“He’s the obvious choice,” Corentin said, never looking away from the survivors. “Usually the obvious choice is the correct one.”
“But what about Idi?” Taylor asked as he continued to write. “Atticus doesn’t have the resources to act on his own.”
“That I’m not sure about,” Corentin said. “Neither one of us knows how long it takes for Idi to resurrect.”
“He could be anyone,” Taylor said as he nibbled on the end of the pen.
“What do we know about Hook?” Corentin asked.
“Absolutely nothing? I hate to say it, but I’m not sure about Lacey.”
“Lacey’s been through a lot, but I think she has value,” Corentin said, and Taylor noted him intensely watching her across the cathedral.
“So.” Taylor propped his chin on his palm. “You’d sooner trust a junkie than a princess.”
Corentin sputtered with a disbelieving chuckle. “Ray?” He laughed at the name. “You honestly want me to trust that asshole?”
Taylor held up his hands in surrender. “I get it. He’s kind of a jackass—”
“Kind of?” Corentin interjected.
Taylor scowled. “I know you two don’t get along at all, but you need to sort it out. As you can see, I’m not the best at playing mediator.”
“You see how he looks at me.”
Taylor nodded with a slight frown. “Impossible to miss.”
“You shouldn’t be a part of that,” Corentin said.
Taylor recoiled from the coldness of Corentin’s command, and he seemed to catch Taylor’s skittish expression a moment later.
“Wait,” Corentin said. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“It’s okay,” Taylor lied with a smile. But the damage had already been done. “We’re tired and stressed, and you need sleep.”
“
You
need sleep,” Corentin said. His tone suggested he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
“I’ll try,” Taylor said, then returned to writing. After a few more notes, he looked up as Corentin appeared distracted. “How can you talk backward?”
“I can,” Corentin said and didn’t say anything further.
Taylor wasn’t having his roundabout vague explanation this time. “She could too. You guys seemed to have a full conversation together.”
Corentin buried his face in his hands. “Please, stop. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Well, I do,” Taylor said indignantly. “We need to share information if we’re going to get out of this mess.”
With a long, heaved sigh, Corentin took his hands away. “Talking backward isn’t a trick. It’s Curse Word, the language of witches.”
Taylor tapped the pen to the paper as he considered. Corentin still hadn’t said everything, and Taylor knew he was leaving it up to him or dropping it. “So she was a witch.”
“Yes.” Corentin left it at that.
“Well, Ray did say most Enchants here are witches.” Taylor returned to making notes on Corentin’s behalf.
A troubled expression came across Corentin’s face.
Taylor patted his arm, and he seemed startled by the tender touch. “I’m here,” Taylor said. He smiled and tried to impress reassurance. “If we stick together, we’ll get through this.”
Corentin smiled, albeit weak and uncertain.
Taylor’s heart tightened. He had to be strong for Corentin, not the other way around. Corentin was taking care of him so Taylor could lead the way. This was Taylor’s mission, whether or not he’d ever find out the truth behind Atticus.
Ray approached them, and judging by his efficient gait, something was off.
“Here we go again,” Corentin muttered.
“Hungry?” Ray asked. But it was his grim expression that confused Taylor on what was the correct answer. When Taylor and Corentin didn’t say anything, Ray continued. “Thanks to the storm blowing out the generators in half of the city, including my own, I’ve got some crawfish that need to be cooked before they freeze to death.”
Ray’s gruff kindness was a perplexing oddity.
Before Taylor could ask, Ray pointed at Corentin’s mouth. Corentin gritted his teeth in annoyance. “You have a mouth, don’t you?” Ray asked. “I assume you have a stomach to go with it.”
Taylor tried to speak again, but Ray cut him off. “And you don’t want to sleep in a pew. I have a bed. As you can see, I may be an old man, but I don’t give a shit that you two are in a relationship. You want a bed, a shower, and some crawfish that may have spoiled, they’re yours.”
“There’s a catch,” Corentin said.
Taylor frowned, sensing the tension growing.
“I don’t trust you here with them,” Ray growled.
Corentin sighed, tossing up his hands. “Of course.”
“Hey, you want a bed or what?”
“Yes,” Taylor interjected quickly. “Yes, please.”
“Good,” Ray said. “Someone brought in a fleet of snowmobiles. We can get to my place with them.”
“What about Lacey?” Taylor asked.
Ray crossed his arms. “What about her?”
