Claudius was the first to break it. “You’re asking me to share secrets, which I can’t even say exist, on the basis of a flimsily held together theory and the vision of a dead prophet.”
My hands clenched into fists beneath the table. Though at this point, all it took was hearing Claudius’s voice to set my teeth on edge.
“We’ve been over the evidence,” Ingrid said. “It is much stronger than you make it out to be. If you do not want to share what you know, then it will be on your head if the furies succeed in opening the Pit. If the histories are believed, you will regret it.”
“Perhaps.” Claudius stroked his chin, adopting an expression of the unconcerned. “But it occurs to me there might be a simpler solution than scouring the world in search of artifacts that may well have been destroyed centuries ago.”
I felt his amusement blossom in my mind, an ethereal buzzing in my skull like an imp’s wings. And like an imp, I wanted to smack it away. Instead, I gave his emotions a mental shove, but it didn’t help. Claudius’s brown eyes sparkled with amusement.
“What did you have in mind?” Dezzi asked, voicing the question everyone was clearly wondering.
Claudius stretched his arms. “You are all certain Jessica is tied to this prophecy, and Jessica is convinced the furies have been trying to keep her alive. Therefore, it stands to reason that they need her for something. If we killed her, they can’t have her. Game over.”
The room exploded. This time, I wasn’t one of the people yelling. I gawked at Claudius, and the asshole smirked at me.
The smirk knocked the shock right out of me. I seethed, focusing all my fury and hate at him. Devon had once told me being around too much lust could make a satyr queasy, like gorging on a high-fat meal. I sincerely hoped too much negativity could give Claudius an upset stomach.
“We will not tolerate comments like that.” Tom’s face was red with anger. “If you can’t keep it civil…” He trailed off, at a loss for a useful threat.
“It wasn’t a pointless comment,” Claudius said. By all appearances he was unfazed by either the furor he’d caused or the emotional punch I kept trying to throw at him. “It was a serious suggestion. You created Jessica to be a warrior. Perhaps this was meant to be her battle. A sacrifice.”
I inhaled deeply, noticing that Lucen was hovering over me. I could forgive him for it this time. “You’re an asshole,” I told Claudius.
“The satyr has a point,” Ulan said, and everyone’s heads swiveled in the goblin’s direction. “If the woman is somehow the key to all this, then her death could put an end to it.”
“Could.” Lucen gripped the back of my chair, his knuckles white. “You have no proof.”
“Lucen, sit down.” Dezzi spoke quietly, but her tone was firm.
Claudius turned a very critical eye on Lucen. The amusement I’d felt was gone, replaced by something cold. “You have little proof of anything. Why deny this but believe the rest?”
Dezzi’s hand shot out, and she grabbed Lucen’s wrist. “Sit. Now.”
“Do it,” I whispered. He was drawing Claudius’s wrath. I could feel it. I didn’t give a damn what Claudius thought of me, but I suspected Lucen could be in real trouble if the Upper Council was displeased with him.
Lucen sat, but his face was hard. The cinnamon scent of his pheromones was as potent as I’d ever noticed, but I was too angry and worried to register any lust. Throwing off power was simply what preds did when their emotions were heightened.
Tom also returned to his chair, but his hand hovered near the hilt of his sword as he did. “We are not entertaining this idea. End of discussion.”
I reached toward my own waist and patted my knife for good measure. “No, we’re not.”
“I thought you were serious about stopping the furies.” Claudius raised an eyebrow. “Dezdemona, what do you think?”
Dezzi looked as though she’d swallowed something foul, and she fidgeted with the bracelets around her wrist. Her gaze flickered once toward Lucen, or maybe toward me. “It at least deserves discussion.”
My stomach sank, but what could I expect? Openly defying Claudius was a terrible move for her, and besides, I had no reason to believe she had any true loyalty to me. Maybe if I’d accepted her offer to join her council, things would be different. She’d have reason to defend me. Then again, perhaps not. I doubted such a move would have helped my case with Claudius. His feelings toward me were clear. Having joined the satyr council would probably only have lowered Claudius’s opinion of Dezzi.
A muscle in Lucen’s jaw twitched, and he flexed his fingers on his lap. The cords of muscle in his arms flexed with it, and I could only guess what he was thinking. Thank dragons, though, he kept his mouth shut.
I couldn’t even look at Devon. He sat on Claudius’s far side, so it would have required seeing Claudius too. Devon’s silence could mean anything, but I had no reason to believe his opinion would differ from Dezzi’s.
Gunthra cleared her throat, and her gaze met mine across the table. She was curiously unreadable. “I’m not sure it’s wise to discuss anything so drastic while some members of this alliance are absent.”
“On the contrary,” Ulan said. “There is no need for the harpies to be involved at all, and if that pompous magi can’t bring himself to attend the meeting, then he abdicates responsibility. Time might be of the essence. We should be willing to discuss all possibilities and ideas, not just those the Gryphons wish to put forth. The woman’s full potential should be on the table, dead or alive.”
