Thornton pulled his hand out of her grasp. “Well, this day just keeps getting better.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” Ingrid said. “You don’t look half bad for someone who’s,” she paused to choose her words carefully, “passed on.”
“I haven’t passed on yet,” he insisted.
“No. No, I suppose you haven’t,” she said. She turned to me next and stuck out her hand. “And you are…?”
I looked at her hand. If I took it, would she see too much? What if she saw that I was a thief? Or worse, saw the thing inside me? What if she didn’t see my aura, but instead saw nine of them—nine stolen auras stacked on top of each other like anonymous bodies in a mass grave? I wasn’t willing to risk it.
I stuck my hands in my pockets and said, “I’m Trent.”
Ingrid let her hand drop to her side. “Nice to meet all of you. Any friend of Isaac’s is a friend of mine. I just wish our meeting were under better circumstances. Please, come inside.” She escorted us down the entrance hall toward the flight of wooden stairs that led to the second floor. As we passed the kitchen, I smelled traces of pork chops and a hint of sautéed greens with garlic and lemon. My stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten in several hours, and now the hunger was catching up with me.
Bethany limped up the steps ahead of me, favoring her hurt leg. Thornton moved stiffly, as if his limbs refused to bend properly anymore. At the top of the stairs, an elaborately decorated living room ran the entire width of the extra-wide town house, its walls lined with overflowing bookcases. A set of eight upholstered, high-backed wooden chairs had been loosely arranged around the room, some against the wall and some in a semicircle around a coffee table with a wrought-iron base and a marble top. A long couch sat in the middle of the room with embroidered throw pillows at either arm. On the wall past the couch I noticed an old, blocked-off fireplace, a decorative remnant of a time when the buildings in this part of town didn’t have radiators or central heating. Its mantel was cluttered with framed pictures and Hummel figures. Above it, bolted to the wall, was a glass case containing six ornate, antique swords, their hilts together and their blades radiating out in a sunburst formation. In the far corner, near the stairs that led up to the third floor, an antique grandfather clock ticked loudly, its baroque, arrow-shaped hands showing the time as 1:30 a.m. I hadn’t realized how late it was. I’d left the fallout shelter a little past ten.
I crossed the room to the tall, narrow windows and pulled aside the thick white curtain. The street below was empty. Nothing moved along the rooftops.
“Make yourselves comfortable, I’ll be right back,” Ingrid said. She went downstairs again, the wooden steps creaking under her feet.
I took off my coat and inspected the damage. The leather on the back was ruined, shredded beyond repair. It was a shame, I liked that coat, though by now I knew better than to get attached to anything I wore. I hung it over the back of one of the upholstered chairs, and sat down. The chair’s high back rubbed against me, irritating the scratches on my back. I winced and leaned forward to take pressure off the wounds.
Bethany and Thornton sat on the couch, facing me. In the bright lights of the living room, the wound on her leg looked terrible, even through the hole in her jeans. Thornton’s skin was definitely turning from gray to a pale shade of green, especially around his eyes, his mouth, and the scar on his cheek. The three of us looked like we’d been to Hell and back. Maybe minus the back part.
“You’re sure we’ll be safe here?” I asked Bethany.
She nodded. “The ward around this house will keep anyone from finding it.”
“I didn’t even see this place until…” I paused, unsure how to describe what I saw. “Is that what a ward does?”
“It’s a spell that hides things,” Bethany said. “But it can’t hide what you’ve already seen, or what you already know is there. That’s why none of us saw the house until Ingrid showed us where it was.”
I nodded. I was starting to understand, albeit just barely. “So if the Black Knight saw it, too…”
“He didn’t,” she assured me. “He was already gone.”
I hoped she was right about that. Ward or no, I’d feel safer if we had a cache of weapons, at least.
“I don’t like just sitting here,” Thornton said. He rubbed his hands along his thighs restlessly. “I should be with Gabrielle.”
“You’ll be with her soon,” Bethany said.
“Right, once the sun comes up,” he said. He glanced at the clock. “That’ll be in, what, four hours? That’s four hours we’re wasting here. Four hours I could be spending with her, either looking for a spell to keep this amulet from shutting itself off or … or saying goodbye.”
“If Gabrielle and Isaac both think it’s best that we stay here, that’s good enough for me,” Bethany said. “It should be good enough for you, too.”
Thornton turned away from her and gnawed at his thumbnail. The nail fell off. He watched it tumble into his lap, and said, “I just don’t want to waste any time.”
Bethany didn’t answer. For what felt like a very long time, none of us spoke. The air prickled with tension. I glanced at the staircase and wondered when Ingrid was going to come back. Finally, Bethany said, “I’m sorry, Thornton. If I’d known about this place, we could have come here sooner. Maybe even avoided the warehouse altogether. Then things might have been different.”
Thornton shook his head. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I’ve been acting like an asshole because I don’t know how to cope with this. You can stop beating yourself up, Bethany. It wasn’t your fault.”
“Isaac put me in charge of this mission, remember? That means I’m responsible for everything that happens, including what happened to you. It’s as much my fault as anyone else’s.”
He tapped the amulet under his shirt. “You’re also the one who gave me my second chance. Don’t forget that.”
The steps creaked as Ingrid came back upstairs. She was carrying a silver tray laden with a ceramic teapot, four teacups, a heaping plate of cookies, and a first-aid kit. She set it down on the coffee table. “I thought you might be hungry. If you don’t mind my saying so, you all look a little worse for wear, so I brought bandages, rubbing alcohol, and a needle and thread if anyone needs stitching up. I’m not a doctor, but I know a thing or two about fixing people up after they get into scrapes.”
“Thanks,” Bethany said. “I think we can use a little of everything.”
The cookies on the table made my mouth water. I took one off the plate and bit into it, tasting oatmeal and cinnamon. It was good, really good. I finished it quickly, grabbed a handful more, and began stuffing them in my mouth.
Thornton stared at me. “My God, were you raised by wolves? Because I was, and even they didn’t eat like that.”
I looked up at him, crumbs dropping from my lips, my mouth too full to answer.
Ingrid laughed. “Leave him be, he’s hungry.” She picked up the first-aid kit and opened the lid. “So, which one of you poor, battered souls wants to be first?”
Thornton needed her attention the most. Even if he wasn’t in danger of dying from his wounds, being dead already, his shirt could only do so much to hold his insides in place. He needed to be stitched up. Thornton struggled to remove his shirt. His arms worked stiffly, especially the broken one he’d hastily reset at the bar, but he refused Bethany’s help. Once his shirt was off, he lay back on the couch and put his hands over his wounds as if he were ashamed of them. His skin had turned a sickly gray all over. An angry purple bruise painted his side where the blood had first settled when he died. Bethany got up from the couch to give him room to stretch out.