by Cecily White
“She’s lodging with Harvey at the flat in case any family members show up.”
I frowned. Jack and I had hidden at Luc’s French Quarter townhouse for a few hours last fall while we figured out how not to get killed. Nice place, but hardly the same caliber as the mansion.
“It’s considered untoward to share quarters with non-Immortals,” Luc explained. “Mum dislikes the stigma.”
“Fabulous,” I groaned, tugging the blanket around my legs. “Whatever, it’s just as well. I feel weird with her in the house, especially knowing Jack’s here, too.”
At the mention of Jack, Luc dropped his gaze to his hands. “About that, we need to talk.”
“Yes,” I agreed, “we do. I have tons of questions about this whole prophecy thing, and you and Jack have been about as helpful as an infected toenail.”
“I meant about what happened at dinner.”
“Oh.” I frowned. “That was an accident.”
“It’s always an accident,” he said. “That’s not my concern. I’m talking about what happened after.”
“After?”
He reached across the bed and pressed an index finger against my shoulder. Like a static electricity halo, a tiny pearly glow appeared. “This can’t be normal.”
I peered at him over my pink comforter but said nothing. Honestly, what could I say?
No, a bond thread snapping and reattaching itself to a guy who didn’t even share my species’ area code wasn’t normal. But I wasn’t normal. Neither was he.
The problem was, I had no idea anymore what defined normal. Life had been so shaken up and spit out in pieces, it left me feeling like a completely different person. I wanted things to go back to the way they were before, but even then I wasn’t sure which version of before I really wanted. My brain ached from the evening’s stress, my body thrummed with pain and Crossworlds residue, and deep down—on a very deep, visceral level—I wanted nothing more than to be unconscious.
“I heard you on the phone earlier,” I said, propping myself up on an elbow. “My arms feel like lead, my head is killing me, and I still have to brush out my hair. But as soon as I’ve done all that, I’m going to stake out your room and follow you to wherever you’re going. Just so you know.”
Luc turned his head an inch to face the window. Beyond his reflection, pinpricks of light poked through the night sky, eclipsed only by the brilliance of the moon. It amazed me sometimes how human he could appear, his hands fidgeting lightly in his lap, skin scented with the musky residue of magic and whiskey. Almost like a real guy.
“Luc,” I said, my voice weary, “why can’t you just take me with you?”
It took him a second to reply, and when he did, it came out more as a sigh. “I honestly don’t even know anymore.”
We sat like that for a couple seconds in silence, neither of us looking at each other. It felt like I was supposed to say something, but I had no idea what.
“So, I’m going to kill Jack, huh?” I eventually asked.
“That’s the rumor.”
“Will it be messy? And painful?”
“To be sure.”
“Mmm,” I said. “Can I kill Annabelle first?”
“That can be arranged.” Luc smiled then, and I couldn’t stop myself from grinning back. At some point, the drama of it all just got absurd. If you didn’t find a way to laugh, you’d probably start eating Styrofoam for breakfast.
“I’m leaving in ten minutes,” he said and started to stand. “I’ll be exiting the south garage door and traveling by foot. Can I trust you not to follow me?”
“I make no promises,” I replied.
“Then you’ll have no promises to break.” He switched off the light on my bedside table and started toward the door. “Wear comfortable shoes. And bring a coat.”
“I will. And Luc?”
He paused.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he said, and the door clicked shut.
I waited a few seconds before rolling to my side. With the reflection gone from the window, the sky outside exploded with stars. It was beautiful, in an intergalactic mess sort of way. Like someone had crushed diamonds and scattered a handful of the glittering dust across black velvet. It sent shivers up my already freezing spine.
Once his footsteps had faded, I slipped deeper into the covers, absently fingering my cell phone. Jack had given me specific instructions only to use it for texts, and only in an emergency. Did tonight count as an emergency?
I thought so.
U awake?
Jack’s reply came back almost instantly. Unpacking. You?
In bed, I texted back. What wing are you in?
East.
