The Sharpest Blade (22 page)

“Yes.” A particularly hot bolt of lightning makes my voice break over the word. “And no,” I force myself to say. “I want to know the truth, Aren.”

“I told you the truth.”

“You told me you couldn’t accept the life-bond.”

He looks away from me, back toward the road. That’s when I feel Kyol’s apprehension. Thinking about the life-bond has made me more aware of him, and I’m all but certain he’s braced for Aren and me to be together again.

“That’s close to the truth,” Aren says, his brow furrowing. “Life-bonds are sacred between fae.”

“I’m not fae,” I manage to get out. I’m trying so hard to build a mental wall.

Aren nods. Then his gaze settles on me again. “That makes it worse.” He takes my hand. “Come on. Someone’s just pulled over.”

He presses an anchor-stone into my palm, then leads me to the edge of the river. Still trying to put up a wall, I look over my shoulder and see a police officer walking to my car. He’s not looking in this direction, thank God, but I’m betting I’ll have another
TOW AWAY
sticker slapped on my car when we get back.

Aren doesn’t release my hand when he dips his into the river. His chaos lusters spiral up my arm. They’re heating my skin, making me flush, and as the fissure
shrrips
open, I welcome the chill of the In-Between. It extinguishes my lust just enough that I’m able to build a fairly solid mental wall when we step out of the light in Boulder.

“It doesn’t affect you much, does it?” Aren asks, pocketing the anchor-stone.

“What?” I hedge because I’m not sure how to answer. If I tell him the truth, that yes, knowing that Kyol feels how much I love and want Aren is wearing on me, Aren might think I regret last night. He might try to put distance between us again, and I don’t want that.

“You usually hold on to me more tightly when we step out of a fissure,” Aren says. “You’re not off-balance or shaky. The life-bond’s made you more resilient.”

Thank God I didn’t answer. He wasn’t asking if the life-bond affects me; he was asking if the In-Between does.

“Yeah,” I say with a shrug. “It’s had some interesting side effects. Kynlee was able to take me through a gate without—”

“Kynlee,” he interrupts, his silver eyes widening.

“Yeah. She—”

“You fissured with Kynlee? With a
tor’um
?”

“I’ve already been informed how risky that was. I wasn’t exactly thinking straight.” I’m surprised he’s just now learning about this.

“It wasn’t risky, it was suicidal.
Sidhe.
” He runs a hand through his already disheveled hair.

“Hey,” Naito’s voice comes from behind me. We’ve fissured to the edge of a wooded area. When I turn, Naito is stepping between the foliage. “Are you two coming, or do you need some time?”

“We’re coming,” I say.

We’re just a handful of paces away from a parking lot that’s crammed with cars. Lee’s on the phone, arranging for a taxi to pick us up. When he sees me, he starts walking toward the entrance to a shopping mall. After a short debate on whether it’s actually necessary for me to have on a red scarf—Naito thinks it is just in case we don’t recognize the vigilante, but Lee’s certain the vigilante will be Harper—I grab some cash from Lee, run inside, and buy a scarf that’s more pink than red. It’ll have to do.

Half an hour later, I’m sitting alone at the bar. It’s ten minutes before six, so the place isn’t crowded. That’s kind of a problem. Lee’s hunkered down in a corner booth. He’s wearing a baseball cap that he picked up at the last minute from a street vendor, but if the vigilante
is
paranoid and looks closely, he’ll see Lee’s face. Plus, there’s always the possibility that my contact isn’t coming alone.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asks. She’s skinny with a tattoo inked from her left wrist all the way up to her shoulder.

“Nothing right now,” I say. “I’m waiting on someone.”

“Are you waiting on him?” She nods toward a man sitting at the end of the bar. He’s older, pushing sixty at least, with a deeply pockmarked face. A briefcase sits at his feet.

“If so, you’re the third”—she eyes my pink scarf—“reddish-scarfed woman he’s met here recently.”

“That’s probably him then. Thanks,” I say, staring at the man. He’s still not looking at me. And Lee isn’t moving. He’s here instead of Naito because, theoretically, he’ll recognize more of the vigilantes since Naito hasn’t been one of them for several years. Honestly, though, I’d rather have Naito here, or Aren or Trev, but they’re all waiting outside in inconspicuous locations. The vigilante would either run or fight if he saw a fae, and we don’t want to cause a scene.

If Briefcase Man
is
my contact, I could just walk out of here. We could follow him to see where he goes, or we could maneuver him into a dark alley and question him. Either way is simple and would work. Really, all I need to do is make sure he’s who I think he is.

