Cheat the Grave

Then it would turn into a free-for-all. Meanwhile, I was the only armed person in the room.

“It’s good to be queen,” I muttered, with a small, private smile.

As the head of Archer Enterprises, Valhalla’s COO, and an esteemed member of this wedding party, I’d ordered a metal detector and a small phalanx of security guards to check every bag and body entering the enclosed pool area. It was a precaution easily explained away by the august guest list, along with the groom’s wealth and world prominence. Any agent wishing to enter would have to disarm, and most would not. The Shadows weren’t even on guard because the Tulpa had no idea what was to happen here. And while there could have been some turnover in that troop in the weeks since I’d been expelled, only one agent I knew was patrolling the hotel’s halls, and it was his usual post.

As for the Light? Well, that was answered once Warren sidled up behind me.

“It’s official,” he whispered in my ear. “Someone is going to die this afternoon.”

I whirled, but he grabbed my arm before we could speak, forcing me into an alcove normally used to stock towels.

We faced off and his top lip lifted in a snarl. “Perhaps we can share a dance after the festivities, dear.”

I pulled away, rubbing at my wrist. “So last night you were a homeless man living off buffet scraps, and today you’re a South Asian livery boy.” I looked at his uniform, liveried for the occasion, stolen for the same. He was in white, distinguishing him from the guests, and his hair had been shorn overnight, shorter and cleaner than I’d ever seen it.

“Last night you were carrying a weapon you shouldn’t even be allowed to touch, and today you’re dressed like a South Asian Barbie. Also a dichotomy.”

Like my entire life wasn’t? “Well, you know. It’s important to keep up appearances.”

He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, slouching as he stared at me. Most unliverylike. “You’re making life very difficult on me.”

“God forbid,” I said, echoing his flat tone. What did he want, an apology? Nothing I said could make me any more of an outcast than I already was-or less.

He turned his head, squinting out over the crowd, eyes lingering on the sitar player as the first song began. I’d have to go soon. “The rogue agents can’t be trusted. They’re using you, and as soon as they get what they want from you, they’ll either kill you or abandon you. Most likely the first.”

“They took me in when I had nothing and no one. You introduced me to a world that wanted me dead, then practically ensured the fate by turning your back on me. They saved me from Mackie. Where the fuck were you?”

His nostrils flared, but all he said was, “They’re using you for your knowledge of the troop, and the tools you can provide in combating us.”

“I don’t have any tools.”

“What about the defensive compound protecting them last night?” he said, expression dead and tight. “The one you’re probably wearing now?”

Oh, yeah. That. “I have a right to protect myself, Warren. Besides, maybe I had some protectant in reserve.”

“I went to the warehouse, Joanna. It was unarmed, and your scent was all over it. Yours and Tripp’s.”

He spat the man’s name out like it’d gone bad in his mouth, and I lifted my chin. I wasn’t going to talk to Warren about Tripp…a man he thought of as an enemy, but one who’d died saving me. The urge to pull out the quirley and blow venomous smoke in this man’s face was almost overwhelming. I refrained, but only because I was expecting a far greater threat than Warren. “The defensive protectant is not an offensive weapon. Again, I have a right to my own defense.”

He shook his head in disgust, and I realized he was right; this was futile. Despite my ejection from the troop, Warren believed I’d betrayed him, and nothing was going to sway him from the belief.

I turned to walk away.

He raised his voice. “What I’m most concerned with is the other weapon you’ve so generously handed them. You.”

I turned slowly, disbelief oozing from every pore. “How do you figure?”

“You can still touch the conduits, Joanna. You shouldn’t be able to, not as a mortal. And not as a rogue.”

“So how?”

Another look overtook his features, one both softer…and harder. “Come back into the troop, and we’ll figure it out together.”

“Now you want me back?” Like being thrust underwater, I could see his mouth moving, but his voice was distorted, the words that unreal.

“I’m holding out an olive branch, Joanna,” he said, a tight smirk stretched over his weathered face. “You should take it.”

I laughed so loudly a small clump of wait staff turned to stare. “You’ve found another use for me. Is that it?”

“You’re making a scene,” he said, jaw clenching so tightly I knew I was kicking off some potently bitter emotion. But I was just trying to figure out what about me would be so useful to him. I mentally ticked through everything he’d learned lately-the grays, their hideout at the Test Site-but only one thing truly clicked as a matter of urgency. I laughed again. “Oh…I see. You know there’s a child in Midheaven, and Hunter-a man you also discarded- is your link to that child. And I’m your link to him. Because we share the aureole.”

“You don’t share the aureole,” he snapped so quickly I knew he wasn’t entirely sure. “That’s impossible with a mortal.”

I’d done a lot of things in the past year previously thought impossible. Pursing my lips, I watched him another few seconds. “And I suppose my return to the troop is conditioned upon telling you everything I know about the cell?”

“Of course.”

Wow. I shook my head at the hubris. This man wanted it all his way. “Not going to play out that way, Warren.”

“Really?”

“Hell, no,” I snapped, so angry I was shaking. “I might not be an agent, you arrogant prick, but I’m human and I have my rights. Primary among them? Freedom. Choice.” I spat the words at him, remembering the ones Hunter had given me too. “The ability to create the world as I want it to be.”

He lunged, his nostrils flaring wide, and tugged on my arm. “Not this one.”

I jerked from his touch, but it was too late. A sharp pain pierced my palm, and he scored my hand all the way down to the newly printed tip of my middle finger, giving an especially hard yank. The print didn’t come off as the blood welled, but my defensive protectant did.

“You wanna live by your own rules?” he said as the fine netting rippled, then dissipated. “Then you’ll die by them too. Good-bye, Joanna.”

And he left me defenseless in an open-air venue I was sure Sleepy Mac would find before the ceremony was over. Holding my palm closed, I winced and looked around to see if anyone had noticed. I told myself the wound was so shallow it wouldn’t make a difference. Not when it came time to grab a weapon. I’d even almost convinced myself of it.

And that’s when the Tulpa arrived.

He paused as he spotted me inside the entry of the pool area, then angled his wheelchair my way. You still have weapons, I thought, trying not to panic. But as the mechanical whirring of the Tulpa’s chair grew closer, every aging conduit seemed so far away. It was impossible to be in this being’s presence and not wish for protection- full-body armor would do nicely-and I wasn’t the only one who felt that way. Even the mortals he passed straightened, then slumped, his power making them squirm without precisely knowing why. The instinct of prey caught under a predator’s stare had been bred out of the mostly urban population, but it still flickered beneath the cool, sophisticated veneer, like a carp’s tail catching the sun before diving lower.

If you were watching the scene from a distance-or, more likely these days, on a reality show-the knee-jerk flinch would be hard to understand. The Tulpa looked weaker than ever. He was confined to that chair, devoid of the