Taylor furrowed his brows. “Don’t you think that’s a bit cruel?”
Ray frowned darkly and glared at Corentin. “I said I don’t trust him with them. And I don’t trust a junkie with me.”
Taylor had curses ready on his tongue until Corentin stepped between them. “It’s fine,” he said flatly.
“What?” Taylor shook his head.
“Ray has every right to protect these people,” Corentin said over his shoulder to Taylor. He nodded to Ray and held out his wrists. “Do you need to cuff me too, just to be sure?”
Ray smirked. “No need. I have plenty of jazz music.”
Taylor gave a slight shake of the head. “Jazz music?”
“It’s nothing.” Corentin bristled.
Taylor turned back to Lacey and scanned the cathedral one last time. His heart sank. Lacey looked so scared and small. Unsure of what tomorrow would bring. Would there be food? Or would she find morbid solace in another hit of Dust? He wasn’t sure what to do or if he needed to get wrapped up in her issues. He wanted to help, but was conflicted if he should at all.
He looked out again over the survivors as they traded cups of broth and coffee. Men and women smiling amid a terrible situation, holding hands and praying to get them through it. Some quietly cried, and others rocked with them in comfort.
Lacey looked Taylor directly in the eye as she trembled.
“Something’s not right about this…,” Taylor said, resting a hand on Corentin’s arm.
Ray snorted in frustration. “She’s coming down,” he said. “She’s fine.”
“Compassion,” Taylor snapped. “Try it sometime.”
“No,” Corentin said as he too looked out over the survivors. “Something isn’t right.”
Corentin stepped away from them, heading toward the pulpit. Taylor followed as they turned back to the pews from a better vantage point.
Lacey rose from her pew, her eyes round with panic as she watched them.
“What’s wrong?” Corentin asked Taylor as they both observed the scene.
“You see it?” Lacey asked as she worked her way toward them. “Zane knew it.”
Taylor narrowed his eyes. He had yet to have anything to go on about this Zane character.
“You see it?” she insisted. “Tell me you see it?”
Corentin nodded. With one last look, Taylor saw it too.
“Why aren’t there any children here?” Taylor asked.
Ray sighed, his expression dancing the edge of frustration and regret. “There aren’t any children at any of the shelters. No one can find them. It’s like they vanished into the blizzard.”
Corentin stormed down from the pulpit. “And you didn’t think to
tell us
?” he growled. “When did you plan on that part?”
“Soon as I knew you weren’t behind it,” Ray said.
Corentin shook an angry finger at him. “Now you listen, old man, I’ve had enough of your shit.”
“Because I don’t stand for yours?” Ray said, unflinching. “Wanna take a swing? Go ahead. Don’t let fear and common sense stop you.”
“Stop it!” Taylor bellowed, and Zee rumbled inside him. Her power rattled the walls, and the survivors shrieked. Taylor stumbled back from the force.
“The ward must be broken. Zane said it would be,” Lacey said as she paced a frantic path. “Zane said it would. He said Hook would do it.” She froze, seemingly terrified by her own ramblings. “Oh, Storyteller. Hook’s here!
Hook’s here
!”
Taylor dashed down from the pulpit and seized Lacey by her upper arms. “Lacey, stop! The ward on what?”
Lacey seemed to come back to herself, and she looked Taylor in the eye with her disturbingly empty gaze. “The witches’ prison…,” she whispered.
Corentin’s attention darted to her and then back to Ray. “It’s full of child-eaters, isn’t it?”
“You could say that,” Ray said a little too calmly.
“Where is it?” Taylor demanded.
“Fort St. Philip,” Ray said.
“We have to go.” Taylor tugged on Corentin’s arm.
“Way ahead of you,” Corentin said as he took the lead. He beckoned Ray forward. “We can use someone like you.”
Ray smirked. “I hope you didn’t want sleep tonight.”
“I-I-I can help,” Lacey called as she shifted from her pew.
Taylor hurried to her. “You need to stay here, okay? You need to get better.”
Lacey trembled. “O-O-Okay. Zane said he’d help. He’s just taking his time.”
Taylor shook his head. His small scrap of faith in her wavered.
“Hurry up, Dragon,” Ray called from the cathedral doors.
Taylor clapped his hands over Lacey’s and nodded to her. “We’ll talk later? Maybe go to the Library?”
Lacey nodded and her pink hair fluttered around her face. “Yes. Yes. Between the stacks.”
