“I think that’s a mistake,” Jonah said. “I think he should talk to her, and find out who she is and what she knows. Then we can decide what to do.”
“And Gabriel thinks that she’s charmed you somehow. Which is why you’re out of Nightshade.”
“They’re killing mainliners in droves and blaming it on us, Jonah,” Mike said. “You think we should let them keep at it?”
“I never said that,” Jonah said, flinching as another shiv hit home.
“We can’t fight them when they’re organized like this.” Charlie reloaded again. “That’s why Summer’s dead. Even free shades are getting stronger. If we get rid of Lilith, we can go back to our usual game. Less risk for us, less risk for the general public.”
“Jonah,” Alison said, holding her fire for the moment. “You can still help us. You could arrange a meeting. Tell her we want to talk terms. And when you’ve set it up, let us know when and where. We’ll be waiting, and this thing will be over.”
“No,” Jonah said. “I’m out of Nightshade, remember?” He went to turn away, and Alison fired a bolt over his shoulder. Dumbfounded, he turned back to face her.
“Hey,” Charlie said. “Cut it out. Jonah’s not the enemy.”
“He’s either with us or against us,” Alison said, firing off another. She meant to miss: Alison was a better shot than that, but just then Jonah didn’t care. He didn’t remember covering the distance between them. But he plowed into her and she went down on her back and the crossbow went flying, slamming into the guardrail. He rolled away, scooped up the weapon, and broke it in half.
Alison scrambled to her feet and charged at him, and he sidestepped easily. She turned and came at him again, and he evaded her again.
“We can keep doing this for as long as you want,” Jonah said. “But I’m guessing the police won’t ignore what’s happening here forever.”
Alison struggled to catch her breath. “When Gabriel finds out you interfered with a Nightshade operation —”
“Once you’ve regained your senses, I think you’ll agree that it’s best if Gabriel doesn’t hear anything about this little exchange at all,” Jonah said. “I may not be in operations anymore, but I’m not going to let you shoot at me.”
By now, there was little to no activity on the ground. The shades were either dead or fled into hiding, and the hunters on the ground dispersed quickly, leaving no evidence that they’d ever been there.
A strangled cry from below distracted Jonah. He looked down and saw that Kenzie’s chair had emerged from under the bridge. He was trying to escape a swarm of free shades that were leaning in, poking at him, covering his face with their hands. Harassing him.
Kenzie had no Nightshade amulet. He shouldn’t have been able to see them clearly, yet, obviously, he was aware of them, batting at them with his hands. As Jonah watched, his brother’s wheelchair veered off the walkway into the grass, heading for the river.
“Kenzie!” Jonah vaulted over the side of the walkway, landing hard on the pavement below. He sprinted after his brother, intercepted the wheelchair at the water’s edge, and knocked Kenzie’s hand off the throttle. The chair slowed to a stop and Jonah set the brake.
He turned to face the shades, and they faded back, out of reach, then turned and fled.
Kenzie was trembling, glassy-eyed, seizing. He still gripped the MP3 player in one hand. Jonah managed to pry it free. The music had stopped.
Jonah glanced back at the bridge. Alison, Charlie, and Mike were gone.
Swearing softly, he turned Kenzie so he faced the river, knowing that once the seizure started, he’d just have to ride it out. With Kenzie, you never knew just what that would involve.
Blue flame webbed and flickered over Kenzie’s skin, and Jonah hoped he wouldn’t short out the chair. The flame coalesced into balls of fire that arced out over the river, hissing like Roman candles as they dropped into the water. Fortunately, none seemed in danger of hitting the wooden buildings on the other side. Kenzie’s arms and legs jittered and danced, his ashen face painted by his personal light show.
“Spectacular, Kenzie,” Jonah murmured, resting his gloved hands on his brother’s shoulders, pulling them back when the pain became intolerable. “Spectacular.” He just kept talking, saying anything that came into his head, knowing that his voice was one thing that could keep Kenzie grounded. All the while Jonah scanned their surroundings, alert for attack.
When it was over, Kenzie sat, exhausted, pale and sweating. Jonah slipped the headphones over his brother’s damp hair, replaced the MP3 player in his hand, and hit shuffle.
It was nearly five a.m. when the Kinlock brothers made the long climb up St. Clair, heading home. Jonah had just settled Kenzie back in his room when his phone went off. A text from Natalie. In fact, it was the latest of several he had missed.
Chapter Twenty-five
Safe Passage
After returning Kenzie to his room, Jonah descended to the first floor, exited out the front, then circled around and reentered through the glassed-over courtyard in back. Summer and winter, this place was an oasis in the city, filled with plants and flowers, a vegetable and herb garden, a fountain. All of the Safe Passage rooms let out onto this courtyard.
Jonah caught a whiff of Gabriel’s highly potent ganja from across the courtyard. The door to Octagon stood open, and Jonah walked into a smoky haze.
The lights were dim, candles all around, each flame haloed. Mose was sprawled in one of the custom-made recliners that most clients at Safe Passage preferred to beds. He was wrapped in a fleecy blanket, his arms and legs poking out like chicken bones from a nest of feathers. Natalie sat in a chair next to the bed, her expression grim, her nose pinked up from crying, holding Mose’s hand. She’d never gotten used to facing off with death . . . and losing.
Severino was sound asleep in another visitor’s chair, one arm flung over his eyes. Mose was wearing headphones, but when he saw Jonah, he slid them off and set them on the table beside the bed. Rock and roll leaked out, obviously set on maximum volume. “Jonah!” he said. “No more worries about ruining my hearing.” He lifted a Corona from the cup holder on the recliner and tilted it toward Jonah. “Want one?”
Jonah shook his head. “Not tonight.”
“Hey now, think it over, man,” Mose said. “Bar’s open. Irish wake.”
“All right,” Jonah said. He crossed the room and reached into the cooler next to Mose’s bed, fishing out a bottle. Wiping it on his jeans, he cracked it open and took a sip. “What are we celebrating?”
Mose patted the cushion beside him. “Please. Sit down.”
“I’m pretty nasty, to tell you the truth,” Jonah said, brushing at his clothes. “You don’t want me on your bed.”
“You mess up the bed, it’s not my problem.”
Jonah sat on the side of the bed, rolling the bottle between his hands. “Are you in any pain?”
“No, I had me a great massage and a spell in the hot tub and few tokes on Gabriel’s primo weed. Natalie’s been hanging out with me . . . she’s totally set on soothe. I’m feeling pretty mellow, to tell you the truth.”
“So. What’s going on?”
“Tomorrow—no—today’s the day, man,” Mose said, glancing at his phone. “Today’s the day I cross over to the dark side.”
“No,” Jonah said, shaking his head. “No. That can’t be right.”
“I swear, it’s true. I got back here and looked in the mir ror, and
“I think you messed up.”
“Have I ever been wrong before?” Mose raised an eyebrow.
