by Kelly Meding
I climb out of the helicopter, more than a little embarrassed at having passed out. A black body bag is outside, waiting to be loaded, and my money’s on Wolf Boy being in it. Going wherever the hell it is that Marcus and company want to take it. It occurs to me to warn them that the corpse might be tagged somehow, but they seem like a smart bunch. They’ll think to check. I don’t know if Thackery’s even still alive, much less in possession of any equipment capable of tracking his little wolf toy.
People come and go, moving in pairs and trios. Some carry bodies, others equipment. It reminds me of a moving crew. I scan the crowd for someone who can give me answers.
“Evy, hey.” Milo jogs over from the far side of the helicopter. His clothes are smeared with drying blood of various colors, and his nose is a little swollen. He holds out a bottle of water. “It’s warm, but it’s wet.”
“Thanks.” I untwist the cap and indulge in a few sips, which immediately sit uneasily in my stomach. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I got pretty lucky. How do you feel?”
“Nothing a good meal and a few aspirin can’t cure. What the hell’s going on?”
“We’re evacuating Boot Camp.”
I blink. “What? Why? I mean, I know it’s a mess here, but—what?” The fear and unease in his expression stop me short.
“Baylor got a call a few minutes ago.”
“Orders from the brass?”
He snorts, and it’s not a pleasant sound. “No. The brass are all dead.”
I cannot have heard him correctly. “What do you mean they’re dead?”
“Dead, as in no longer alive.”
“Were they murdered?”
“No. Apparently, while we were here fighting creatures from hell, they walked into an interrogation room in Major Cases and blew their brains out.”
It feels like an awful joke. The brass are our bosses, in the loosest sense of the word—three higher-ups in the ranks of the Metro Police Department, who give orders to the Handlers and make sure they work independently from the police. They provide protection for the Hunters and answer to the Fey Council. No one knows who they are.
Until now, apparently.
“We’re sure it was the brass?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“How?”
“The timing’s no coincidence,” Wyatt says. He’s with Marcus, who gives Milo a curious look. “Three cops, one a captain, don’t just kill themselves out of the blue, and all our calls to the brass have gone unanswered since this began.”
“But why? Why would they do that?”
“I don’t know, Evy. I really don’t.”
I swallow hard against rising fear and uncertainty. Without us, the city has no defense against the Dregs. “So what happens to the Triads now?”
“They’ll pack up and head out. Marcus knows of an abandoned motel a few miles off the bypass where they can stay for a while until things get sorted out.”
“They,” I repeat. “So that’s it? You’re really done with the Triads, Wyatt? Just like that?”
His eyes narrow. “Don’t think this is easy for me, Evy. I’ve been part of the Triads for ten goddamned years, and it physically hurts to see it all reduced to this. But they’re not my responsibility anymore, and I haven’t really been a Handler since the night Jesse and Ash were killed.”
I ball my fists and plant them on both hips, indignation on the rise. “So you get fired and you turn your back on people who need you? That’s not like you, Wyatt.”
“The Triads are over, Evy. Over. I can’t turn on something that no longer exists.” A flush creeps into his neck, his own anger boiling up from the inside. “If I actually thought for a second that they could be saved … But they can’t. Boot Camp is practically destroyed, and the staff is dead. The brass is dead. Half the trainees are dead, and the active Triad forces, minus rookies, are down to half.”
On paper, the numbers sound awful. Apocalyptic, even. But this cannot be the end of it all. The city won’t survive without us fighting against the darker species who want to dominate and destroy. “So what then?” I snap. “We pack up, go home, and let the fucking goblins and Halfies take over the city? We let them win?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying.”
“Really? Because that’s what it sounds like, Wyatt.”
It’s as close to a real fight as we’ve ever had, and a pretty damned loud one, too. Occasional evacuees stop and take notice before scurrying on their way. Even Milo has taken a step back, out of the line of verbal fire.
“Just tell her, Truman,” Marcus says.
