them go up in flames,” she said. “By the time I was able to snap the bastard’s neck, my family was dead.”
She sniffed. Tossed the wet rag into the flames, where it hissed and steamed and filled the room with smoke that reminded him way too strongly of Trevor and Vincent’s burning bodies.
“That’s why I don’t use magic. Magic stole my parents away from me, and my strength was the only thing that kept me alive after. If I had known better, if I had thought myself strong in the face of magic, I would have saved them. Now I know—even magic is no match against me. And I plan on keeping it that way.”
The rags hissed. She sipped her tea.
“I’m sorry,” Aidan said again. This time, it sounded more like he meant it.
“Don’t be,” she said. “Sadness doesn’t change anything. Just makes you slow.”
He sat there in silence, watching her drink, watching the flames crackle, not knowing if he should comfort her or leave.
“I know what you did in there,” she said.
“What?”
His attention snapped right back to her. But there wasn’t the slightest hint of mockery or threat on her face.
“I know you killed them. I heard Trevor begging you, when I was coming to.”
“I don’t know—”
“Playing stupid doesn’t suit you,” she said. “Neither does playing weak.”
Her eyes bored holes through his heart, and he had no idea what to say.
“I’m not telling you my life history because I want to share a good sob story. I’m telling you because I worry about you. Good people can do terrible things, Aidan. Often when they think their motives are altruistic. You’re a bastard, but you’re a good person. Don’t let anything burn that away.”
It didn’t sound like she was threatening him, but that didn’t make him feel any better.
She knew.
“What did you see?” he asked. Did she know about Tomás as well? Were all his secrets hidden behind her eyes? Fire had winked out long ago, and now his heart hammered somewhere deep in his gut.
“Nothing,” she replied. “I didn’t wake up until you grabbed me. But I had heard things. Screaming. Begging. Took a few days for it to come together, and you owe me for some really shite dreams.”
“I don’t—”
“Then don’t,” she said. Her next words were low, but razor sharp. “I will trust that you did what had to be done. But I swear to every god listening, Aidan Belmont, if you ever turn on me, I will put a bullet between your eyes before you so much as make a spark.”
He swallowed. Hard.
“Good,” she said cheerily, leaning back in her chair as though she hadn’t just threatened his life. “I need to rest, and so do you. We leave at first light.”
He stood awkwardly, torn between interrogating her and running straight out the Guild and never stopping. He settled for just nodding and turning for the door.
“Sweet dreams,” she said.
She sounded like she meant it.
* * *
By the next morning, Aidan was going mental with frustration.
He hadn’t been able to sleep. Not after that. Kianna knew he had killed Trevor. She knew Fire had taken over once more—or, worse, that it hadn’t, and Aidan had killed his former lover in cold blood. He lay there all night, staring at the black ceiling, for the first time in his life not wanting
to open to Fire to ease away the darkness and the cold.
For the first time, Fire and passion scared him.
Had he been acting solely under its spell?
Was he a threat to the ones he loved?
Without the flame whispering that he was safe, that everyone was safe so long as they didn’t get in the way, he couldn’t be sure.
But a small voice inside of him—one that had been silenced years ago, one that sounded way too much like his old Sunday school teacher—whispered that he was getting exactly what he’d earned. For some reason, the flier he’d seen in the Underground flickered through his mind again. All sinners burn. Just the thought made him shudder. He didn’t put any faith in faith, but that didn’t mean the rhetoric didn’t resonate.
If there was a god, he hoped he never met them. For everything he’d done, there was no way in hell he’d go anywhere but, well, Hell. He closed his eyes and tried to convince himself it was all rubbish. Even though he was hearing the words of a figure most people thought of as a god.
Even though he had been told outright he could become one himself.
Kianna knocked on his door after what felt like days, bearing a pot of tea and some warm biscuits. He had been dressed and ready since lying down.
