“This way,” Kelia says.
I follow her toward the back of the inn, ducking beneath the windows we pass. Naito’s at the back door. Aren is, too. He yanks me to the floor as soon as I enter the narrow washroom.
“Stay low,” he orders.
“I am staying low,” I snap back.
A flicker of some unidentifiable emotion shines in his eyes when I move away from him.
He says something in Fae to Naito. A second later, he and Kelia open fissures and disappear.
“They’re going to create a diversion,” Naito tells me. “When they start fissuring in the clearing, we’ll run for the trail. Aren and a few others will try to keep our path clear, but don’t stop moving.”
He rises up a little to keep a watch out the small window in the back door. Tom’s pistol is in his hand. His fingers are wrapped tightly around its grip. The firm set of his jaw indicates he’s willing to use it if necessary.
“Would your father really kill you?”
He glances at me, gives a short nod. “Yeah. He would.”
“You were a vigilante when you met Kelia?”
His expression softens at the mention of her name. “Yeah.”
Gunfire strafes our side of the inn and pings off pipes in the wall. I flatten myself on the ground, close my eyes, and pray for it to stop. In a few, long seconds, it does.
Naito shakes glass from his hair. The door’s window is completely blown out now.
The silence that follows makes me uneasy, especially when it stretches out over several minutes. I want to throw open the door and take my chances, but the rational part of my brain tells me to wait. To distract myself, I ask, “You two are happy together?”
“Yeah.” He rises to peek outside again.
“Even though most fae don’t like humans?”
“Most Court fae don’t like humans,” he corrects me. “That’s the king’s fault. He thinks we’re destroying their magic.”
“We are destroying their magic.” We’re at least damaging it.
“No. It’s cyclical. The Realm’s magic grows stronger in some centuries, weaker in others.” Naito sinks back down and studies me. “Why so many questions? You thinking about getting involved with a fae?”
“Of course not,” I say quickly. I’ve heard Naito’s theory before; fae use it to excuse the little souvenirs they take back to their world.
“I highly recommend it,” he continues. “Sex with the edarratae . . .” He shakes his head and a small smile tugs at his lips. “Trust me, you’d love it. You’d never want to be with a human again.”
I glance away, hoping Naito doesn’t notice my cheeks flushing with heat. That’s when I see two big, unblinking blue eyes staring at me. Sosch. He’s huddled in the gap between the hot-water heater and the wall.
I stretch my hand out. It’s the only invitation he needs. With a chirp-squeak, he darts into my arms. The poor thing is covered in silver dust and trembling.
“He’ll slow you down,” Naito says.
He’s right. I should leave him behind, but the grudge I’ve been holding since I found him hiding in my backpack is gone. I won’t abandon him just because he belongs to Aren.
And speaking of my backpack, it was on top of the fae’s supplies in the breakfast nook. Carrying the kimki in that will be easier than running with him in my arms, so I set Sosch on the ground, ordering him to stay.
He doesn’t. As soon as I crawl away, he chirps and follows me. Fortunately, the laundry room and breakfast nook share a wall, so I have my backpack in hand within seconds. Sosch darts into it before I return to my spot by the back door.
Naito watches me zip the bag. “The vigilantes probably wouldn’t find him.”
I shrug, then reopen the zipper a little, leaving Sosch enough room to breathe and get out if he wants.
“How much longer?” I ask, slipping the backpack on.
He doesn’t need to answer. My skin tingles an instant before a fissure opens just outside the laundry room.
“Now,” the fae says.
Naito pulls me to my feet. “Stay close.”
I don’t have time to worry about jostling Sosch. We burst from the inn’s back door and into the night. Or what’s supposed to be night. The clearing is lit with fissuring fae. The white slashes of light reflect off the pouring rain. It’s like running through a field of fireworks—the grand finale—on the Fourth of July. Gunfire accentuates the shrrip, shrrip, shrrips of the fae’s fissures as they leap in and out of this world, over and over again, faster than I can track.
“Keep moving!” Naito shouts.
My vision is blurred with light and smudged with shadows. I can barely see where I’m running, and I’m terrified I’m going to sprint straight through a fissure. Where’s the damn tree line? Rain pelts my eyes, and I swear the clearing lengthens as we cross it.
“Down!”
The moment I realize I’ve been shoved to the ground, I’m yanked back up.
“Go!”
I recognize Aren’s voice this time. He pushes me after Naito, who’s scrambling to his feet. I ignore the stitch in my side, the squirming kimki in my backpack, and keep running.
We make it to the trail, but if I thought the forest’s cover would ease some of my panic, I was wrong. I can’t see the vigilantes, but I can hear them. I hear their guns, their heavy breathing, their movements in the wet underbrush. They’re closing in on me. From my left. From my right. Shit, a camouflaged man steps right in front of me.
I skid to a stop as he raises his gun. Aims.
Aren fissures between us. A shot rings out. There’s a flash of steel as Aren’s sword cuts through the rain, cuts through the human.
Aren reaches back, grabs my arm, and thrusts me forward. “Follow Naito!”
I stumble over the gurgling vigilante, try to ignore the gaping slash angling from the top of his shoulder through his chest. My body wants to shut down, to stop moving. I’ve seen too much blood tonight, too much violence.
I crawl forward and then notice the little blue cell phone sticking out of the vigilante’s pocket. I tug it free—oh, God, I’m stealing from a dead guy—and bury it deep in my pocket.
Flipping my wet hair out of my face, I glance up. Naito’s just ahead. He peers over his shoulder, sees me down on all fours in the mud. I make a decision, scramble to my feet, spin, and run back toward the inn. After a few strides, I veer off the trail and carve my own path through the forest.
“McKenzie!” Naito shouts, but I’m sure he won’t follow me. He loves Kelia too much to risk her waiting for him at the gate. And Aren’s preoccupied. I should be able to escape long enough to make a phone call.
The underbrush entangles me. I shake loose, continue on, slipping and sliding over leaves and wet grass. I don’t know what direction I’m heading in, but I don’t care as long as it’s away.
The gunfire fades, and I no longer see fissures in the thick green of the forest. A hint of light peeks through the canopy above, and my pace slows when the trees thin up ahead. Cautious, I flatten myself against a thick oak and study the clearing. The inn isn’t located as deep into the forest as I imagined. An honest-to-goodness paved road lies just on the other side of the field. But running without cover makes me decidedly uneasy, especially when I’m not sure where I can find a safe haven.
I wrap my hands around the straps of my backpack and scan the road again, wondering how much traffic it gets on any given day, when, finally, God throws me a bone. To my left, no more than twenty yards away, an empty BMW is parked half obscured by an outcropping of trees. As an added bonus, I can get to it without crossing the field. I’m sure it belongs to the vigilantes. Hopefully, I can get to it before they return. If the fae leave any of them alive to return.
The rainwater drenching my hair and clothes weighs me down as I pick my way along the edge of the forest. With each step, I pray the humans left the keys in the car. I don’t know what I’ll do if they haven’t—I can’t hot-wire the thing—but as I draw near, I hear the engine purring beneath the sound of the falling rain. They’ve left it idling.