“The woman is right here.” My words came out like a growl. “And she is not going to sit around and listen to you discuss killing her as a solution when the only reason he brought it up—” I pointed to Claudius, unable to spit out his name, “—is because he considers me an imperfect satyr and is looking for an excuse to get rid of me.”
Lucen reached for my hand, and I shook his off before he did anything else reckless. “Jess.”
I stood. “You know what my opinion is. Have your talk without me.”
For the second day in a row, I got up and stormed out of the room.
Someone hurried after me as I approached the elevator. Hoping it wasn’t Lucen, I turned, and my shoulders sagged in relief at seeing Tom. “Don’t expect me to go back in today and listen to this.”
“I don’t.”
The elevator arrived, and Tom stepped inside with me. The blood had faded from his face, and his stress was evident in the dark circles beneath his eyes. For a moment, I felt bad for him. Tom was as much a pain in my ass as Claudius, but I was starting to accept that his intentions were good even if his methods left much to be desired.
“You following me?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I need to go back. More voices of reason are required. You should go to Headquarters and continue your training.”
“I should go to Headquarters and help find Olef’s murderer. We need the magi’s involvement, and that means we need to get to the bottom of it. Even if we can’t point fingers at a specific fury, pointing to their race would help.”
“I agree, but especially in light of what’s going on in the meeting, I think it’s more important than ever that you prove how much more useful you are alive than dead.” The elevator stopped on the ground floor. Tom held the door open with his hand but stayed put. “Skip reading about laws and regulations, and practice your magic and how to kill things.”
Actually that didn’t sound like a bad idea. I knew exactly whose head I would imagine during target practice.
Chapter Sixteen
Instead of heading straight to the shooting range when I got to Headquarter’s training facility, I changed into my workout clothes and went to the gym.
Until Tom had showed me this place a week ago, I hadn’t known the building housed any such thing in the basement. But house a gym it did, and a nice one to
o. It made sense that the Gryphons would want training and exercise space nearby for their use.
Stepping into the gym, I stretched my arms over my head and inhaled the scent of rubber and stale sweat. Gross, yet comfortingly familiar. The gym was divided into two sections, half given over to your standard equipment—treadmills and weight benches and the like—and the other half to more combat-style training. The latter side contained two punching bags and several large mats. On the walls, an array of practice weapons had been hung, along with body padding to facilitate sparring.
My gaze rested on the punching bags. They sounded about right for my mood. I’d been wanting to punch someone for days, and if I couldn’t actually hit Claudius for what he’d done, I could pretend to.
Besides me, the gym was mostly empty. A Gryphon who had on a pair of headphones was using a treadmill, and she ignored me. I adjusted my ponytail, did a series of light stretches, then began whaling on one of the bags.
The rush of endorphins did wonders for my mood even though I suspected my muscles weren’t going to be pleased tomorrow. I should have been holding back, focusing on technique and good form. But naturally I wasn’t. With every punch I threw, I envisioned the bag as Claudius’s face, and the only thing that mattered was power. I wanted to smash his perfect nose into a pancake, and so I grew sore and tired way too quickly.
“Whoa there, ex-partner. You’re going to hurt something.”
I dropped a roundhouse kick on the bag in frustration and spun to face Andre. “I didn’t see you come in.”
“I don’t think you’ve been seeing anything. Someone having a bad day?”
I bent over, catching my breath and flexing my knuckles. “Let’s just say that right now a group of preds are calmly discussing whether they should kill me for the good of all living creatures.”
To his credit, Andre didn’t ask why. “I suppose that would be a no. I’m also thinking this isn’t the first time preds have pondered killing you.”
“No, but it is the first time the word ‘good’ has factored into their decision.”
Andre set an mp3 player down on his sweatshirt. “Since when do preds care for the good of anything except themselves?”
“Well, as was once pointed out to me, dead humans make for lousy food, and the end of the world as we know it would leave lots of dead humans.”
“I guess that’s true. So you’re planning on bringing about the end of the world, are you?”
I just smiled and silently cursed my slip-up. Andre didn’t press.
Sweat ran down my nose, and I wiped it away, listening to the rhythmic sound of the treadmill. Memories of the night Andre and I had almost died played through my head, unbidden and unwanted. Andre half-naked, straddling me, the sweat running down his taut stomach. Me clawing at his pants zipper and wrapping my hands…
I remained bent over longer, pretending to pant for air that I no longer needed so I didn’t have to look at him. Damn Lucrezia and the way she’d cursed us.
Judging by the potent pickled-olive taste of Andre’s embarrassment, he was having similar flashbacks.
Had events gone differently, I might have slept with Andre anyway. I’d certainly thought about it at the time, and I could tell he had too. Ultimately, though, there never would have been anything between us except friendship. I was done contemplating normal—AKA human—relationships, but Lucrezia’s schemes had made even my memories a challenge.
“How’s your head?” I asked, biting my lip.
“Good,” Andre said, a little too enthusiastically. “My head healed fine. My psyche is another story, but that’s not your fault.”
I offered him my best attempt at a smile, but it came out more like a cringe. “I look forward to testifying at Lucrezia’s trial.”
Assuming I lived long enough.
“Honestly, I can’t say the same.” Andre gave me a look of disbelief as he started stretching. “I am not ready to have everything that happened that night become public knowledge.”