“We leave in an hour. Gear up.” She set the tea on the tiny-ass bedside table and left. No mention of their conversation hours ago. No further threats for him to be on his best behavior. And he knew then, like all other things in their past, this was dead and behind them.
He opened to Fire and burned the last shreds of his doubt away. He was fed and out the door in moments.
Their small troop assembled in the cloisters. When he’d first visited the University, he’d thought the passage looked straight out of Harry Potter—a covered hall between courtyards and buildings, supported by columns that stretched up to arched domes like miniature cathedrals. Back then, students raced between the pillars to their next class, or chatted on benches in the green courtyard beyond. Now, the cloisters were filled with racked weapons and the clangs of sparring Hunters. Frankly, he thought the metallic din of war suited the space much better.
His small team—no, Kianna’s team—waited impatiently at the edge, staring out at the misting rain. Only three others, total. An Earth and Air mage named Margaret who had a bow and sword strapped to her back. Kianna.
And Gregory.
The guy turned around the moment Aidan laid eyes on him.
Shite.
Aidan had a rule: never serve at the side of someone you’re screwing. It was fine when he was a commander. The power dynamic always worked in his favor—he could be aloof and pull strings from afar. But to serve side by side...that felt like a recipe for disaster.
And by disaster, he meant emotion. Mostly grief.
It didn’t help that when Gregory spotted him, the guy smiled. And not one of those cocky oh it’s you smiles, but a genuine I’m happy you’re here and maybe I even volunteered to do this because I’m secretly in love with you smile. At least he didn’t try to muck things up further with small talk.
Aidan didn’t meet Margaret’s eye. The last time they’d worked together, he’d been in charge. At least she had the decency to nod in a sort of half bow.
“Fancy seeing you on this mission,” Gregory said, effectively dropping from Aidan’s graces. Small talk was his biggest pet peeve. “Didn’t think I’d see you again. After you ghosted me and all.”
Aidan knew the correct response was some sort of apology or lie. But it was early and he hadn’t slept and he wanted to start killing things ASAP so he could finally make his situation bearable. “Aye, well, I was drunk and you were available.” He looked over at Gregory, just enough to see that his words hit home. “Don’t take it personal.”
Then, before Gregory could respond, Aidan grabbed one of Kianna’s duffel bags and headed for the drawbridge.
Less than a minute in, and this mission was already going to shit.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The last thing Aidan wanted was to walk the entire way to London. Thankfully, he didn’t have to.
The Guild had maintained a few small electric SUVs, though they were rarely used—the vehicles could go over a fair bit of terrain, sure, but there was something to be said about riding into battle in a tiny metal box that could, at any time, be collapsed in on itself by a necromancer. That was another problem with vehicles, from planes to tanks to submarines. All it would take is one Earth mage, and you’d be screwed.
This time, though, there was little chance of that. And, with electricity being just a manifestation of Fire energy, Aidan was like a walking battery. He could keep the vehicle going for days.
It still wouldn’t necessarily make the much trip faster—without cleared highways, there would be a lot of off-roading and detours—but it saved them from walking all the way to London. The thought of that made Aidan’s legs ache. One day, he would attune to Air so he could fly. One day.
The vehicle was pretty average—a boxy mini-SUV that was still smaller than a sedan back in America. Dark green. Battered to hell. Missing a headlight. It wasn’t some apocalypse-chic murder machine. No monstrous grill or spikes or flamethrowers because, again, pretty pointless against magic. But it would get them there. Hopefully.
Kianna hopped in the driver’s seat and he called shotgun—a small blessing—and Margaret and Gregory jumped in the back.
Aidan glanced over at Kianna. He kept expecting the bomb to drop. Kept expecting her to make some snide comment about not catching them all on fire. He knew she wouldn’t do that, but he couldn’t convince his murderous Sphere she would stay on his side.
“Barely a week back from battle and we’re sent to the field again. No rest for the wicked, eh?” Gregory asked from the back.
