Boreal and John Grey Season 1 (39 page)

“Their fire can melt steel,” Finn said. “They can fly between buildings, through narrow alleys, crawl through tunnels and swim in water.”

“I see. How about a net? We could catch them like big bad dragonflies.”

Finn took a step back, his hands going to his knives. “You are the military,” he hissed. “What do you want from me?”

An image blinded Ella —
a snow-covered plain, the buzz of a machine flying overhead, an impact throwing her to the ground and the realization she wouldn’t make it
—

“We want your cooperation,” Wood said.

“Captain Wood,” Dave said in a pleasant voice. “I thought we were clear about this. Finn is under the protection of the Organization.”

Ella sucked a deep breath, sweat running down her face. She wiped it with the back of her hand and met Finn’s confused gaze. His memories could hit her like a wall of bricks. 

“Well, I haven’t exactly dragged him off to a closed-doors interrogation, have I?” Captain Wood rolled her eyes and approached Finn who had gone quite pale at her words. “We can talk like civilized people.”

Ella stepped between them. “Excuse me, but did you have any specific questions? Maybe I can help. We’re kinda busy with all the animals crossing over and the Shades.” She bared her teeth in what she hoped was a sweet and pleasant smile.

“I’m not interested in you,” Captain Wood said. “I want to talk to your partner.”

“About what exactly?”

Captain Wood sneered. “His origins, for starters, and his sources of information. I’d like to see his papers. Where is he from?”

Oh Christ, had Martha tipped her off? Ella wouldn’t put it past her.

“You’re not taking Finn,” she hissed. “You have no right.”

“Whether or not I have a right—”

“Nobody’s going anywhere,” Dave barked. “You have no jurisdiction to take anyone, Captain, and don’t pretend you’ve forgotten. If you as much as touch either of them or even talk to them without my permission, I’ll have the legal system crashing down on your heads.”

“We’ll see about this, Sergeant,” Mary Wood said, her scowl matching Dave’s. “If martial law is enforced...”

“We’re not at war yet,” Dave bit out. “Good day, Captain.”

They watched her go, and Ella jerked at the slam of the door.

“Jesus.” She whirled on Dave, itching to smash his smug face in. “What did you tell her?”

“I didn’t tell her he’s an elf, if that’s what you’re implying. She’d have a fit if she knew elves crossed over with the animals.”

Finn made a small sound, his face grey.

Ella reeled. How much did he know? “Damn you, if you’ve told her...”

“You sound like a broken record,” Dave said. “I didn’t tell her. If I did, they’d take all control from me and that wouldn’t benefit the Organization and the world in general. Although I’d really appreciate it if you were honest with me.”

And you with me
. “Are you head of this secret Organization?”

“I’m a member of the Assembly.” Dave grabbed his mug from the desk and stared into it. “I can’t have the military do as they please. They are a tool, nothing more. If anyone enforces martial law around here, it will be me.”

Chapter Five

Pain

Ella vibrated with helpless fury as she drove to the address Sarah had given her. Dave knew. Dave goddamn knew about Finn and she still had nothing on him. He held Finn’s fate in his hands and there was nothing she could do.

She tasted blood; she’d been chewing on her lip so hard the skin split. To distract herself, she glanced at Finn who rode shotgun.

He was glaring a hole into the windshield. At least he looked better than before, the color high in his cheeks. Pissed, most probably, at the whole damn world.

The suburban houses, white picket fences and well-tended gardens, rolled on either side. Ella spotted the house number and parked next to a sleek black Chevy Camaro.

Sarah stepped out and nodded at the house. “Shall we? You’re late.”

“Had a run in with the military.” Ella led the way to the door, Finn striding a step behind, his hands on his knives. “By the way, you said you didn’t know Dave was a member of your super secret organization. He seems to be a leading party.”

“He’s a member of the Assembly?” Sarah’s surprise sounded genuine, but that didn’t mean Ella could trust her. In fact, she wondered if she could trust anyone ever again.

Strangely enough, right now, the only one she trusted was Finn — and he didn’t even know it.