“It’s Astrid’s call.”
“She’ll get over it.”
I glare at both of them. “Tell me what?”
Wyatt looks like he’d rather stick his head in a viper’s nest than say whatever it is that Marcus is goading him on about. More than anything else, it’s Wyatt’s lack of trust that hurts me the most. He should have just shot me in the head and gotten it over with.
“You know, screw it,” I say. “Keep your fucking secrets, both of you.”
“Evy,” Wyatt says, reaching for me.
I dodge away from his hand. “Don’t. Tell you what, Wyatt, you run into the guy I fell in love with? Send him to come talk to me.” I walk away. After six steps I stop and angle back. “By the way, make sure that thing”—I point at the bundled corpse—“isn’t being traced.”
I don’t look back this time, just walk, careful to maintain a steady pace and not run like I want to. To get away as quickly as possible. Utter fury boils inside my chest, fueled by confusion and fatigue.
The Triads are broken, but they’re not unfixable. They can’t be.
The city won’t survive without us.
Chapter Six
Greg’s dead. He bled out from his leg wound, and while I know it isn’t my fault, I still feel like I should apologize to him. He’s just one more body among dozens of others, carefully arranged in respectful rows beneath a haphazardly erected tent. The smell of death is suffocating in the summer heat, but no one’s bothering me so I stay put, comfortable here among the dead.
I think Greg is one of Sharpe’s Hunters, and he’s also the first to die from today’s engagement. Some are wounded, and they’re being tended to under another tent. I’m not sure what’s become of Bastian—if he’s alive or dead—and I’m not sure I care. Others are taking care of things, so I allow myself the luxury of just sitting and thinking, drumming up enough energy to walk to one of the Jeeps later when we evacuate.
Evacuate. It’s a foreign word to me, and one I just can’t assign to Boot Camp. We’ve always been here. Okay, realistically, we’ve been here about eight years, but for every Hunter currently active, it’s always been here. It’s been our heart, the lifeblood of the Triads. Leaving it all behind feels like walking away from a funeral—fully aware that what I’m walking away from is never coming back, no matter how much I want it to.
We have a city to protect. We have able-bodied Hunters and Handlers who need someone to guide them. If all the brass are truly dead, someone has to step up and make decisions. Maybe Kismet or Baylor, I don’t know. Wyatt’s obviously turned his back on everything he once believed in.
No, not going there. Just thinking Wyatt’s name infuriates me all over again, and makes me second-guess returning, coming back into his life when he’s managed to accept that I was gone. I should have stayed away, for both of our sakes.
Phineas is smart to approach from a wide angle, giving me plenty of time to see him. I am so not in the mood to be startled. He has a bottle of water and a banana, and he’s stripped out of his black shirt and shoulder holsters. Given the heat, I kind of wish I could strip down a little more. I might have, too, if I wasn’t so embarrassed about my starved and tortured appearance.
“They’re bringing food out of the cafeteria,” Phin says as he stoops under the tent. He squats in front of me and holds out the banana. “Hungry?”
“Famished. Thank you.
” I start to peel the banana, more grateful than I can properly convey. The first bite is too sweet, too sticky, but I force it down anyway, glad it’s solid. It isn’t a milkshake. And it isn’t lemon.
My stomach clenches and twirls at the memory of those awful protein smoothies, and I choke on the second bite. Spit it out. Phin takes the banana away and presses the bottle of water into my hand. I manage a few sips. Much more and I’ll probably vomit for real.
“I’m sorry, Evy.”
“Not your fault. You have no idea how much I want to be able to eat that.” Almost as much as I want a cold shower. I rinsed my hands before hiding in the tent of death, but my body is sticky with blood, sweat, and a layer of grime that looks like a second skin. If I look half as gross as I feel …
“Perhaps something blander.”
“Something tells me the kitchen isn’t taking orders.”
His mouth quirks. “Once we leave, then. It shouldn’t be much longer.”