Shaking his head, Taylor stepped away. Did Corentin always feel this confused?
May 7
Fort St. Philip, Plaquemines Parish
TAYLOR DIDN’T
know what they’d find at Fort St. Philip. As the snowmobiles sped over the mountainous packed powder, the scene was unrecognizable to locals or tourists alike.
He hung on to Corentin as they rode together. The snowmobile bounced over the buried debris, shoving Taylor against Corentin. No one wanted to think of what was underneath them. Taylor resolved to stay focused on one task at a time. Getting caught up in the overload of too many questions and too many fears didn’t do anyone good.
Ray took the lead, his snowmobile treads kicking up long sprays of snow. He turned a sharp left in front of Corentin. Taylor saw it coming and instinctually tightened his grip. With the warning, Corentin hung a sharp left and skidded across Ray’s path, barely avoiding clipping his rear.
The snowmobile’s treads scratched through the packed snow and then jerked toward its side. Corentin slammed down his foot and protected them from crashing to the ground. “What the fuck was that for?”
“Something’s wrong,” Ray grunted.
“That seems to be par for the course here lately.” Taylor coughed, strangling on the frigid air in his lungs.
Ringo popped free from Taylor’s oversized pocket and then shook himself off. He pivoted in a slow fluttering circle. “I don’t know about you, but do you hear that?”
Taylor listened, straining his ears through the silence.
“The sound of nothingness?” Ray grunted. He rubbed his hands together and then puffed a breath into them.
“Shh!” Taylor hissed sharply. He stepped off the snowmobile and gestured for Corentin to do the same. He nodded with the rhythm. “Something’s ticking.”
“Fuck me,” Ray said. “Where?”
Taylor swayed with the rhythm. “Tick, tick, tick, tick,” he counted on his fingers. “Like a metronome?”
“Or a bomb,” Ringo said as he shivered.
Taylor scissored his index and middle fingers in time with the clicks. “I swear I hear a clock.”
“On a bomb,” Ringo said.
“Ringo.” Taylor scowled at him.
“I’m not kidding.” Ringo’s nervous, reedy tone made Taylor take note. “Not kidding, not kidding, not kidding.” He pointed frantically to the underside of Ray’s snowmobile.
Taylor caught a glimpse of a nest of wires and a blinking timer. He didn’t need any more proof. He shoved Corentin away.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Corentin said and got the hint. He and Taylor ran for cover.
Taylor reached for Ray, but Ray stood strong. Corentin kept his grip on Taylor’s hand; he was the faster of the two, and Taylor pushed himself to keep up. Ringo’s wings buzzed like a biplane as he zoomed over Taylor’s head and dived for cover. Corentin dragged Taylor to the ground behind a snow-covered embankment. Taylor pushed to his knees out of Corentin’s grip, and he screamed out for Ray.
Ray tore off his beanie and ran his fingers over his bald head. A thunderous boom rippled through the ground, and a blaring orange flash lit up the night sky. Golden waves of Ray’s magic hair shot from the ground and solidified into a towering, impregnable wall before the group. Taylor’s jaw dropped.
Taylor gaped as Ray wielded his magic with masterful precision. He was sure he had a gift as the latest Sleeping Dragon, but witnessing Ray’s range of finesse from simple to complex, Taylor had much more work to do.
As Taylor watched Ray from the embankment, he pursed his lips, in awe with how Ray didn’t flinch in the face of danger. He seemed unflappable in front of Corentin, and Taylor marveled at his ability to keep cool under pressure. He was a raging asshole, but Taylor realized he had probably earned his right to be such a prickly bastard.
“Are we safe?” Ringo asked in a nervous chirp as he clung to Corentin’s arm.
Taylor nodded. “Yeah. It’s good now.”
The moment was short-lived. A screech sounded of some kind of blade hacking against the wall of hair. Green and golden sparks showered over the snow, burning pockmarks into the powder.
As the hair burned, Ray clutched at his head, his face contorted into a grimace. “Now would be a good time to do something,” Ray yelled toward them.
Taylor leaped forward from the embankment, followed by Corentin.
Zee perked, alert and ready for action inside Taylor’s soul. He stumbled with the sickly shiver running through him. She had taken so much of him, and she would take more if he didn’t break her wildness. He needed her now, but there would be hell to pay later.
The blade tore through Ray’s hair, and the severed tresses smoldered into ash, then dispersed on the crossing wind.