“Too much time,” Strike said.
“Maybe not,” Leah countered. “Some detective work might help us narrow down the location.”
Jox said, “Carter’s also trying to run down the more distinctive tats you guys saw on the makol that attacked you, hoping we’ll be able to figure out where Iago’s doing his recruiting. No luck so far, though.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of doing some investigating for ourselves.” She turned to Strike. “Can you crack whatever box you set up and find out where Hannah, Woody, and the boys are living now? If Iago grabbed them from their home, there might be evidence of where the makol were prior to the attack. That could lead us back to Iago.”
Patience shuddered. When Brandt’s fingers brushed hers, she grabbed on tight.
Strike tipped his hand in a yes-no gesture. “I can get the address, but it’ll take some time. Lawyer one is going to have to ask lawyer two, and so forth, complete with a satellite-bounced password that changes every three days.” He paused. “I really didn’t want to know how to find them, in case . . . well, just in case.”
“In case we had a major security breach, you mean,” Rabbit said resignedly. “I’m grateful for your paranoia, because it means this wasn’t my fault. Not like Oc Ajal.”
He said something else, but Patience couldn’t make out the words over the sudden rushing in her ears.
“Oh, gods,” she whispered. Her stomach surged, knotting muscles that were already sore from retching, and felt like they were going to be at it again, real soon. “No.”
Brandt tried to tug her closer. “What?”
“No.” She dropped his hand and backed up a step, away from them all. “Gods, no. He didn’t. He couldn’t have.” But he could have. And he had.
“Patience.” Brandt got in her face and took her shoulders. “Talk to me.”
She locked on to his gold-shot eyes and her heart broke. He would hate her. She hated herself. Gods.
This was her fault for being weak, for being a liar and a sneak.
Voice shaking, she said, “In El Rey, Rabbit and I were directly blood-linked when Iago downloaded him. And I got a splitting headache right after.” She swallowed another hard, hot surge of nausea. “He said he wouldn’t have been able to do any of this without us.”
“He was talking about the intersection,” Brandt argued. “Even if he got into one of our heads through the blood-link to Rabbit, he couldn’t have gotten the boys’ location. None of us knew it.” He took a step toward her, hands outstretched.
She backed away. “I—” She couldn’t get it out.
His color drained. “No. Tell me you didn’t.” She would’ve given anything to deny it. When she didn’t, his hands fell to his sides. “Patience.”
“I knew.” The words felt like they’d been ripped from the place where her heart used to be. “The address I found on Strike’s laptop was out-of-date. I couldn’t use Carter, so I went into the archived files and found Strike’s report of his first meeting with Mendez, when the bounty hunter grabbed him.
I wanted her name.”
“You hired Reese Montana to find your boys?” Strike asked. He was staring at her like he’d never seen her before.
She knew the feeling.
“She found them within a few days and texted me the address. I memorized it, deleted the text, and started making plans to go see them . . . but when it came down to it, I couldn’t do it. I don’t know if it was my warrior’s talent, rationality, or what, but I finally admitted that you guys had been right. I couldn’t risk it, couldn’t risk them, just to make myself feel better. So I made myself forget the address and stop pretending that seeing the boys was going to make everything better.”
“Oh, Patience.” Brandt’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“If I had thought there was even the slightest chance Iago would . . .” She trailed off. Forcing herself to meet his eyes, where the gold flecks were buried beneath dark anguish, she said, “I’m sorry.” Her voice broke on the inadequacy of the words.
She was braced for his wrath.
She wasn’t prepared for him to cross the few feet separating them and take her in his arms.
“We’ll get them back,” he said, voice low and determined, as much a vow as if he’d shed blood and sworn to the gods themselves. “You’re not the enemy. Iago is.”
Then he kissed her temple. And she lost it again.
Clinging to Brandt’s solidity, she buried her face in his chest and wept silently, pushed beyond sobs to long, shuddering wails of tears, grief, and misery. Through it all, he held her, the two of them standing there, leaning on each other in the middle of the great room, as the others melted away.
He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to tell her it was going to be okay, that he was always going to be there for her, or any of the other platitudes they both knew he couldn’t guarantee. He just held on to her and let her cry herself dry.
When it was over, when the storm of weeping had passed, leaving her headachy, wrung out, and dry mouthed, she held him a moment longer, pressing her cheek against the wet fabric of his shirt, and listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart. Then, finally, she pushed away and looked up at him.
His face was deeply etched with strain and wore the impassive self-control of a warrior, but he was looking at her rather than past her.
Her voice shook. “If I hadn’t gone looking for them—” He silenced her with a finger to her lips. “If I hadn’t gotten stuck inside my own head, you wouldn’t have needed to.” He brushed his knuckles across her cheek. “But I’m here for you now, and we’re going to get them back.”
She let herself lean into him for a moment longer, thinking that maybe she could count on him this time. But if she’d learned anything over the past couple of years, it was that she also needed to be able to count on herself.
Easing away from him, she inhaled a shuddering breath, and focused. “I know where they were living as of six months ago. We can start there.”
Under an hour later, Patience stood at the side door of a neat, unremarkable house in a neat, unremarkable suburban neighborhood, fighting the shakes as Rabbit worked on the lock. Brandt was beside her; the others were ranged behind them, a chameleon shield hiding them from view. But neither her teammates nor the shield spell could change whatever was waiting for them on the other side of the door.
She was trying not to imagine blood, but it painted her mind.
“The boys said the winikin were with them,” Brandt said under his breath. “He said they were sleeping.” He’d repeated it so often that it sounded like a mantra. She wasn’t sure which of them he was trying to convince.
“Got it.” Rabbit twisted the knob and opened the door, but stepped back to let them lead the way.
Brandt went in first, pushing past her like he wanted to shield her from whatever was inside. She was right behind him, though, nearly piling into him when he got halfway across the room and stopped dead.
She saw blue Formica, dark wooden cabinets, glossy black appliances, and a neutral tiled floor. The refrigerator was covered with cartoon-character magnets, newspaper clippings, and childish pictures drawn with more enthusiasm than skill. A Bose radio took up counter space and played jazz—one of Hannah’s favorite styles—with the volume set low.