down it was solid. At the same time, I felt something pushing against me. It came in waves, reminding me on some level of the tiny, imaginary hands I’d felt trying to push me away from the warehouse.
A few steps above me, Bethany spread her fingers as if she were letting a breeze run through them. “Ingrid, I can feel the ward around this place. It’s incredible. The strongest I’ve ever felt.”
“Oh, thank you, dear,” Ingrid said, holding the door open for us. “But I can’t take the credit. I’m about as good at casting wards as I am at programming my cell phone. No, it was put there by a dear friend.”
Was the ward what I was feeling pushing against me? Bethany had used the word before, but I still had no real idea what it meant.
The entrance hallway of Ingrid’s town house was narrow and smelled of lavender and Murphy’s Oil. A vase of dried flowers stood on the credenza along the wall, and arranged around its base were more Hummel figurines set on doilies. I took it all in, the quaint umbrella stand by the door, the wooden shoe rack beside it with the words GOD BLESS THIS MESS carved across the top. The outside was nothing like I’d expected for a safe house, but the inside made me downright uneasy. There were no guards, no weapons, nothing that made me feel safe.
Ingrid closed the front door, then locked the dead bolt above the knob. “This house may be protected by a ward, but there’s no harm in being careful.” She turned to us, rubbing her hands together to warm them after the cool autumn night air. “There now. You must be Bethany?” She extended her right hand, the one without a glove, and Bethany shook it.
“Yes, I’m Bethany Savory. This is Thornton Redler.”
Ingrid shook Thornton’s hand next, and the happy smile faded from her face. “Oh, dear. Oh, I’m so sorry, young man. What did those awful creatures do to you?”
He touched the scar on his face with his other hand. “It’s okay.”
“I don’t mean the scar,” Ingrid said. “When I touch someone I can see their aura. It’s a gift I’ve had all my life. A person’s aura shows me everything I need to know about them. For instance, Bethany’s aura is a bright yellow, almost lemon. That tells me she’s a woman of purpose, that getting the job done right is important to her. It also tells me she’s someone who doesn’t like it when things are unpredictable or out of her control. Not when it comes to her duties, or her personal life.”
A slight blush colored Bethany’s cheeks. I chuckled, and she shot me an annoyed look. Clearly, Ingrid had pegged her to a tee.
“Every living thing has an aura, from simple houseplants to the most evolved creatures,” Ingrid continued. “But not you, Thornton Redler. You don’t have any aura at all.”
Thornton pulled his hand out of her grasp. “Well, this day just keeps getting better.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” Ingrid said. “You don’t look half bad for someone who’s,” she paused to choose her words carefully, “passed on.”
“I haven’t passed on yet,” he insisted.
“No. No, I suppose you haven’t,” she said. She turned to me next and stuck out her hand. “And you are…?”
I looked at her hand. If I took it, would she see too much? What if she saw that I was a thief? Or worse, saw the thing inside me? What if she didn’t see my aura, but instead saw nine of them—nine stolen auras stacked on top of each other like anonymous bodies in a mass grave? I wasn’t willing to risk it.
I stuck my hands in my pockets and said, “I’m Trent.”
Ingrid let her hand drop to her side. “Nice to meet all of you. Any friend of Isaac’s is a friend of mine. I just wish our meeting were under better circumstances. Please, come inside.” She escorted us down the entrance hall toward the flight of wooden stairs that led to the second floor. As we passed the kitchen, I smelled traces of pork chops and a hint of sauteed greens with garlic and lemon. My stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten in several hours, and now the hunger was catching up with me.
