my fingers and pulled. David pulled opposite me. The seal hissed open. I plucked out the still-ringing phone, and the bag splashed back into the bucket.
A generic phone, nothing special. The I.D. said “Willemy, R.” I grunted. Bastard.
“You gonna answer?” David asked.
I found the Speaker button, turned toward the waiting crowd that had spilled halfway into the tiny room, and accepted the call. “This isn’t Rhys Willemy, so who the fuck are you?”
Wyatt flinched. My greeting could have been more polite. I wasn’t in the mood for false pleasantries.
A deep chuckle answered me first, and then a male voice spoke. “I was hoping they would scare you up, Ms. Stone. I’ve heard so much about you, and yet we’ve never managed to meet.” His cadence was a little too precise, like a man trying hard to affect a nondescript accent and not quite succeeding.
“How about you turn yourself in so we can get better acquainted, Thackery?”
“I see you’ve done your homework.”
“It’s easy when you know how to get answers from people. You fond of turning humans into goblins?”
David blanched—the only one listening who hadn’t met Token.
“I have a fondness for a great many things,” Thackery said. “Not the least of which being the things you confiscated from Olsmill.”
I glanced at the painted message. “If you wanted your toys back, you could have just asked. Murdering people to make a point is a sure as shit way to end up on my bad side.”
“Mr. Willemy’s death is unfortunate. Yet you are taking me more seriously now than had I merely called you up for a chat over tea. Don’t you agree?”
Bastard. If Thackery had been in the room, I would have wrapped my hands around his throat and squeezed until his eyes popped out. “Violence gets your attention, huh? I’ll keep that in mind for when we meet.”
“You’re so certain we will.”
“Well, given the location in which we found the phone and your own admission that you’re glad they scared me up, I’d say it’s a damned good bet.” The conversation was grating on my nerves and composure. I didn’t like talking; I liked pummeling. “So what is it you think we have that’s yours?”
“Two things, specifically, that I would like returned to me. One of them is a sealed jar of amber liquid, marked with the designation ‘X-235.’ ”
Kismet had produced a small notepad and miniature retractable pen, and she was scribbling notes. Prepared.
“The second thing,” he continued, “is in a vial the size of an average cigar, red in color. It has no markings but was the only red vial in the lab that night.”
I glanced at Kismet; she nodded, to confirm the vial or simply that she’d written it all down. Thackery wasn’t getting anything back from me. “Don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what’s in those vials?” I asked.
“I have no intention of doing so, no. Rest assured they are nontoxic as long as the seals remain unbroken.”
“I’m not so naïve, Ms. Stone. And I’m not a greedy man, which is why I asked for those two items and not my entire laboratory’s contents.”
“Still not giving them back.”
“Then I’ll propose a trade.”
I tensed, alarmed now. “What could you possibly have that I want?”
“Ask the sprite if she lost anything today.” His tenor had darkened, coated in menace and promising something terrible.
Something nasty in the form of a stolen containment crystal. My hand shook and I nearly dropped the phone. Amalie had gone pale, her human eyes glowing an eerie, incandescent blue, radiating fury and power. She glared at the phone as though its mere presence disgusted her. Energy crackled around us, whip-snapping and tingling. It danced through me like an electrical current.
I’d seen Amalie angry, but never this pissed off.
“Do you know what that crystal is?” I asked. I didn’t have to ask for proof he had it. Few enough people knew it existed in the first place, never mind where it had been hidden.
“Of course I know,” Thackery replied, as if I were the biggest dolt ever to utter a question. “I feel its power calling to me. It wants to be freed, Ms. Stone. It’s not as stable as you might think.”
Old habits had me looking to Wyatt for a plan of action. A Hunter seeking the advice of her Handler in a situation she wasn’t certain how to manage. His expression was mostly blank, with only the barest hint of anger; I could see the rage boiling beneath the surface and how hard he was fighting to maintain decorum in mixed company.
“When and where?” I asked the phone.
“Four hours” was the response. “Keep the phone on you. I’ll call you with a location in three and a half, and with further instructions.” He hung up before I could utter another word.
Milo shouldered his way forward. “Nothing on the trace,” he said. “Wherever this guy is, he’s blocking us.”
“So we just give this loony tune what he wants?” David asked.
“Only if we have to,” I replied. “He has something far more dangerous than two vials of liquid.”
“You don’t know what’s in those two vials.”
“No, I don’t, but I sure as hell know what’s in that crystal. And if gets out, hunting Dregs will look like patty- cake compared to the things we’ll be fighting.”
“But what is it?”
I hesitated. I found no permission in Amalie’s gaze, but also no demand for silence. David had fought with us at Olsmill. His Handler had just been murdered. He deserved to know, especially if he tagged along for the ride, as I suspected he would.
“It’s a demon. It’s what Tovin pulled over from the other side at Olsmill, and what we barely managed to contain once. It is ancient and it wants to be free.”
David blinked. “Demon?”
“We hunt down half-Blood vampires for a living, David. Don’t tell me this really shocks you.” It had shocked the hell out of me once, but I needed him focused, not pondering the possibilities.
It worked, because he snapped to. “No, not really.”
I crammed the phone into my jeans pocket and took a step toward Kismet. “All of the stuff from Olsmill is still at Boot Camp, right?” She nodded. “Great. Road trip. Amalie?”
The still-sparking sprite queen turned those awful eyes on me. “I must return and report these events to the Fey Council. I will contact you again when the hour of the exchange draws near, and will offer any assistance you may require at that time.”
“David,” Kismet said, “can you give them a ride back—?”
“I’d like to go with you, if it’s all the same,” David said.
Kismet’s lips parted, but she hesitated on her answer. “All right. Felix, take David’s car and drop Amalie and Deaem off wherever they need to go, then meet me back at your place.”
“Sure, boss,” Felix said, though his tone communicated annoyance at being dumped with chauffeur duty.
I didn’t look back at Willemy as we left. I hadn’t really known him, and I grieved the loss of another experienced Handler rather than a friend. But all that aside, I had every intention of ripping his death out of Thackery’s ass.
This time around, David rode shotgun. Milo took his same single seat behind Kismet, so Wyatt and I sat together in the rear. We didn’t talk—just existed in each other’s pain. The city’s ten Handlers knew one another—it was essential for them to work together—whereas most Hunters knew only their two Triad partners. Wyatt and Kismet had to be taking Willemy’s murder hard.
I saw Wyatt’s grief in the tight line of his shoulders and tension in his jaw. I swear I heard his teeth grinding. He wanted to blow up or break down, but couldn’t allow himself that luxury. So I sat close, one hand on his left knee, in silent support. It was all I could do during the half-hour drive.
