Aren places his hand on the small of my back. “Trev and I are going to go back to Corrist.”
Since the nearest gate is over an hour away by car, it makes sense.
“Are we taking the vigilantes there?” I ask, turning to- ward him.
“The high nobles are already complaining about the other one,” Trev says before Aren can answer. “Lena won’t be happy to have to make excuses for three more suddenly appearing.”
The “other one” is Glazunov. We’re going to have to do something with him. We can’t just leave him in the Realm forever.
“We can take them to my place,” Naito says, sliding the van’s door shut. “It’s a longer drive, but there’s a gate within walking distance. We can decide what to do with them and the serum when we get there.”
“Vials from both batches are here,” Lee says, closing the black case. “There’s also a barbiturate that can knock a human out in a few minutes or a fae in thirty seconds or less if it’s injected.”
Naito looks at his brother. “You spent a lot of time with Dad.”
Lee’s mouth tightens. He closes the briefcase without a word.
Aren’s hand is on my hip. He slides his thumb over it, back and forth in an absent caress.
“See you at Naito’s then?” I say.
He looks down at me, smiles, then nods. “Tonight.”
I love hearing the promise that rides on his words.
BECAUSE of a wreck on the highway, it takes two hours to get to Naito’s house on the south side of Denver. Trev’s waiting for us. Aren needed to talk to Lena before he fissured back here, so he sent Trev to help us get the vigilantes inside. As soon as we secure them in the basement, Trev collapses on the couch.
I don’t think he intends to go to sleep, but within two minutes, he’s out cold and snoring.
An unexpected tendril of sympathy twists its way through me. While Naito and Lee hole up in Naito’s study, I grab a blanket out of a closet and lay it over the sleeping fae. I know he’s not the only one of Lena’s people who is tired—they all are—and I wish there was something I could do to help them get rest soon. But all I am is a reliable set of eyes and a shadow-reader. A shadow-reader who might have lost some of her skills.
Quietly, I leave Trev and head to the kitchen. I haven’t eaten anything since we left Nick’s, and I’m sure Naito and Lee are hungry, too. I check the pantry for options, then the fridge. Apparently, Naito hasn’t been here in months. The milk is way past expired, and the leftovers in a plastic container are fuzzy and unidentifiable.
I toss both into the trash and am about to open the freezer when tension spikes through Kyol. I pause with my hand on the door, tilting my head as if I can hear his thoughts, but he slams his mental walls into place, making himself the hard, unemotional soldier again.
I open the freezer, look inside, but my thoughts are completely centered on Kyol. He feels . . . strange. I don’t understand what’s going on. He’s not fighting—I’m certain of that—so why is there a strand of horror woven into his emotions?
My brain registers a frozen pizza in the freezer. I pull it out as I try to draw Kyol’s emotions across the life-bond. They’re faint behind his wall. I wouldn’t feel them at all if I weren’t concentrating on him.
Another surge of emotion pounds through him. He shuts it down before I can identify it, but screw that. I won’t stay here wondering what the hell’s going on there.
“Trev,” I call out, throwing the pizza back into the freezer.
He doesn’t respond, and when I get to the living room, he’s still lying unmoving on the couch.
“Trev,” I say again, stopping less than a foot away from his head. He turns his head to the side and lets out another snore.
Really? Fae have better hearing than humans, and they’re supposed to be bad-ass fighters. You’d think they’d all be light sleepers, springing to their feet, ready to defend themselves at a moment’s notice.
Maybe Trev is just that tired.
“Trev!” I say, shaking his shoulder.
Trev twists off the couch so quickly, he nearly barrels into me. He lets out a curse when he hits the ground, his nose inches away from the sword he left lying in its scabbard on the floor. He reaches for it, but I step on its hilt first.
“Relax, it’s me,” I tell him.
He looks up, still half-asleep, I swear. “McKenzie?”
“I need you to take me to the Realm.”
“What’s wrong?” he demands, waking all at once. He scans the living room as he jerks his sword out from beneath my shoe.
“I don’t know,” I tell him.
He rises, his gaze finishing its sweep of the room before resting on me. “You don’t know?”
“I need to talk to Kyol.”
Trev scowls. “It can wait until the morning.”
“No, it can’t. I need you to fissure me there now.”
“I’m sure Taltrayn is busy.” He sinks back down on the couch.
“Something’s wrong, Trev,” I say, and when he looks up at me now, something clicks. I see it in his eyes, the suspicion.
“How do you know?” he asks.
When I don’t answer, he lets out a short, dry laugh. “The fae who were at the veligh when the remnants attacked said you’d died. I thought they were exaggerating your injuries and that the rumors of your resurrection were Aren’s doing. I never thought . . .” He shakes his head. “You’re sure something’s wrong?”
I didn’t die—the life-bond kept me alive—but all I do is nod.
Trev lets out a tired sigh, then rises. “Let’s go.”
TWENTY-TWO
WE’VE FISSURED INTO one of the safe houses Lena’s set up just outside the silver wall. Trev opens the front door and leads the way out.
It’s early morning in Corrist. The first rays of sunlight are just beginning to smear the lower portion of the sky. The street is uncharacteristically crowded for the early hour, though, and no one looks like they just woke up. They look like they’ve been up all night.
A shout rings out from down the street. The fae it came from has a sword in his hand. He raises it into the air and yells, “Cadig!” the same huzzah the fae were chanting after Lena burned the ledgers.
“Are they still celebrating?” I ask Trev.
“I’m not sure,” Trev says hesitantly. His hand is on the hilt of his sword. The chanting fae down the street isn’t the only one who has his blade out now. Others have joined him, yelling as they thrust their weapons toward the sky. “We need to get inside the wall.”
I nod, already walking toward the wall of silver towering over the stretch of homes and shops in front of us. A narrow alley leads between an anchor-stone store and a cafe. We follow a trio of fae down the pathway and pass more than a few other people heading back our way. One of the latter locks his gaze on me. My chaos lusters are bright in the still-dark morning, especially with us eclipsed in the shadows of the alley. I return the fae’s stare, keep my shoulders straight and confident until the fae’s gaze falters.
We emerge from the alley not far from the western entrance to the Inner City. Trev stays close by my side, so close, the lightning on my skin flashes erratically across my left elbow, threatening to leap into him at the slightest brush. But he’s not going to step away anytime soon. He might not be my biggest fan, but he’ll protect me with his life, and that’s something he might very well have to do. Something isn’t right in Corrist.
It’s not unusual for the gates to the Inner City to be closed overnight, but it is unusual for so many people to be gathering in front of them this early in the morning. They should be opening soon, but I’m not even sure the fae want to go inside. The air buzzes with their shouts and chants and the low, constant murmur of a thousand conversations.