“Shut up, Gregory,” Aidan replied. He closed his eyes. Pressed his forehead to the side window.
This was going to be a long trip.
* * *
Hours passed.
The ride down was far from smooth. They navigated around craters blown through concrete and cities melted to glass. Occasionally, Margaret would pull through Earth and smooth out the terrain, but it wasn’t her strongest Sphere, and the acts left her drained and scrambling for the food supplies they’d brought along.
Kianna cycled through the CDs left over in the vehicle. Some electro mixes, some folk, some fluty new age shit he had her turn off after the first thirty seconds...then had her play, a few hours later, because he couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard music through a stereo and anything was better than nothing.
They’d gone on a few short missions in vehicles, but this felt strange. He stared at the rushing rain, at the shadows of buildings and hills and rolling fields, at the slice of their headlight through the gloom. He wanted to talk to Kianna, but he didn’t know about what. Didn’t know what he could talk about with Margaret and Gregory in the back. Occasionally they’d pull over for snacks or a pee break, but for the most part they drove in silence, him with his forehead pressed against the window and Kianna focusing on the road ahead. No one slept, either. Not with the bone-crunching jolts every few yards, or the quick swerves while Kianna avoided cars or potholes or sheer cliff faces in the middle of the road. Well, he supposed Kianna, at least, was speaking, if the constant stream of cursing counted.
On the plus side, there weren’t any bodies in the road to avoid or crunch over. The Howls weren’t known for leaving anything behind.
Every once in a while, Gregory would speak up from the back, asking a question or making a statement that he probably thought would get the conversation going. Every time, his words were met with silence. Most of the questions had to do with history, or the future. “Remember what it was like when—” “What do you think will happen after—”
This wasn’t the car for hypotheticals or reminiscing. Even Margaret, who pr
obably had more of a heart than he or Kianna did, kept silent.
Eventually, Gregory stopped trying. Thank gods.
About the only things worth staring at on the ride down were the road signs. More numerous the farther on they went. And more ravaged. Adverts for the New Church of Our Salvation.
REPENT OR BURN
THE END IS COME
MAGIC IS THE DEVIL’S WORK
And, his favorite: WE KNOW YOUR SINS
“If that was true,” he said, nodding to the bullet-pocked sign, “I better hope I’m never caught. They’d die of old age before pulling all my sins out.”
Kianna’s knuckles were pale on the steering wheel. She didn’t chuckle. A quick glance in the rearview told him that his joke hadn’t been any better received back there.
It wasn’t a laughing matter, not really. Everyone had heard tales of the Church and the Inquisition, the bloodthirsty arm dedicated to the historical creed from which it stole its name: to seek out and atone the sins of anyone linked to magic.
Which always meant torture.
Sometimes, it meant death. If they were feeling merciful after making you beg and bleed for it.
Another reason Aidan had kicked the Church and all its zealots from Glasgow: they were as dangerous as the necromancers if you were a Hunter. Hell, they were dangerous even if you’d never touched magic in your life. So long as you screamed at the right times, they seemed to think it reached their God all the same.
Let them come, Fire hissed within him, and we will see who burns.
He let the confidence wrap around him. Even the Inquisitors were mortal. Fire had been around from the very beginning and would burn long past the Church’s final sermon.
Though, right now, heat and flame and sparks seemed the furthest things from reality, even as he fed small amounts of magic into the engine.
He stared out at the water streaming down outside, listening to the flutes and some woman singing wordlessly, and for some reason, he thought of Tenn. In that moment, he felt a thread pulled taught between them, heart to heart, and even though he didn’t have any clue what the guy looked like or what Spheres he used or anything, he felt connected. Not in some stupid romantic way. This was cosmic. A shared bench before the table of the gods. Tenn had killed one of the Kin and here Aidan was, paving the way to kill his second. Even though he refused to let Tenn get in the way, he wondered—briefly—whether the boy had ever felt like this.
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