Sarah rang the bell and they waited, the cold wind whipping around them. Ella huddled in her jacket, Sarah in her knee-length coat. Finn was only in his long-sleeved t-shirt and didn’t seem to notice the cold. This was probably summertime for him.

Twenty winters and three summers
. His pale hair danced around his thin face, held back by the black bandana, and his eyes glinted like crystals.
Boreal...

“Who is it?” The door opened an inch and a wrinkled woman’s face appeared. “What do you want?”

“Police,” Ella presented her badge. “Not to worry, ma’am. You’re not in trouble, we just have a few questions.”

“They always say that,” the woman grumbled. “No trouble, and then you’re in a big steaming pile of it.” Yet she opened the door and let them inside, muttering all the way.

Her living room was dusty but tidy, lacy curtains at the windows, porcelain figurines on the round tables, the couch and armchairs covered in old, worn velvet.

“Are you Mrs. Hoodvild?” Sarah asked.

“Indeed I am.” The woman gestured at the couch. “Sit. Ask your questions.”

Finn went to lean against the wall by the window, eyes taking in the place. Ella smiled politely at the old woman and took a seat next to Sarah.

“We are looking into Bran Hoodvild. He and your husband were cousins, right?” Sarah gave a brilliant smile.

“What’s it to you?” Mrs. Hoodvild asked. “My husband passed away twenty years ago, probably before you kids were even born.”

“Bran Hoodvild,” Ella said, “is the one we’re interested in. We haven’t been able to find a lot on him. Can you tell us anything?”

Mrs. Hoodvild shrugged and tugged her black cardigan closed. “He was a quiet man, hard working. He was a sheriff. He didn’t live here, we barely ever saw him. Didn’t like social gatherings. I swear I never saw him eat or drink once.”

Finn lifted his head from across the room and his eyes glinted with interest.

Sarah leaned forward. “Can you tell us what he looked like?” she asked. “Short or tall, dark or blond...”

“In fact,” Ella said, opening her wallet and drawing a picture of Dave, “how about looking at this photo and telling us if this is Bran Hoodvild?”

***

Ella watched Sarah get into her chic car and drive away. She leaned her head back, bone-tired and wishing she knew what to do next. “So what do you think?” 

Finn gave a non-committal grunt, folding his long legs under the dashboard. He slammed the door closed.

“She said it looked like Bran,” she whispered. Only she hadn’t been sure. Bran had been... chubbier. Had dark eyes. A beard.

In fact, Mrs. Hoodvild had said, Bran hadn’t really looked like that.

No proof. And without a DNA sample, she had nothing.

Ella started the car.
Damn you, Simon, how did you stumble upon all this?
She missed her old partner. He would’ve known what to do next.

Shaking her head, she drove toward home, the whole car clinking with iron charms and trinkets. So far it seemed to be working; no Shade attack since she’d hung them.

Silence lay thick between them as they drove through the busy city center and approached their neighborhood. She glanced at Finn’s stern profile. Evening was falling and the lights from shops and restaurants painted his face and hair in red and yellow stripes.

“We’re back where we started,” Ella said as she drove into their street. “Even worse, Dave knows about you, the army are suspicious, and we don’t have one piece of evidence on what Dave is.”

Finn blinked, glancing her way. His eyes seemed bruised in the fading light, his cheekbones too sharp, his lips pale and cracked. When she stopped the car, it took him a moment to start moving.

“Just how many hours sleep did you catch last night?” Ella wanted to know, familiar worry tightening her chest. He’d come into her room at three in the morning. How many times had he woken during the night?

Finn shrugged and blinked again as if struggling to keep his eyes open. Not glaring. Exhausted.

She left him to make his own slow, limping way to the building and kept the elevator doors open for him. His lips tilted in a faint smile when he reached her, and they rode up together, his scent of burnt sugar and spice filling the cramped space.

Once inside the apartment, Finn didn’t even check the rooms as he normally did. He dropped onto the sofa and bent down to remove his boots.