I paused for a few moments. The east wing. That meant he was less than a hundred feet away from me.
Can I come over? Two minutes, I promise.
The phone lay silent for so long this time, I wondered if he’d gotten the message.
Jack? I texted again after a few minutes.
He finally replied. Talk tomorrow. Need to do a few things first.
I sighed. Tomorrow, huh? Can we run away to Paris then?
This time the response came back quickly. Not unless your French has improved since last week’s exam. Go to sleep. Talk later.
Don’t tell me what to do, I texted back. Love you.
Love you, too.
It wasn’t the snugglefest I’d hoped for, but it would have to do. I slipped my feet out from under the covers and into my waiting sneakers.
True to his word, Luc emerged from the south garage exit exactly ten minutes later. Maybe I was paranoid—wouldn’t be the first time—but it seemed like if Luc was going to be kind enough to tell me how to follow him, then I at least owed him the courtesy of being sneaky about it.
I huddled low as his footsteps faded in the direction of the French Quarter. Luc got so much practice getting himself noticed, it never really occurred to me that he could be sneaky. As I followed him now, I could tell that notion was all wrong.
In the first three blocks alone, he shifted directions twice, disappeared down an alley, waited at a bus stop, then dashed across the street as soon as the bus pulled up. Seriously, if I hadn’t understood that he was using evasion tactics, it would have driven me up a tree. By the time he stopped in front of a warehouse apartment building in the central business district, I was ready to call it a night and go submerge my fingers in a pot of steaming coffee.
Fortunately, there was a stone alcove a few buildings down that I was able to scoot into. Across the street, Luc stood with his back to me, staring up at a rather nondescript brick wall. I had no idea what he was waiting for, but I dearly wished he’d get on with it. The sooner he went in the front door, the sooner I could get around to figuring out my own backdoor way in. Not only was I freezing my butt off, but the smell here was overwhelming. Cotton candy and popcorn and chocolate, along with that decidedly human funk underneath the soap and bathroom aroma. It only made sense once I realized I was standing outside the Children’s Museum.
I recognized it because my father had tried to take me there years ago, after Mom died—his last-ditch attempt to make things normal for me. He’d bought me snacks, had balloon animals made for me in Armstrong Park, the whole nine yards. I think it was somewhere between the bubble exhibit and the pretend grocery store that I summoned a Nyrax demon.
Yup.
The rest of the afternoon was spent fleeing for our lives and explaining to Animal Control how a rabid spider monkey had managed to get free inside the museum.
I shook off the memory and pulled my gaze back to the street as a vague wave of nausea settled in my belly. Because right in the spot where Luc used to be now lay a curiously empty patch of concrete.
Chapter Ten:
Evil Is as Evil Does
At first glance, it looked like any other flat, bricked-up surface. Boring. Worn in odd patches and marked with water stains from the Katrina floodwaters. It wasn’t until I
narrowed my gaze and cocked my chin down an inch that I saw it.
A shimmer.
That was all. Not much, but enough to let me know someone with serious power had bothered to ward an entrance there. A mixture of determination and idiocy invaded me as I crossed the street to the building. Of course, Luc wouldn’t use the front door. If anyone was stupid enough to walk through the front door of something that heavily warded, probably all they’d see was a dusty foyer. Maybe a few roaches.
What shook me was that I hadn’t noticed the wards sooner. Were the warders getting better, or was I losing my touch? My hands gave a telltale tingle as I spread them over the brick surface. Definitely powered by Crossworlds energy.
“Vide veritas,” I whispered, and the brick gave a shudder.
Nobody else would have seen it. In fact, if anyone had been watching, all they would have seen was a moronic, pathologically pale schoolgirl making hand-puppet moon shadows on a wall. Which is all I wanted them to see.
“Abertura.”
A soft whoosh of air whistled past as the secret door opened, and I stepped into the brick. Power crackled over my skin—uncomfortable, but nothing compared to the zip I’d gotten off St. Michael’s school wards lately.
