“Can’t or won’t?”
Balin was asking whether Jax was magically compelled to silence or just being a loyal vassal. He almost lied, but instinct—maybe talent—took over his tongue. “Won’t.”
Apparently, that was the right answer, because the man almost smiled. “Very well, Aubrey.” His gaze didn’t leave Jax’s face even though he addressed the terrier-faced woman. “Take this boy into the house. If he wants to stay with his liege, he’ll make no trouble.”
Jax stared into Balin’s eyes and gave one brief nod of agreement.
31
THEY LEFT JAX locked in a room for the entire day, with nothing to do but think about his own mistakes and imagine horrible endings to the fire at Melinda’s house. They fed him and let him out to use the bathroom, but they told him nothing. His talent bounced off most of them uselessly, and he might have thought it had failed him altogether if he hadn’t managed to get one guy to tell him the name of the town they were in. Before he could follow up with a more significant question, the terrier-faced woman smacked Jax across the mouth and sent the guy who’d answered his question away.
Jax glimpsed the mark on her wrist, right before she fattened his lip with the palm of her hand, and it was the same as the one on the two Balin men. Most of these thugs were part of the same family, Jax realized. It wasn’t that his talent wasn’t working. It just didn’t work on Balins.
On Friday morning, they escorted him out of the house but wouldn’t let him get into the hearse. “You’re riding in the car, Aubrey,” the senior Balin told him. “You’re not traveling to the same place she is.”
Jax broke out in a sweat. His whole body itched as he watched men load Evangeline’s casket into the hearse. “You swore we’d stay together.”
“No,” Balin said calmly. “I gave my word you’d get safe passage.”
“But—”
“You’ll be taken to one of my lord’s vassals for examination. He’ll determine whether or not it’s safe to take you anywhere near my lord.”
“Bring Evangeline with us, then,” Jax pleaded.
“That’s not safe for her.” Balin put his hands on his hips. “I hope I’ve not misjudged you. I don’t want to break my word, but I can. It’s not the same as a bloodline oath.”
“Is this a test? To see what I do? Because you’re making it impossible for me to fulfill my oath!” In a corner of his mind, a small, timid Jax wished the mouthy Jax would shut up.
“If you want to serve your liege,” Balin said quietly, “get in the car, pass our security test, and you’ll be there when we open that casket in six days.”
Six days before he’d see Evangeline again.
The hearse pulled away from the farmhouse. Jax ran both hands through his hair and looked up at Balin. He wants me to pass, Jax realized. He likes me. This man is a killer, and he likes me. Jax took a long, shuddering breath, then walked obediently toward the Land Rover. His heart hurt, as if the vehicle that had driven Evangeline away had torn off a chunk of him when it left. Is this the way the Crandalls feel about Riley? Or is it only when you’re failing your oath that you feel this bad?
Tegan scampered out of the house. The last time Jax had seen her, she’d been wearing her usual sweatshirt and jeans. This morning she wore shorts and a flared tank top with shiny silver sequins. She climbed into the car, over Jax, and slid out of sight just as the terrier-faced woman ran out of the farmhouse. “That little thief!” the woman hollered. “Where is she? She stole . . .”
“What?” demanded Balin. “She stole what?”
The woman stopped, glancing at the older Balin in his dark suit and his younger brother dressed the same. “Nothing,” she snapped. Jax guessed flashy tops and shorts weren’t standard issue for their brute squad.
Jax turned to his fellow prisoner. “Steal anything useful?” Tegan wiggled a hand inside a pocket of the shorts and pulled out a wad of cash. She unfolded it, checking the denominations: two fives, a ten, a few ones, and some colored bills. Mexican pesos. “Well, that’s a big help,” Jax said.
Tegan raised an eyebrow. “What’d you get?”
Jax glared. He hadn’t stolen anything. “You have a plan?”
“Escape. You?”
“I have to stay with them. They have Evangeline.”
“Then you’re an idiot.” Tegan looked like she wanted to say more, but the Balin brothers got into the car, and she clammed up.
It was a silent ride. The Balins didn’t engage in conversation, and Jax had nothing to say to Tegan. They were deep in Kentucky by evening, when the Land Rover stopped at an abandoned industrial complex behind a tall barbed-wire fence. The older Balin got out and briskly walked in first. His brother waved Jax and Tegan out of the car and in the front door. They were taken to a large, empty warehouse, where they found John Balin engaged in heated conversation with another man.
He was in his mid-twenties and wasn’t dressed like the rest of the Balin clan. He wore a baggy, untucked concert T-shirt over cargo pants. His hair was shaggy, uncombed, and jet black except for a white patch on the side of his head.
“I didn’t know anything about this!” The young man pushed a pair of wire-rimmed glasses up his nose. “Isn’t it my job to prevent you wasting time on information from a dubious source?”
“We found her, Owens. Which you failed to do.”
“I should have been there.”
“Your job is to follow orders. You keep forgetting that.” Balin’s voice was deadly cold. He’d spoken more warmly to Jax.
The guy called Owens didn’t seem to care. “Whose orders?” he demanded. “I swore my allegiance to Lord Wylit, not you.”
“Lord Wylit speaks through me.”
“Yes, well, I only have your word for that, don’t I?” Owens walked toward Jax and Tegan, his sneakers squeaking on the floor. “And who are these two? Is this really the time to recruit vassals out of middle school?”
“I brought them here for you to evaluate,” said Balin, crossing his arms. “Do it.”
Evaluate? What kind of evaluation? Jax doubted it was going to be an oral quiz. He braced himself for some sort of magical attack.
Tegan had apparently reached the same conclusion. She recoiled from the man’s approach, but Owens caught her by the back of her neck with his right hand and yanked her forward. He put his left hand on top of her head. Tegan screamed and fell to her knees.
“Hey!” Jax yelled. “Get your hands off her!”
Just as suddenly as he’d grabbed her, Owens let go. Tegan sagged to the floor. “Scent sensitive,” Owens proclaimed, looking at John Balin. “But you already knew that. Totally undisciplined, though. Worthless.”
“We supply the discipline,” Balin said dryly.
“She’s not susceptible to discipline,” Owens replied. “You’ll never make anything out of her. In fact”—he groped around in a pocket of his cargo pants, came up with a fist-sized pistol, and released the safety lock—“the best thing would be to just shoot her.”
Jax hauled Tegan to her feet and pushed her behind him. Owens eyed Jax curiously.
“Put the gun away, Owens,” Balin said evenly.
“Ask my opinion and do the opposite,” Owens muttered, thumbing the safety of his gun on. “Who could’ve predicted that?”
“I’ll worry about the girl. What do you see in the boy?” Balin prompted.