Ella locked and did the checking herself. Satisfied they were alone in the apartment, she returned into the living room and found him slumped back against the cushions, boots still on, snoring softly.

She considered taking them off but he still had his knives and gun, and she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t get a bullet or a stab wound for her trouble.

It was still early — barely seven o’ clock. She stood in the middle of the room, feeling like a zombie. She hadn’t gotten much more sleep than Finn and her eyes burned. Shopping, cooking, cleaning...
Later
. She really had to cook something, even if just oatmeal again. Finn seemed to like it, and he couldn’t skip more meals or he’d turn into an x-ray.

She recalled the dinner he’d cooked and her stomach grumbled. He should cook more often; she’d have to ask him to, although what had happened after the meal... Finn sprawled among the pools of black ichor, his chest not rising, his face slack...

God, she’d been trying so hard not to remember the image; it flashed before her eyes at unsuspected moments, freezing her blood.

Better if Finn didn’t cook again. She’d probably associate stew with blood-curdling terror.

She looked at him, focusing on the way his chest rose and fell, on the small vein throbbing in his throat, the way his eyes moved rapidly behind his lids. Barely dropped into sleep and already dreaming. Fingers crossed it was a happy, sunny dream.

Yeah, and she was Santa Claus.

Grabbing John Grey’s epic, the Grarsaga, she sat on the armchair and leaned against the cushions, sighing. God, it felt good to stretch and rest, but she should at least read the book to the end, read John Grey’s whole story, and maybe... maybe Simon had left a note in a margin somewhere for her.

Elves and King Sirurd, his mysterious daughter the Stabilizer, and the Guardians... The letters swam in her eyes. Maybe if she rested them for five minutes.
Only five
, she told herself sternly. Then she’d... She’d...

Crystal towers shot up into grey skies, rainbows and clouds reflected in their sheer surfaces. Snowflakes danced on the crisp air and on the bell towers of the temples lining the street, colorful banners flew, crimson, azure, yolk yellow, snapping in the wind that wailed in the mountains all around.

She stood in a small crowd, huddled in her fur coat, its softness caressing her neck. They left the road and took a winding path. She walked alongside the adults — tall, lithe figures dressed in elegant coats with high collars — toward the outskirts of the city, over crackling, frozen grass.

Something was wrong, she could feel it. Covert glances shot her way — no, not her way. They were directed at a boy walking quietly by her side, pale blond hair whipping in the wind, revealing slender, pointed ears. He stomped forward in his padded boots, hands clenched at his sides, his uptilted, blue eyes glaring ahead. He looked familiar; had they played together before?

The scene changed. They stood on a platform, frigid air currents wrapping around them like snakes. Ice sculptures of the gods, old as the city itself, stood on one side, looking on them reprovingly. The boy by her side shuddered, still glaring, though his mouth trembled. He was afraid, she realized, deathly afraid — but of what?

A group of tall adults approached, wearing pointed hats and long mantles of dark feathers. They wore masks — unless their faces were naturally so still. They didn’t seem to frighten the boy, though. He was staring at the other end of the platform, the side where you could see the mountains across the ravine and hear the wind howling. She wanted to take his hand and tell him everything would be okay, but she couldn’t because his fingers were curled into fists, and besides, two adults stepped forward and led the boy away from her. She knew their faces, too. A woman, beautiful with long silvery hair —
modhir
. Mother. And the man, his harsh face that brought with it ghost memories of pain and fear —
fadhir
. Father.

Terror gripped her chest again, constricting her breathing.
Where are you taking him?
she tried to shout, but couldn’t. She stepped back, fading in the snow.

The next thing she knew was a sensation of falling, heart pounding, the air rushing in her ears, her limbs flailing on nothingness, void and a promise of suffering — and then the crash, breaking her body, ripping her thoughts apart with blinding pain and she jerked and thrashed, groping for a thread of sanity in the howling terror—

— and fell off the armchair, landing on her knees on the cold floor. She fell back against the chair, shuddering and swallowing bile, phantom pain rippling up her leg, and she still felt the bone sticking out of her flesh, tearing it further with every movement.