“I have nowhere to go, Phin.” The words eject themselves before I can self-edit, and a pang of sadness sits heavily in my chest. It isn’t completely true—I still have the old apartment on Cottage Place. I just don’t want to go back there. And so far, no one has offered me an alternative. Or asked for my help.
He frowns, eyebrows furrowing. “You assume Wyatt won’t ask you to accompany him?”
“Well, he didn’t seem too keen on the idea the last time we talked.”
“Wyatt is used to being in control, to making his own decisions. He’s now part of something over which he does not have complete control.”
I snort, then sip more water. Still hot, still queasy, but definitely less likely to barf at any moment. “So who is in control? This Astrid chick?”
“Please don’t call her ‘chick’ to her face. And yes, Astrid was the leader of the Assembly’s private security force. She helped clean up Belle’s mess last month. She also delivered punishment to Snow.”
Impressive résumé. “Felia?”
“Correct.”
So eye color really does run in Clans, as every copper-eyed were I’ve met so far has been Felia. Phin shares bright blue eyes with Joseph, Aurora, and Ava—the last of his own Clan of birds-of-prey shifters. “How about the others?”
“Marcus is Felia, as well. Leah is Ursia and Kyle is Cania.”
“Leah is a bear?” I can’t help the brief bubble of laughter at the idea of the slight woman with multicolored hair shifting into a bear—grizzly, black, panda, or teddy. It seems too ridiculous.
As if I have room to judge.
“So how’d Wyatt get mixed up in the Assembly’s little task force?” I ask.
“He was invited, same as I.”
“By Astrid?”
“Yes.”
“So she decides who to let in?”
“Mostly, but Marcus is her second, and his opinion carries a lot of weight.”
Terrific. “Any other humans?”
Phin hesitates. “Not at present. Tybalt was considered, but his loyalty to Gina Kismet and her team made him too great a risk.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Please understand, Evy, this isn’t personal. The Assembly has long seen a need to protect itself and its Clans, and now we have the means and the outside support to do so.”
“Outside support.”
He presses his lips together, an indeterminate emotion passing across his face like a shadow. “I can’t promise anything except this: you will have somewhere to go. When you were—when you went with Thackery, the Assembly was … honored by your sacrifice.”
“Phin—”
“Please, Evy.” He takes my hand and squeezes it tight. “The other Elders saw a human Hunter trade herself for a Dreg whom she called a friend. Astrid was assigned to look for you. Wyatt was out of touch these past few days because he was in the mountains with her and Marcus, following a scent trail. Wyatt may have let you go, but he never gave up hope of punishing Thackery for taking you away.”
A bubble of emotion settles in my throat and makes it difficult to breathe. He may have let you go. I can’t argue the truth in Phin’s statement. It’s too late to fix what Thackery helped us break. Wyatt and I both changed dramatically, and I doubt for the better. All we can do—all of us, I realize, as I glance at the activity beyond the tent—is to start over.
“It feels like such a small thing to say thank you,” Phin adds. “You saved many lives that day, Evy, but you saved mine as well. Again.”
I put down the bottle of water and cover our clasped hands with my other, holding tight. His touch is cotton and steel—something so unique to him and comfortingly familiar. “I don’t have many friends, Phin, but I’ll always fight for the ones I have.”
“As will I.” His eyes burn with a fierce truth.
“Just stop getting kidnapped, okay?”
He smiles. “I’ll do my best.”
“Good.”
Movement outside the tent catches my attention. A young man, probably a trainee, is standing in a patch of sunlight. His gray sweats are stained red and black, and his face is pale beneath a mop of thick brown hair. His wide eyes look around without seeming to really see. He’s scared, if his trembling hands are any indication, and more than a little lost. I don’t know him, but I can guess his story—this was his last chance to make a life, to matter. And he’s watching it burn to the ground.
My heart aches for him, and for the dozen or so others like him who have nowhere to go. And more than that, my chest burns with anger.