I’ll give him until 6:05. Then I’ll go talk to him.

When the clock behind the bar reads exactly 6:00
P.M.
, Briefcase Man picks up his briefcase, walks to me, then with a curt “Follow me,” he heads for a narrow hall at the back of the bar. Presumably, it leads to the restrooms and rear exit.

As I stand, I glance at Lee. He won’t see me if I go down that hall, and he’s not looking my way now. He’s staring out the window. I hesitate, waiting for him to check on me, but he seems riveted to something outside.

Crap. I can’t call out his name without alerting the vigilante, and I can’t wait for him to turn. I follow Briefcase Man, thinking. Aren, Trev, and Nalst should be watching the back exit. Naito’s watching the front. Even without Lee following me, I’ll be safe.

I step into the hallway, see the back exit then—

The vigilante turns, swinging his briefcase at my head while he kicks open a door.

I manage to duck beneath the briefcase, but he rams into me, making me fall into the side room. Instinctively, I roll to my back, intending to kick up and knock his head off, but someone’s behind me. They grab the arms I brace against the floor, then drag me all the way inside.

“D
ON’T MOVE. DON’T
make a sound.” The man holding me presses a gun into my ribs.

In front of me, Briefcase Man closes and locks the door. We’re in a restroom. The men’s restroom. Three urinals are on the wall to my right. Gross. I want to peek under the two stalls to see if anyone is in them, but I’m sure I already know the answer. They’re empty, and no one in the bar had a view of the hallway or my abduction.

I draw in a deep breath—through my mouth, not my nose—and do my best to keep my heart rate steady. I’m going to get through this without Kyol fissuring to my rescue. Hell, after last night, he might not come to my rescue at all.

“We knew we’d get their attention sometime,” Briefcase Man says to me.

I reestablish my mental wall as well as I can under the circumstances, then decide to play dumb. “Whose attention? Who are you? What do you want?”

The gun digs deeper between my ribs.

“You’re here with Lee,” the man behind me hisses into my ear. “He hasn’t reported in to us in over a month. He’s been turned.”

“Into a vampire?” I say, eyes wide and innocent. Is this guy really prepared to fire his gun? Everyone in the bar would hear it go off.

The vigilante grabs the scarf around my neck and pulls it tight.

“There’s fae with you,” he says. “Where are they?”

I choke, then cough until he loosens the damn scarf. Kyol’s thoughts are focused on me. He’s not alarmed yet. I concentrate on my breathing, forcing myself to stay calm.

“Okay,” I say, scrambling for some plausible explanation. “Okay. Yes, a fae fissured me here. I’m supposed to meet him tomorrow morning so he can fissure me back home. But I’m not here because of them. I’m here because of the Sight serum.”

“You already have the Sight,” Briefcase Man snarls. He sets that briefcase on the sink and opens it.

“Yeah, but Lee didn’t,” I say, still trying to buy time. “We heard it’s lethal, and we’re here to find out if that’s true.”

The scarf tightens again. “Tell us where you’re supposed to meet the fae. Tell us what type of magics he has.”

I cough again, more to buy time to think than because the scarf is too tight. Surely, Lee’s noticed me missing by now. I’ve been gone at least two minutes.

“You need to start talking,” Briefcase Man says. He’s holding a vial of pale, yellow liquid in one hand and a needle and syringe in the other.

Oh, this is great.

“The Sight serum,” I say, eyeing the vial as he fills the syringe.

“The Sight serum,” he acknowledges. “Some of it kills.” He pushes the plunger until a tiny droplet of the yellow liquid comes out. “Some of it doesn’t. I’ll let you guess which batch this is from.”

My heart pumps a little harder. I might already have the Sight, but I have no doubt that the wrong batch of the serum will kill me just as it killed the others who injected it.

Briefcase Man takes a step toward me. I could use some help right now, or even a good distraction. How is it possible that we’re in a bar, and no one’s so much as knocked on the restroom door?

He takes another step. I’m going to have to risk it. Here’s to hoping the man behind me doesn’t really want to fire his gun.

I slam my head back and drop my hand to the gun as I turn in my captor’s arms.

There’s a loud
crack
—his nose breaking, not the gun firing—but the weapon won’t budge from his hand.

I aim the barrel away from me, knee the guy in the groin then blindly swing a backhand behind me, expecting Briefcase Man to come for me.

