“We found you downstairs in some sort of basement,” Rufus continued. “Old offices or storage or something. Amalie could still sense the immediate presence of others, so I sent Wormer and Tully out on recon, just to make sure we were alone. You were …” His mouth twitched, eyebrows knitted, as if he couldn’t quite reconcile his memory with the woman watching him from behind a stranger’s face. “You were dying. Wyatt went nuts when he saw you.”
Bright spots of color flared on Wyatt’s cheeks. His jaw clenched, knuckles stretching white against the steering wheel. In this new body that desired him and its short-term lease on life that practically begged me to do some stupid things with it, I liked the idea of him going crazy protective. Just not with so much at stake.
“Tybalt tried to keep him back, but we couldn’t … Help didn’t get there in time. You never said a word.”
“But I was conscious?” I asked.
“Conscious, but I don’t know if you were lucid. You tried to talk, but nothing came out.”
“Regardless, I saw the people in the room. You, Wyatt, Jaron, Amalie, and Tybalt.” Wyatt was convinced I’d been afraid to speak in front of someone present that night. Afraid to speak in front of either a respected Council sprite, her aide, a fellow Hunter, or a Handler. None of those thoughts was comforting.
Wyatt loosed his grip on one side of the wheel and reached across the seat. He gently squeezed my knee—a show of support, or an effort to keep me from voicing my thoughts, I don’t know. Either way, I kept those fears to myself.
“Where is Tybalt now?” I asked instead.
“Probably on a routine patrol,” Rufus said. “Kismet’s Triad has kept tabs on the east side of town by the tributary. My team was the only one dispatched to locate Wyatt; everyone else is on regular duty.”
“Locate?” Wyatt snorted. “You would have put a bullet in the back of my head, if you’d had the chance.”
“Bullshit, Truman. Our orders were to bring you in, not kill you.”
“Yeah, leave that job to your bosses.”
“They’re your bosses, too.”
“Not anymore.” He glanced up into the rearview mirror. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I don’t exactly work for the brass anymore. I have a funny feeling my credentials have been revoked. Being labeled a danger to myself and society can do that.”
“I was doing my job.”
“So was I.”
The testosterone levels in the car were reaching a dangerous high, and I swallowed a sarcastic comment about bringing out rulers. It wouldn’t help diffuse the situation, because I was staring at a pair of alpha males. Both wanted to prove their point, but at the moment, I didn’t care who was the bigger man. I needed their collective attention.
“Hey!” I said. “Dead person here, working on a strict timetable. Can we concentrate, please, and save the shit-slinging for my after-afterlife?”
“Evy—” Wyatt started.
I spun in my seat, pointing one finger at him like a teacher berating a belligerent child. “And don’t think I’m ignoring what he said about a freewill deal, Truman. We’ll be talking about that at a later time.”
He clammed up and steered the car into the parking lot of a Burger Palace. The ancient chain never installed drive-thru windows. They were notable for being the only place in town to offer a five-alarm chili cheeseburger and guarantee a refund if you ate the whole thing. Jesse did it once, and then spent the entire next day vomiting it all back up.
“I’ll get the coffee,” Wyatt said. “Anyone want food?”
“Turkey burger with everything, and a side salad,” Rufus said.
I bit my lower lip to hold back laughter. Interesting choice after being locked up for a day and a half. Wyatt looked at me, but I shook my head. Watching Wyatt disappear inside of the Burger Palace’s redbrick walls, I felt an unfamiliar sense of separation. Since that moment we met outside of the pay phone booth, we had not been more than ten feet apart.
I grasped the door handle, overcome by the urge to follow him, to maintain that physical proximity. Keep him close where I could protect him.
I was being foolish. He’d be back in five minutes with coffee and food and a smile for me. And probably a frustrated glare for Rufus, who kept staring at me like I was a particularly fascinating museum exhibit. I picked at the corner of my bandage. The itching had stopped. It finally seemed safe to look.
“What’s it like?” he asked.
“What’s what like?”
“New life.”
Good fucking question. “Kind of like looking through a camera lens. Everything is sharp and in focus, but doesn’t feel quite real. My body is taller, and Chalice has a lot more hair.”
“Chalice?”
“Frost.” It still felt odd to say her name like she was an individual. More and more, we were becoming the same person. One unique identity, rather than two sharing one space.
“Did you know beforehand?”
I blinked. He really needed to quit with the cryptic questions. “Know what, Rufus?”
“About the supposed union between Bloods and goblins. This thing that has Wyatt so hell-bent on breaking every single rule.”
Oh, that. Yes. “No,” I said.
“But you are absolutely certain now that he’s right about this secret alliance? No doubt in your mind?”
I had doubts about a lot of things, none of which would go away until the last of my memories returned. The only thing I didn’t doubt was Wyatt, because he’d given me no cause.
“I think Wyatt believes in this enough for both of us,” I said. “He believed enough to give up his free will in exchange for my help. I’m not the only one on this three-day timetable, and until my memory returns and I know it, too, he’ll know for me. Someone set me up for murder, Rufus, and until I find out who, Wyatt is the only person I still trust.”
“Not even me?” It was matter-of-fact, a question with no hint of anger or surprise. Just curiosity.
“Not even you.” Maybe Chalice’s roommate. He seemed nice and completely oblivious to Dreg dealings. Not that I had any reason to contact him again before the clock ran out.
He blew hard through his teeth. “I feel like I need to apologize to you.”
“For what?”
“For my part in what happened to the Owlkins. I know you were friendly with them, and I’m sorry.” I closed my eyes, silently begging him to shut up. He said it anyway: “My team led the assault.”
Fists clenched in my lap, I tried to keep from flying at him. “You were following orders.”
“That doesn’t help me sleep at night.”
“Good.”
I glanced at the restaurant’s side door. A young couple bounced out, each carrying a supersized soda cup and matching silly grins. Still no sign of Wyatt. Rufus fidgeted in the backseat. His eyebrows were knitted, his mouth drawn into a tight line. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have guessed he was having a bowel movement.
“You okay?”
He flinched and didn’t look at me. “I need to use the facilities.”
I knew it. “Go ahead. I’ll make sure Wyatt doesn’t drive off without you.”
I smiled. He didn’t.
Rufus slid out of the backseat, letting the blanket fall to the cracked vinyl in a puddle of blue terry. He slammed the door and limped past me, around to the front of the car—the roundabout way of getting to the building next door. He stopped in front of the bumper, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his jeans. He stood there.
The short hairs on the back of my neck prickled. Warning lights flashed in my mind. I looked around, getting a three-sixty of the parking lot and all access points. Our side was against a slat-wood fence, ten feet tall and bordered by bushes and parking spaces. The back of the lot bordered the rear of a rotting apartment building, rusty fire escapes practically falling off the brick, and no street access. The opposite side of the restaurant—which I couldn’t see from there but vaguely recalled from driving in—was another stone barrier, the freestanding wall of a rubbled strip mall. It was a box canyon.