For the first time since waking up in Chalice Frost’s body and realizing I had a second chance at this life thing, I feel like I have a choice. A choice about my next step and where I want to go from here.
“I want to speak with Astrid,” I say.
Phin blinks. “I’m sure I can find her for you.”
“Not right this minute. I want an official meeting with the head of your Assembly task force.”
“Are you applying for a job?”
“Maybe. Does she book appointments for that?”
“There’s a first time for everything. I’ll speak with her and let you know.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. And I meant what I said, Evy, about you having a place to go, even if only for a few days. You’re more than welcome in the condo I share with Rufus.”
I nod, acknowledging without committing. Phin and Wyatt haven’t been there in several days; however, they may both return tonight, and I don’t have the strength for another fight with Wyatt. “So, any word on our evacuation progress?”
“Several large trucks are en route to assist in removing all salvageable equipment,” he replies. “I don’t think a decision has been made on the structures.”
The main building, which housed Research and Development, is a smoldering mess. The dormitory in the rear of the grounds and the entire gymnasium complex are in various states of disaster, but neither has serious structural problems. Still, if we’re really evacuating for good, everything needs to be leveled.
“Some well-placed explosives will take care of the problem, I’d think,” I say, only half-serious.
“It’s being considered.”
“Problem is, it’s too damned noisy,” Kismet says from somewhere behind us.
I twist my head to look at her, as sweaty and blood-smeared as the rest of us. “Fire?”
“Harder to control. We don’t want the whole mountain to go. Normally, we’d ask the Fey for help, but—”
A little hard to do with the brass dead, the entire Council ignoring us, and very little left in the way of magical allies. “Right,” I say. “Any news on Bastian’s condition?”
Kismet takes a few steps forward. She’s short enough to not have to stoop beneath the low tent. “Morgan’s taking him and two others to the hospital. Their injuries are serious and we can’t treat them here.”
It’s a risky move. Without our contacts in the police department, those medical records will be har
d to hide. Operating as Triads depended upon secrecy and the ability to move around without being bothered by the real police. It’s an advantage we’ve lost in a most spectacular manner.
“We’ll take the other injured out of here in waves,” she continues, speaking to me like an equal. It’s unsettling. “Some of the rooms in this motel will be for our little MASH unit, and the others for living in until we come up with something more permanent. The equipment can be stored in the trucks for now.”
Good plan, all around. “What kind of help is Astrid offering?” I ask.
“Assistance with transportation and any medical personnel we require.”
When she doesn’t continue, I say, “And?”
“That’s it.”
I glance at Phin, whose expression is blank. Our hands are still entwined, and I’m sure Kismet’s noticed, but I don’t give a shit. “Gee, that’s generous.”
Kismet shrugs. “She didn’t have to help us at all, Stone. Her team showing up today helped immensely. A lot more people could have been hurt or killed.”
“True.” Annoying, but true.
“And she wants to meet with us. Officially meet.”
“Meet, huh?” Looking up at Kismet is starting to hurt my neck, so I let go of Phin and carefully stand. The tarp brushes the top of my head. No dizziness, no vertigo. Score one for me. “Who’s us?”
“Me, Adrian Baylor, and you.”
I hear Phin stand up behind me, tenting the tarp upward. “Why me?” I ask. “I’m not in charge of anything.”
“Wyatt wants you included in this.”
So Wyatt spoke to Astrid about me. I can’t help wondering if it’s because of our little fight, or in spite of it. Or which makes me less crazy. “Now?”
“Tonight, after we’ve moved out and settled in.”
“I guess you and Baylor are in charge now, huh?”
A haze of grief steals briefly across her face, chased just as quickly by uncertainty. “Looks that way,” she says. “Which means you’re welcome to come with us, Stone.” Her gaze flickers over my shoulder. “Unless you have a better offer?”
“Depends on your definition.” I can’t explain why I’m leery of returning to Phin’s shared condo. Especially if Wyatt shows up.