Bethany limped up the steps ahead of me, favoring her hurt leg. Thornton moved stiffly, as if his limbs refused to bend properly anymore. At the top of the stairs, an elaborately decorated living room ran the entire width of the extra-wide town house, its walls lined with overflowing bookcases. A set of eight upholstered, high- backed wooden chairs had been loosely arranged around the room, some against the wall and some in a semicircle around a coffee table with a wrought-iron base and a marble top. A long couch sat in the middle of the room with embroidered throw pillows at either arm. On the wall past the couch I noticed an old, blocked-off fireplace, a decorative remnant of a time when the buildings in this part of town didn’t have radiators or central heating. Its mantel was cluttered with framed pictures and Hummel figures. Above it, bolted to the wall, was a glass case containing six ornate, antique swords, their hilts together and their blades radiating out in a sunburst formation. In the far corner, near the stairs that led up to the third floor, an antique grandfather clock ticked loudly, its baroque, arrow-shaped hands showing the time as 1:30 a.m. I hadn’t realized how late it was. I’d left the fallout shelter a little past ten.
I crossed the room to the tall, narrow windows and pulled aside the thick white curtain. The street below was empty. Nothing moved along the rooftops.
“Make yourselves comfortable, I’ll be right back,” Ingrid said. She went downstairs again, the wooden steps creaking under her feet.
I took off my coat and inspected the damage. The leather on the back was ruined, shredded beyond repair. It was a shame, I liked that coat, though by now I knew better than to get attached to anything I wore. I hung it over the back of one of the upholstered chairs, and sat down. The chair’s high back rubbed against me, irritating the scratches on my back. I winced and leaned forward to take pressure off the wounds.
Bethany and Thornton sat on the couch, facing me. In the bright lights of the living room, the wound on her leg looked terrible, even through the hole in her jeans. Thornton’s skin was definitely turning from gray to a pale shade of green, especially around his eyes, his mouth, and the scar on his cheek. The three of us looked like we’d been to Hell and back. Maybe minus the back part.
“You’re sure we’ll be safe here?” I asked Bethany.
She nodded. “The ward around this house will keep anyone from finding it.”
“I didn’t even see this place until…” I paused, unsure how to describe what I saw. “Is that what a ward does?”
“It’s a spell that hides things,” Bethany said. “But it can’t hide what you’ve already seen, or what you already know is there. That’s why none of us saw the house until Ingrid showed us where it was.”
I nodded. I was starting to understand, albeit just barely. “So if the Black Knight saw it, too…”
“He didn’t,” she assured me. “He was already gone.”
I hoped she was right about that. Ward or no, I’d feel safer if we had a cache of weapons, at least.
“I don’t like just sitting here,” Thornton said. He rubbed his hands along his thighs restlessly. “I should be with Gabrielle.”
“You’ll be with her soon,” Bethany said.
“Right, once the sun comes up,” he said. He glanced at the clock. “That’ll be in, what, four hours? That’s four hours we’re wasting here. Four hours I could be spending with her, either looking for a spell to keep this amulet from shutting itself off or … or saying goodbye.”
“If Gabrielle and Isaac both think it’s best that we stay here, that’s good enough for me,” Bethany said. “It should be good enough for you, too.”
Thornton turned away from her and gnawed at his thumbnail. The nail fell off. He watched it tumble into his lap, and said, “I just don’t want to waste any time.”
Bethany didn’t answer. For what felt like a very long time, none of us spoke. The air prickled with tension. I glanced at the staircase and wondered when Ingrid was going to come back. Finally, Bethany said, “I’m sorry, Thornton. If I’d known about this place, we could have come here sooner. Maybe even avoided the warehouse altogether. Then things might have been different.”
Thornton shook his head. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I’ve been acting like an asshole because I don’t know how to cope with this. You can stop beating yourself up, Bethany. It wasn’t your fault.”
“Isaac put me in charge of this mission, remember? That means I’m responsible for everything that happens, including what happened to you. It’s as much my fault as anyone else’s.”
He tapped the amulet under his shirt. “You’re also the one who gave me my second chance. Don’t forget that.”
The steps creaked as Ingrid came back upstairs. She was carrying a silver tray laden with a ceramic teapot,
