“Really?”
The sunlight grew brighter, the snap-crackle more pronounced, like someone walking across a floor littered with peanut shells. A low whine followed—the two sounds linking and creating a symphony of Max’s pain. More than the effect on Max, however, I was stunned by the display of power from Wyatt. A few times in the past, I had witnessed him summoning small objects, weapons, sometimes even a spark of flame when he needed a match. But never the power of the sun itself, concentrated and perfectly under his control.
Ozone continued to fill the room, nauseating me. Max did not move again from his corner. Standing straight and tall, he did not flinch from the threat or his impending death, because I had no doubt that Wyatt would turn him completely to stone.
“He won’t tell, Wyatt,” I said. “He can’t.”
Wyatt flinched, but did not look away from Max.
I tried again. “He’s a gargoyle. His word is his bond. Once he gives his word in a promise, he can’t break it. Whatever he knows, he’s promised someone not to tell us.”
No one spoke; no one moved. Wyatt’s fury at Max bubbled just beneath the surface, but Max was only reacting according to his nature. For that single fault, I couldn’t let him die. He had been a loyal friend in my old life, and for that he deserved mercy. I circled around in front of Wyatt, blocking his path to Max.
Our eyes locked over the hot glow of the sun sphere. Orange light reflected in Wyatt’s gaze, illuminating the black depths I knew so well. Tangled with the light was something else, something more sinister—a deep-seated desire for vengeance at any cost. Hatred of certain Dregs projected to all of them without reason or direction. Sweat beaded on his forehead and red tinged his nostrils—sure signs of his Gift’s physical toll.
“Don’t kill him,” I said. “Please.”
Wyatt closed his fist. The sun orb disappeared, the residual warmth fleeing a split second later. The orange light remained in his eyes for a brief moment, flickering like living flame, before extinguishing.
With that light went the careful control Wyatt had erected over his body. He swayed like tall grass in a breeze. Sweat ran in thin rivulets down his cheeks.
“Wyatt?”
“I’m fine,” he said, the hitch in his voice indicating he was anything but. He wiped his hand under his nose, smearing blood on his fingers. Even in the bad light, I could tell he’d gone pale. He glared and snapped, “I said I’m fine.”
I almost called him on it, but Wyatt would never admit to the pain he was in. Especially in front of Max, who hadn’t moved, and any damage done was hidden by shadows. Only his face was visible, and it revealed nothing.
“Is there anything you can tell us, Max? Anything at all?” I asked.
“Only that if you return, I will not be here,” he said. “A war is coming, Evangeline. I hope you choose the correct side.”
The chilling words buried in my heart like a blade. “Max, if we meet again in this life, will it be as enemies?”
“We will not meet again.” He spoke with such finality that my heart broke a little. There is an old joke about not making friends with your food. As a Hunter, I never should have allowed my friendship with Max. Gentle or vicious, kind or cruel, at the end of the day—or the world, as events were slowly pointing toward—he was still a Dreg. He had betrayed me.
Wyatt touched my shoulder. “Let’s go, Evy. We’re done here.”
I let him guide me back to the exit, toward the bright morning sunlight.
“Trust no one, Evangeline,” Max said. “Not even your own people.”
The warning rang in my head as I climbed back out to the gravel path. Traffic rumbled and honked below, going about its morning routine, oblivious to the goings-on high above. Wyatt shadowed me, as pale in sunlight as I’d suspected in the dark. He moved slowly, carefully, like an old man afraid of falling and breaking a hip. He caught me checking and glared, his point clear.
Ignoring him, I led the way back to the stairwell and down into the bowels of the library.
At the bottom of the service stairwell, I reached for the utility door with trembling fingers. My knees wobbled. The enclosed space tilted. I grabbed for the wall, but my legs turned to jelly. Trembling arms looped around my waist, and we sank down to the steps. Wyatt engulfed me with his arms, holding me warm and safe. Chills racked my body. Gooseflesh broke out over my arms and chest. I leaned against him, grateful for the support and hating myself for the sudden weakness.
His breath was hot against my ear, whispering words I couldn’t hear over the roar in my head. Tears stung my eyes. I blinked rapidly and bit down on the inside of my cheek to chase them away. Freaking out right now was simply not an option. We still had too much work to do, and the clock never stopped, ticking away my last hours on Earth with unflinching steadiness.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“For what?”
“This.”
“I think you’re entitled, Evy.” One of his hands found mine, and our fingers curled together. “I can’t imagine being where you are now. Everything you knew has turned on its head, and you’re doing your best to cope with it.”
“I keep hoping I’ll wake up and be grateful that it’s all just a nightmare. A great big, freakish nightmare.”
“I wish it was.”
He squeezed my hand, and my stomach fluttered. As urgent as our job was, and as much as I knew we had to go find the next clue, I was perfectly content to sit there for a while. I was safe in Wyatt’s arms, protected by someone as strong as me—though perhaps more powerful; I’d just seen him harness the sun.
Gentle fingers brushed a lock of hair away from my cheek and tucked it behind my ear. He rested his chin on my shoulder, seemingly as at ease as I was in our impromptu embrace. I could see his profile in my peripheral vision. His brow was knotted, his lips pursed. I smelled the faint odors of coffee and sweat, and a more basic scent. One I couldn’t readily put my finger on. The basic scent of a man, perhaps? It was feral, strong, and heady.
And arousing.
I closed my eyes, falling into the scent of him. I remembered the taste of him—but how? We never had a physical relationship. He was my boss, not my lover. So why did I remember the gentle bruising force of his kisses, the hard knots of muscle on his back and shoulders? I shouldn’t know those things.
Until perfectly rendered memories sped through my conscious mind, finally released from their prison. Not everything, but enough. My eyes flew open.
Wyatt tensed. “What is it, Evy?”
I clutched his hand tighter, pulling strength from him and feeling no shock or shame at what I now knew had happened. Only measured relief. “I remember something,” I said. “I remember us.”
Chapter 8
May 11th
The empty boathouse reeks of tepid seawater and day-old fish—sure signs that multiple goblins only recently vacated the premises, since neither fish nor boat have seen its cobwebbed interior in at least a decade. It’s a smell I know, specific to goblins, and as always, it makes my stomach churn.
Ash steps out from behind a pile of moldy sails, her flashlight cutting patterns in the dust and grime. “So much for our hot tip,” she says.
“You need better sources,” I reply.
“I haven’t heard your troll offer up anything lately.”
I shrug, in no mood to play Who Has the Better Snitch? The goblins are no longer here, but this stretch of the Black River docks is notorious for drawing the after-dark crowd. Something worse may be along soon, and we’re one man down. Jesse split an hour ago to swing by Wyatt’s apartment. Our Handler has been out of contact all damned day—not normal behavior for him. Not at all.
Jesse should have reported—
Ash’s cell phone chirps. She fishes it out of her pocket and checks the screen. “It’s Jesse.”
Think of the devil and he calls.
She frowns, then types in a text message. Something chimes back. She puts the phone away. “He needs us at the Corcoran train bridge ASAP.”