all grown extra heads. “Um, maybe this is a stupid question, but he’s a were-osprey, right? How’s he going to fly you anywhere?”
Hell, I’d forgotten that David didn’t know Phin’s secret. Bi-shifting was something only the oldest, most protected Clans could manage, and Phin was one of the last survivors of his people. He was able to sprout wings with a span of twice his own height while the rest of him remained human. The ability was carefully guarded by the Clan Assembly, and Wyatt and I were privileged to know about it.
Behind me, Phin chuckled. Fabric rustled, followed by a faint breeze. Then twin shadows fell across the floor, cast from the lamp behind him. David’s face went slack. I didn’t have to turn around but did anyway. A gibbering, terrified half-Blood had seen Phin like that once and asked if Phin was an angel. And standing with hands on hips, bare chest rippling with corded muscle, handsome face smiling benevolently, mottled brown-and-white wings expanded as far as they could go, he looked just like one.
“Whoa,” David said.
“Your word you tell no one of this ability,” Phin said, tone sharp as a blade. “Swear.”
“Thank you.” His wings retracted as quickly as they’d appeared, and his shirt was back on by the time we reassembled in the living room.
“So what do we do with him?” David asked, jacking his thumb at Axon’s quiet shape, still tucked in the far corner by the kitchen.
“Put him on ice for now,” I said. “It will take Phin, Wyatt, and me at least an hour to get to Boot Camp —”
Phin interrupted. “It’ll be faster if I fly us.”
I shook my head. “We can’t risk it in broad daylight. David, I need you to stay here. After an hour, call Kismet and tell her everything except what we’re planning with Token.”
“I can’t lie to her,” David said, eyes narrowing. “I may not be officially assigned, but she’s my temporary Handler.”
“You’re telling me you never lied to Willemy about anything?”
“Not Triad-related. You make it a habit of lying to your Handler?”
“Not a habit, no.”
Wyatt made a soft noise. I wanted to roll my eyes and didn’t. Sure, I’d embellished and obfuscated and stretched the truth when necessary to get the damned job done. It shouldn’t seem so strange.
“We could render him unconscious,” Phin said. “That will solve the—”
“Okay, fine.” David glared at me. “I’ll do it, all right? If she reams me a new asshole when she finds out I lied—”
“Tell her to put it on my tab,” I said. “In the meantime, get rid of those syringes and keep Axon secure until Kismet can get here and pick him up. Don’t talk to him, don’t go near him. Understand?”
“Yeah, I got it.” Got it and wasn’t happy about it, from the look on his face.
I took a few minutes in front of the bathroom mirror to get my looks in order. The cuts and bruises had healed. With a rough washcloth and aloe-scented soap, I finished washing my face and neck, removing the last remnants of my and Axon’s blood. I picked at the dried bits in my hair and wished for a rubber band to pull the thick waves back from my face, not for the first time considering just taking a pair of scissors to it.
Wyatt was already behind the wheel of a black two-door clunker with Phin tucked uncomfortably in the small backseat. I slid into the front and got my first good look at the cabin as we drove down a potholed dirt track that masqueraded as a driveway. The cabin’s exterior was constructed of hewn logs, cut to fit at the corners and chinked with clay. It looked ancient tucked among tall oaks and loblolly pines, like the woodsman’s cabin in a bleak fairy tale. Two other cars were parked outside. I recognized Phin’s but not the second one.
The tire trail dumped into a dirt road, and Wyatt made a right. After a few more miles of winding down from the mountains, he made another right onto a two-lane paved road, heading south toward the city. We really had been in the middle of nowhere.
“Did you leave earlier to meet up with Phin?” I asked after we’d passed the first twenty minutes of the trip in complete silence.
“I hadn’t intended to,” Wyatt said. He spoke to the road in front of him. “He called my cell while I was in the city. I said you were up and around. I met him, and he followed me back.”
“Oh.” I skated my fingertip across the dash, leaving a dark trail behind on the dusty molded plastic. Gross. “You left to run an errand.”
The steering wheel cracked under his hands. “Yep.”
“Which was what?”
“Are you interrogating me now, Evy?”
“You left and he came, Wyatt. I think I’m entitled to ask where you went.”
His profile looked pained, then angry. I expected to see a cartoon thundercloud hovering above his head. “There’s a bag under your seat.” Clipped. “That’s what I went out for.”
I bent and retrieved a paper sack. The top of the bag was rolled closed, its bulky shape awkward. “Easterbrook Pharmacy” was printed on the side in blue letters. I opened it without ceremony and peered inside.
And almost burst into tears.
A toothbrush, ladies deodorant, a hairbrush, cherry-vanilla body wash and a mesh sponge, a pack of pink disposable razors, aloe-infused shaving lotion, and vanilla lip gloss were jumbled together in the bag. I stared at them, struck dumb. He’d gone out for a bag of female items that had probably embarrassed the hell out of him to purchase. The gesture was so sweet, so simple, it made my heart soar.
“I … This is … Thank you.”
He nodded, never looking away from the road, but his expression had softened. “You’re welcome. It seems kind of dumb now.”
The only dumbness about it was my questioning him. I tucked the bag back under my seat for safekeeping. Once we reached the highway bypass and crossed the northern branch of the Anjean River, going south by way of East Side, Wyatt started talking. He described each of the three upper floors of R&D in detail—hallways and rooms and blind corners. The first sublevel was as far down as he’d ever gone. It was all laboratories and storage lockers and closets. Those closets would be my best bet for a landing zone. I pictured it all in my head without much trouble, since the details he remembered were amazing—as long as they proved accurate. He wouldn’t guess, though; guessing only meant we could transport into a wall or, worse, a person.
Soon we’d left the city behind and, minutes later, the bypass. Two miles past the road that wound its way to Boot Camp, Wyatt turned down a badly paved access road marked with a faded sign. “Reservoir” was the only word still legible. Half a mile down, the road opened into a small gravel lot, bordered on one side by a metal shack the size of a trailer and on the other by water.
“I didn’t know this was here,” I said, climbing out after we parked. A thick, musty odor mingled with the scents of earth and pine and made me want to sneeze.
“It’s not used anymore as a water source,” Wyatt said. “It was contaminated about fifteen years ago, so they cut off the pipes and forgot about it.” He pointed opposite us, near the start of the tree line. “Kids come up here sometimes and have bonfires, but mostly they’re smart enough not to swim.”
Bright orange signs were posted near the concrete water barrier, the words too small to read from my position. Probably things like “caution” or “biohazard area.”
“Too bad. It’s kind of lovely here.”
“How far are we from Boot Camp?” Phin asked, joining us by the trunk of the car. He’d left his shirt in the backseat, wings already out and tucked close to his back.
“You need to fly about a mile northeast,” Wyatt said. “That will put you within a half mile. You should be able to see the valley from that distance.”
“And when we do, that’s my cue,” I said. “Barring any unexpected resistance, we should be back in thirty minutes, max.”
“Speaking of which …” Wyatt popped the trunk of his car, opened a small black suitcase, and removed a GLOCK .22 pistol. He checked the magazine and the chamber, then held it toward me, butt first. “In case of unexpected resistance.”
I hesitated, understanding the reasons and hating the implications. “What kind of rounds?”
