working on getting his eyes open.
“Take it easy, hero,” I said, kneeling next to him.
“What hit me?” he growled as he tested one eye. It finally found me. The other eyelid flew open, and both eyes fixed on my bleeding chest. “Christ, Evy!”
“Looks worse than it is.”
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
I rolled my eyes. “Why, you’re very welcome, Wyatt. It was no trouble to take Snow down and save your life.”
“He’s dead?”
“No, just unconscious, temporarily blind, and tied to a table. Babysit him. I have to go.”
“Evy—”
“Stay. Here.”
Annoyance sparked in his eyes; I held his glare, trying desperately to shatter it with my own. Make him understand I needed him out of harm’s way right now. Far from trouble so I could concentrate on stopping Cole and saving the people in the theater. Defeat finally glared brightly.
“Do I have to say to be careful?” he asked.
“No, but you can.”
“Be careful.”
I brushed his cheek with the back of my hand. “You, too.” I helped him stand—a quick glance at the back of his shirt revealed no blood, so his stitches were safe—and retrieved the nail-bat.
He refused it. “You might need it. Where’s the crystal?”
Shit. I’d almost forgotten. It still hung via chain, near the door. I reached for the slim orange shard and yelped as thousands of tingles ran through my hand and shoulder.
“Don’t touch the crystal itself,” he said.
“Gee, you think?” I looped my fingers around the chain, dropped it to the floor, and proceeded to grind the crystal into the concrete. Just like stepping on a live wire, it shot electricity up my leg and through my hip until abruptly ceasing. My sense of the Break crashed down like a tidal wave, a familiar current of power. “I hope I never see another of those fucking things again.”
Wyatt inhaled deeply, probably as grateful as I was for the reconnection, if not more so. “Only thing worse than not feeling it is feeling it too much,” he said, more to himself than me.
“Feeling it too much? That happens?” It occurred to me how little we’d talked about the way this Gifted thing worked, beyond the obvious tap. I needed to pencil that particular conversation into my over-packed schedule.
“Not often, but strong thunderstorms can seriously screw with your control.”
Huh.
He ran a hand down his face, pausing to pinch the bridge of his nose. “It’s hard to imagine Cole siding with Tovin, and that he’s been a part of this from the start.”
“Loss can make the most rational person do unbelievable things.” Not that loss excused the irrational, unbelievable stuff.
“Touché. Look, I know you’re still pissed at me—”
“Okay, this really isn’t the time.” I put the palm of my right hand flat on his chest, over the gentle pressure of his beating heart. The words I’d finally said out loud, admitted to Snow in the heat of battle, once again choked in my throat. “Just … be my Handler again and stay here while I go out and beat up the bad guy.”
“I thought we were partners.”
“We’ll be partners when you aren’t concussed and two days out of surgery. You don’t heal like I do.”
“You’re not invulnerable, Evy.”
“Trust me, the flaming aches in my butt and shoulder keep reminding me. You may have been a Hunter ten years ago, but this is my fight now. I’ll take care of Cole.”
I didn’t trust that he’d stay put, and I couldn’t stand there and debate my decision with time ticking away. I also couldn’t knock him out again—his brain had been rattled enough for one weekend. I just had to hope.
“Kiss for luck?” I asked.
He crushed his mouth to mine without further prompting. I parted my lips, allowing him in. Tasting him. Promising in actions what I couldn’t say with words. It was brief and left me tingling. Sharp. Ready to fight for even the simplest of his touches.
“Good luck,” he said.
Nail-bat in hand, I skirted the pile of wood scraps and peeked out the door. No one in the immediate vicinity. No voices, only the distant sounds of the city and, just a bit farther, music. Probably from the benefit. I slipped outside and kept close to the wall of the greenhouse, creeping toward the north side of the roof. At the corner, I peered around and nearly gagged at the odor.
Eleri was crumpled in a pool of her own blood, thick and dark and smelling like an old basement. She clutched her throat with both hands, holding the flow at bay with all of her receding strength, her violet eyes dim. Her white hair had turned red, and her porcelain complexion was nearly transparent.
Full-Blood vampires rarely die from blood loss alone, unless it’s helped along by the addition of an anticoagulant. She needed to feed in order to regain her full strength. No way in hell was I offering myself up. The last thing I needed was to be infected. I doubted even my healing ability could stave off vampire parasites.
“Cole?” I asked, hovering at a safe distance.
She nodded. Her wide eyes latched onto my blood-soaked clothes and didn’t let go. Either he’d discovered she was working against him or he no longer found her assistance necessary. The former was more likely, given his recruitment program. Weed out the traitors.
“Phin.” My stomach clenched. “Is Phin still with him?”
I decided her feeble head shake meant she didn’t know rather than the alternative. No more bodies were crumpled on the roof that I could see. No sign of the former Hunter and his Coni hostage. I couldn’t babysit Eleri, and I hoped she wouldn’t take my abandonment as a sign of hostility. Unless …
“Does Isleen know what’s going on tonight?” I asked. Another head shake I could interpret as a no. Too bad there wasn’t a Vampire Backup Flare I could use to get her attention.
I made short work of scouring the rest of the rooftop. No sign of them. At the corner of the north side, I had a good view down the block and of the spectacle that was the arts fund-raiser. The theater marquee was lit, advertising the event in tall block letters. Red and gold and white lights flared brightly from the lobby windows. Cars and limos were parked all along the street. Only a handful of well-dressed stragglers lingered outside, some smoking, others chatting. The music came from there as well—some kind of big band nonsense that always reminded me of dying trumpets.
It all looked so innocent, the people inside unaware of the threat lurking nearby. Oblivious to the fact that they were about to become a Halfie buffet. I’d felt that same false peace once, resting fitfully in Danika’s bedroom while the Triads converged on Sunset Terrace. Bringing with them the same destruction that Cole’s militia was about to bring down on Parker’s Palace.
I couldn’t watch another slaughter.
There was a pay phone at two o’clock, opposite end of the block from the theater. I focused on the corner, closed my eyes, and slipped into the Break. Every wound was on fire, every ache smarting and stinging. My head pounded, and it didn’t stop when I materialized near the phone, nail-bat still clenched in my right hand. I scooted inside, grabbed the sticky receiver, and dialed.
“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?” the disconnected voice said.
“There’s a bomb in the sound booth at the old Parker’s Palace theater set to go off in five minutes. Better save your highest bracket of taxpayers,” I said, and hung up. My hand was shaking, and I wanted desperately to throw up. Police backup was better than nothing.
I had no idea what time it was and no patience now for subtlety. Sticking as close to the buildings as possible, I ran toward the theater, occasionally checking out the nearby rooftops. For snipers, for Cole, for anything out of the ordinary. A narrow alley, barely three feet wide, ran between the theater and the low-rent office building next to it. I darted in, ignoring the surprised shout of one fur-coated smoker, and sought a side entrance.
Halfway down the length of the building, I found an emergency exit door. No doorknob on my side.