“I was assuming we wouldn’t have to delve into the more salacious details.”
Andre’s expression suggested I might be assuming too much. “Let’s hope not. By the way, I could use a sparring partner, and I do believe someone told me you’re supposed to be doing weapons training.”
“You want to spar?”
Andre smiled hesitantly. “So long as no chairs are involved. Let’s go for it.”
The longer we talked, the weaker his emotions tasted, and consequently, my own discomfort eased with his. It was about time. My life could be going to hell everywhere else, but if I could salvage a friendship, the day wouldn’t be a total disaster.
Some of my gloomy mood lifted. “Let’s.”
Andre picked up one of the practice blades that imitated a standard-sized Gryphon sword. “You game?”
“Sure.” I grabbed a matching one and swung it around a few times, loosening my wrists. “So any movement on Olef’s case?”
Andre pulled on a pair of gloves. “Not much. We’ve started interviewing neighbors and associates, gathering financials, all the usual. You still think the case is connected to what you’re working on?”
“Positive. I don’t think you’re going to find a motive by interviewing people.”
“Uh-huh.” He strolled to the center of the nearest mat, swinging his arms. “Yet there’s obviously a motive. What is it? If you suspect something, I don’t get why I haven’t been told.”
“Talk to Tom.”
Andre grunted. “That’s like talking to a wall.”
I laughed and started to make a joke about walls being friendlier, then changed my mind. A new idea was occurring to me. If my assumption about why Olef was killed was correct, it meant the furies had found out he possessed crucial information. And how would they have done that? It was certainly possible they’d managed it on their own, but it was also possible—perhaps even likely—they’d found out the same way they’d found out about Phoenix.
What if someone in the Brotherhood had clued them in to Olef’s research or the many visions he’d had?
I lowered my voice. “This might not be related to your case exactly, but then again. I think someone in the Gryphons might be leaking sensitive information to the furies, and that might be what got Olef killed.”
Andre stared at me a moment, and I hoped he’d be curious enough to take the bait. “That’s a serious accusation.”
“Against a potentially very powerful Gryphon, which is probably why the people I’ve mentioned it to are reluctant to do much investigating. But I’d bet my life that Olef’s death is due to the furies, and that could make it the second time confidential information has reached them. I don’t believe it’s a coincidence.”
Andre raised his practice blade. “You have suspects?”
I adjusted my stance, mimicking Andre’s form. While I’d taken martial arts since I was a kid, the Gryphons had their own unique fighting style, one that relied heavily on speed. With short, quick strikes, they danced in and out of an opponent’s immediate range. It would minimize the length of time a Gryphon needed to get close to a pred, and since all it took was a nick with a salamander fire-forged blade to do serious damage, they didn’t need any fancy moves to disarm or disable their opponents.
“I have a list of possibilities, but not the means to investigate them myself.” I batted my eyelashes in an attempt to lighten the seriousness of what I was suggesting.
Andre snorted, but he looked thoughtful too. “Send it to me, and I’ll see what I can find out. No promises.”
A heavy weight lifted from my shoulders. Although I knew checking out my list of names couldn’t be Andre’s top priority, it was more than I could do on my own. I’d take what I could get. “That would be awesome.”
To thank him, I lunged at Andre, and he easily countered.
For the next f
orty-five minutes, we jumped and skittered around the mat, him offering tips and me occasionally sharing some of my own while we smacked the crap out of each other.
Sweat rolled down my back, and Andre’s tan skin gleamed with it. Given his skill and greater size, I felt good knowing I’d made him work. Not only would I be sore tomorrow, I’d be bruised. But it would be worth it. With every hit or laugh, the past dissipated. We weren’t just beating each other up, but our awkward memories as well.
In fact, the exercise had been exactly what I needed to soothe the edges on multiple areas of my life. Endorphins were wonderful. Claudius’s threat and the meeting’s lack of progress hung over my head, but I was able to ignore them temporarily, lost in the need to dodge, block and attack.
When we called it quits, I chugged some water and hung up the practice blade, breathing hard and thinking about next moves. A good first one would be to call Lucen or Tom and find out what was happening at the meeting. If the meeting was still going on, that was.
Andre wiped his face with a towel. “Look at that. I think it’s beer o’clock.”
As I checked the time, my stomach growled. “A beer sounds pretty good.”
“I’m not surprised. You looked like you needed one, or three, earlier.”
“More like a six-pack.”
Andre grinned. “You got time?”
Biting my lip, I checked the clock again. Why not? I liked hanging out with Andre, and I especially liked things between us returning to normal. Nothing said I couldn’t text Tom or Lucen from a bar. “Sure.”
Showered and changed into my street clothes, I met Andre in the lobby fifteen minutes later.
“I’ve rounded up a few more people,” Andre said as we headed outside. “They’ll meet us in about ten minutes.”
The bar Andre had in mind was one I’d gone to with him once before. It was a few blocks from Headquarters, squished between a chain restaurant and an office supply store. Around this time of day it would be packed as businesses emptied for the evening and happy hour turned into hours, plural.
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