No money exchanged hands at the market, not even for the special, limited items—jeans, flour, tools, electronics, etc.—that Sanctuary received from human benefactors or in exchange for exports, such as the hardwood furniture made by the colony’s carpenters. The close-knit, isolated community needed everyone to pitch in, so anyone who provided to the whole received from the whole, not that anyone less physically able to contribute was ever left for want. They’d never survive if they adopted the human system that left some families better off than others. So, she didn’t need to stay at the counter to monitor her stock, but she did, anyway. The market was as much a social event as a means of distribution.
Her supply dwindled fast, the procession past her table steady. Everyone extended their sympathies as Lexine greeted them.
Perhaps she could keep the business going in Jac’s stead. For years, Lexine had maintained the cemetery, a place where demons visited the memorials above the ashes of their loved ones, putting her love of landscaping and her sun-tolerant eyes to work. That didn’t take up all of her time. Recently, she’d taken to helping Jac make the wine. They’d been talking about expanding to grape wine, and Jac would love it if she kept the little winery he’d put so much effort into alive and moving forward.
It would be perfect, so long as she didn’t fall for a poacher in the future. But how could something she resented so much possibly come true? She lifted a hand to her chest. Was she really so weak inside? Her thoughts drifted to Jett and a tremor took over her fingers. She nearly dropped a bottle of wine.
“Klutz. What are you doing? Thinking about boys?”
A laugh mingled with a sob at the memory of Jac taunting her years ago.
“Lex?” Ginger approached, a sack of vegetables in her arms, her shoulder-length, reddish-brown hair framing her face. “Are you all right?”
“Hey, G, I’m…fine.” Setting the bottle down, Lexine leaned over the counter and pulled her friend into a hug. “How are you holding up? I’m surprised they let you out of the house.”
Ginger nodded over her shoulder with a tight smile. A group of Guardians spread out in the crowd. “Some girls get roses. I get an escort of a half-dozen homicidal demons. Wren loves me.”
“Ah, so romantic.” Lexine chuckled and handed the last bottle of wine off to an older demon. She left the counter, setting the cart aside to pick up later, and fell into step next to Ginger. They made their way through the market, more talking than shopping, the Guardian entourage pacing them.
“The funerals are tomorrow night,” Ginger said, touching Lexine’s arm. “Really, how are you doing?”
“You know me. I’m keeping busy, trying not to fall apart.”
“There’s nothing wrong with falling apart for a little while. But I know how you feel. I’m making a dinner tonight that’ll take me hours to prepare, trying to keep my mind off what happened today. Making myself sick with anger won’t help anything, and the twins pick up on it and cry.”
As Lexine browsed soaps and other toiletries to replace the ones she’d lost in her destroyed apartment, she leaned toward the other woman and murmured, “When things settle down, I hope to spend some time with Jett.”
“Jett? Does he talk to you?”
“Yes.” Lexine selected unscented soap. Jett was unconventional, for sure, but most demons hated perfumes that covered an individual’s natural scent, and he certainly didn’t strike her as a lavender-and-rose sort of male.
“You’re blushing!”
Lexine nodded.
“Hmm.” Ginger grinned, pure feminine mischief glinting in her eyes. “Excellent.”
You have no idea, Lexine thought as she steered them toward the tailor shop.
…
Jett turned onto Sanctuary’s access road and pulled over. He got out, tugged off his bloodied shirt, and tore long strips from the unsoiled sleeve. A stream ran along the side of the road. He climbed down, rinsed the blood from his skin, and wrapped the torn cotton around his wounded shoulder. A moderate healing fever would close the injury soon enough.
“Fucking-A.” Devin came around the vehicle.
“What? It won’t kill me.”
“I didn’t realize they tattooed you.”
Oh, shit. Jett hadn’t thought before pulling off his shirt. He growled and climbed back up to the road, speaking to Devin but keeping a wide distance. “Thornton never missed an opportunity to assert his control over me.” He scowled down at the scattered feathers and bloody knife etched into his arm, the poachers’ signature tattoo. Pale scars transected the image, from when he’d tried to claw the damned thing off. “That’s the reason I wear long sleeves.”
“And the scars on your back?”
“That was Lawrence.” Jett willed the memories of the whippings out of his mind. “It’s none of your business.”
Devin frowned and shook his head, but didn’t speak any words of pity. Smart demon.
“Should we go after Gwyn?” Jett moved back to the driver’s side door.
“No. She just texted that Henry disappeared in traffic and she’s on her way back.”
“Great.” He jerked the door open. Can anything go right?
They got back in the SUV and continued toward the colony. Devin called Lark and summed up the evening’s events. When he disconnected, he said, “Lark wants to see us as soon as possible.”
“Oh, goodie. This just keeps getting better.”
Devin leaned back in his seat and shut his eyes, but his face remained tense. They drove the rest of the way in silence. Jett parked near the town hall, surprised at how much those working on the building had accomplished in only a few hours. Piles of debris burned a safe distance from the building and the trees, and plastic sheeting covered the gaping hole in the second floor.
They traveled down the path to the archangel house and found Lark pacing near the edge of the lake.
Jett ground his teeth and approached the Guardian, positioning himself so that neither of the other demons blocked him from leaving if he chose to. “I take full responsibility for what happened tonight, but I don’t answer to you and I won’t tolerate a lecture.”
“You’re under the impression I intend to scold you?”
Jett arched an eyebrow.
“It was a damn good idea and stood a better chance of getting us precious information than anything else the three of you could have done,” Lark said. “But clearly, Lawrence has made your new loyalties public knowledge. From now on, we can’t assume there are any in his circles who don’t know.”
“But how did Lawrence find out?” Devin folded his arms and leaned against a tree. “Have you spoken with anyone since the day you escaped?”
“I’ve spoken to no one,” Jett said.
“I didn’t think so. What the hell?”
Lark drew a blade from a sheath at his hip, tossed it in the air and caught it by the hilt. Toss. Catch. “Lawrence is a scientist, so he is very observant and pays attention to the smallest of details.” He met Jett’s gaze, still catching the blade with ease. “He never completely broke you, and I’m sure he knows it. After the Guardians showed up at Thornton’s and you disappeared, he must have assumed you were brought back into the fold.”
“That’s possible, but there must be more to it,” Jett said. “Anything could have happened to me after that day. I could have died with the others. I could have gone elsewhere. He wouldn’t have written me into his plan to weaken the colony’s defenses unless he was damn certain.”
“Yes.” Lark frowned. Toss. Catch. “However, I think it was more a test than a crucial part of his plan. He couldn’t have seriously believed all or most of the Guardians would have left the entire colony for one child. I bet he simply wanted to see what you would do. He’s been studying you your whole life, after all.”