It took a moment for my eyes to adjust.
I’m not sure what I’d expected to see when things finally blinked into focus. Dancing bears? A demon rave party? Whatever I’d anticipated, it certainly wasn’t Veronica Manning in a hot pink sports bra, in the middle of a boxing ring, going toe-to-toe with a thirteen-year-old werewolf.
No kidding.
A pink sports bra.
“Watch it, fur ball. You broke my nail,” she shrieked and launched herself at the terrified were-teen.
Who, shockingly enough, launched himself right back.
It was like one of those scenes in a cartoon, where there’s just a big scuffle of movement and dust and fur, and even though you can’t see a darned thing, you can be reasonably sure someone’ll emerge with the tar beat out of them.
Utterly flummoxed, I took a moment to assess the surroundings.
It was a clumsily assembled space, with cheap plywood walls and a swinging door at the far end that hung on its hinge at a tilt. The door had a paper sign taped to it, hastily scrawled with the words Coffee Lounge (Decaf Only). Not that I would want to drink coffee in there anyway, but the decaf sure solidified it.
A bulletin board covered most of the left wall, with pages of paper covered in names hung in organized rows. It almost looked like a bookie’s office, with names paired against one another, then the loser’s name scratched out and the winner’s carried to the column below.
What the heck was this, anyway, an interspecies fight club?
“Separate.” An authoritative voice sounded from the corner opposite mine.
My ears perked up. I knew that voice, and not just from the phone call with Luc. It scratched at the back of my head like an emery board. Staying in the nook near the entry, I rose on tiptoes to see over the boxing ring.
“Self-restraint,” he said as the shadows began to shift. “Every Guardian you encounter will be meticulously trained in self-discipline. Emotion corrupts control. It’s a weakness in battle. If you lose control for even an instant, you will die.”
Yup, I knew that voice. Almost as well as I knew that face—squared features, warm teddy-bear eyes, cheeks that make you want to pinch them and make baby noises. The difference was, every other time I’d looked at him, all I had seen was a friend.
Tonight, for the first time, I saw a fighter.
Matt’s hair stuck out in chaotic patches, and the lean muscles of his back and shoulders bulged beneath a thin white T-shirt. Even his jeans looked rugged and well-worn, certainly nothing Lisa would have dressed him in. I couldn’t help staring. This was not a version of Matt I’d seen before. This guy looked comfortable. And in charge.
“Unreal,” I breathed then clapped a hand over my mouth.
Totally pointless. I might as well have shouted it. Every head in the room—over a dozen, as it turned out—swiveled to stare at me.
You know those moments when you realize you’ve screwed up royally, and no matter how hard you close your eyes and wish, the universe steadfastly refuses to rewind itself so you can have a fifteen-second do-over?
Uh-huh. Just like that.
Katie, with her rough-shorn hair and newly muscled arms, took a defiant stance. Veronica planted one hand at her hip and leveled me with a glare I hadn’t seen since Lisa left. Skye—who had apparently come with Veronica—looked ready to bolt for the door. Or the magical wall exit, whatever.
Even the were-teen in the fighting ring didn’t move except to cock an eyebrow. He was one of the kids Jack never let fight because they were too young or too green or too wild. But the way he eyed me today, all purposeful and determined, he didn’t look wild. He looked focused.
Matt sighed and climbed out of the ring.
“Touch me and you burn,” I said, by way of greeting.
He smirked, but stopped a few feet away from me, just in case. “Would the Council condone you attacking an off-grid Watcher?”
“Do I care what the Council says?”
That made him smile wider. “That’s my girl.”
For a second, we looked at each other. It was weird, seeing him again. Of course, the weirdest thing was that, in a lot of ways, it wasn’t weird at all. He was still just Matt. Lisa’s perpetual ex-boyfriend. The guy who could make me smile even in the darkest of situations. And suddenly, we were friends again, hanging out in a warehouse, ready to kick some demon ass.
“I missed you, Ami.”