He’s there. My fist catches his neck instead of his face, but that works to my advantage. He chokes, giving me the second I need to lurch past him.

He grabs my ankles before I reach the door. I catch the handle, manage to get it unlocked. Before I crash to the floor, I shove it open and yell.

Briefcase Man yanks my leg. I twist to my back, see him lifting the syringe.

Crap!

I jerk out of the way just in time. The needle breaks against the floor, and I slam my heel into the asshole’s face. I get my ankle free, then scurry to my feet and out the door.

The back exit’s the closest. Someone from the other direction asks if I’m okay. I’m about to scream, “He has a gun!” when I spot Aren behind the concerned human.

I can’t see into the restroom from where I’m standing, which means the vigilantes can’t see me, so I force myself to laugh, then say to the human, “I went in the wrong restroom.”

He gives me a slow nod, his expression saying I’m crazy for yelling and dashing out like I did. It’s a look I’ve grown used to in the last ten years.

Aren presses his back against the wall and slides along it toward the open restroom door. I’m on the other side of the opening.

“Two of them. One gun,” I say, just loud enough for him to hear.

He nods once then, dagger in hand, he opens a fissure in front of the doorway and disappears.

Silence. That’s weird. Inside the restroom is the only place he would have fissured.

Cautiously, I peek in. Aren’s there, staring down at the two vigilantes who are still on the floor. Briefcase Man is clutching his bleeding nose. The other man—his nose looks broken, too—is clutching his privates.

Aren looks up at me, surprise and appreciation and maybe a little something else in his silver eyes.

My stomach does a flip.

“The bond has a couple of other side effects,” I say, stepping inside the restroom and picking the vigilante’s gun off the floor before he recovers.

Aren gives me a grin, then he looks down at the vigilantes again. “On your feet. Both of you. You’re going to walk out the back door without a word to anyone.”

The gun’s safety is on. I leave it that way, then motion for the two humans to get up. Briefcase Man does; the other vigilante is still holding his privates. Surely, I didn’t knee him
that
hard.

Aren grabs a handful of his shirt and forcibly pulls him to his feet. “Move.”

I slip the gun into my waistband and cover it with my shirt. Then, after picking up the syringe and broken needle, I throw them into the briefcase, close it, and follow the others out.

Trev, Lee, and Naito are in the back alley. So is another man. A human. Lee has the guy’s arm twisted behind his back. When he sees the vigilante who grabbed my arms in the bathroom, he gives a little snort.

“Told you Harper was involved.”

Naito glares briefly at his brother, then says, “Their car is parked a block away. Let’s get them out of here.”

I hand the vigilante’s gun over to Naito, and we maneuver them down the alley. They walk without a word and without one ounce of resistance until we hit the main street. Harper glances at Briefcase Man, then, simultaneously, they run opposite directions.

Running from the fae never works out well. Aren and Trev both fissure directly in their paths, taking them down to the ground and ending their escape attempt three seconds after they sprung it.

“You’re going to go to your vehicle,” Aren says, loud enough for both vigilantes to hear him. “You can go there conscious or unconscious. It’s up to you.”

Both decide to remain conscious. A few minutes later, Naito uses Harper’s keys to beep a black van unlocked. Lee searches it and, conveniently, he finds rope and a few pairs of handcuffs.

Silver-plated
handcuffs.

I remember the question Harper asked earlier. He didn’t just want to know where to find my fae escort; he wanted to know what types of magic he could wield as well. At the time, I assumed they wanted to know how to defend against any attack the fae could throw at them. Now, I think I was wrong.

I look at Harper. “You wanted to capture the fae.”

He gives me a murderous look as Naito shoves him into the backseat. Naito uses a pair of handcuffs on the vigilante, slipping them behind something under the seat before hooking them to both of Harper’s wrists. Harper has to sit bent over and with his head practically in his lap. Not the most comfortable of positions, but he’s not going anywhere.

“A few vigilantes want to use their magics,” Lee says, taking the briefcase from me.

I watch him open it on the hood of the van. “Use them?”

He nods. “You know how much money con artists make from supposedly healing the sick?” He glances at Aren. “Imagine what someone could make if they could really heal people.”

“Except healers can’t heal diseases or genetic conditions,” I say. If they could, Lee and Paige wouldn’t have to worry about the Sight serum being lethal. Aren could heal the problem away.

He shrugs and sorts through the briefcase. It’s filled with papers and several small, black cases. He opens one up while Naito handcuffs the other two vigilantes inside the van.

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.