Matt opened his arms for a hug, which I walked into without hesitation. Luc slouched against the left wall near the bulletin board, looking smug. Over Matt’s shoulder, I mouthed to him, “Thank you.”
He did a little twirl with his hand and bowed, then retreated back to his slouchy position.
“So, does someone want to tell me what’s going on here?” I asked when we’d all finished having our moment.
Nobody said a word for the longest time, then Veronica replied, “We’re training.”
“For what? Teen Wolf fight scenes?”
The were-kid in the ring chuckled until Vee shot him a glare. “For the war, duh. Where have you been?”
I looked at Matt. “Is she sniffing hair product?”
“Not in the last few hours. Well, at least not the last thirty minutes,” he corrected himself.
Across the room, Luc rolled his eyes. “Marino, you’re in charge. The rest of you, carry on.”
Nimble as a deer, Matt leaped onto the ledge of the fighting ring and rounded the outer perimeter. This time I didn’t argue when Luc took my hand and guided me down the makeshift hallway to the office. Or the coffee lounge…whatever you wanted to call it. Shivers shot through my fingers, but nothing lit up. Thank heaven.
I waited until he closed the door before I said, “Really?”
“You’re upset,” he guessed.
“Whatever gave you that idea?”
Luc slumped against the doorframe, hands pocketed. It looked casual, but there was a slight flush to his cheeks. “Things are complicated, Amelie. I don’t expect you to understand.”
“Not surprising, since you tell me nothing.”
“I let you follow me here, didn’t I?”
“I would have done that anyway. Or weren’t you listening?” It was all I could do not to smack him. “Do you honestly think I don’t need to know about my friends being dragged into illegal training sessions for an imaginary war that doesn’t exist? What in the world is wrong with you?”
“First off, yes, I was listening. Not very well, but I was,” he said. “Secondly, that’s redundant. By definition, an imaginary war doesn’t exist. As for the third question—” He folded his arms across his infuriatingly well-defined chest. “How long have you got?”
I’m not proud of it, but the blasé attitude annoyed me enough that I let a
tiny trickle of power in. My fingers crackled with energy. My wrists burned with it. Even my heart seemed to stutter and pick up speed as I raised my hand an inch from his throat. He still didn’t move.
“Luc?”
“Yes, love?”
“Tell me what you’re planning.”
“Who says I’m planning anything?”
“Don’t make me hurt you.”
“Don’t tease me.”
I would have offered a more torturous and specific threat if I’d had time, but it was at that moment I got interrupted. “You can’t kill him, sweetheart. We need him.”
I whipped around at the sound of the words, and instantly, the power rage dissipated. I might’ve gasped, “Daddy,” or made some other equally embarrassing, infantile, squeaky noise. I honestly can’t remember. The only thing that registered was the whoosh of air as I flung myself at him from across the room. Followed by the impossibly familiar feeling of disappearing into his arms.
And, instantly, everything was okay. Fairy tales existed, happy endings were guaranteed, and the world felt warm again. I squeezed him tighter.
“Oof,” he said. “Been lifting weights?”
“I missed you. Where were you?”
Instead of answering, Bud brushed his hand over my hair as he inhaled. It was a move I remembered Mom pulling years ago. I used to wonder why she was always sniffing me, and I actually asked her one day. She said she was trying to memorize my scent. I don’t think I fully understood that before this moment.
I pressed my face into Bud’s shirt.
Cedar chips. Briefcase leather. Scotch whisky. And just a touch of something indefinably office-like. Loose-leaf paper, maybe. All the things I’d come to associate with Dad’s scent. It settled over my heart like a warm blanket.
“Daddy, for real, what are you doing here? Should I yell at you, too?”
His chest rumbled with soft laughter. “Don’t suppose you’d believe I popped in on the way to the grocery?”
I shook my head but didn’t let him go. I didn’t ever want to let him go again.
“Ah, baby,” he said. “Luc? Want to fill her in?”
“I suspect she knows.” Behind me, Luc shifted away from the door.
