Rob pulled on her hand, tugging her back into the car, and wrapped one arm around her, dropping a brief kiss to her head. The warmth of his words and his embrace left her feeling like the worst traitor who had ever lived. It made her want to spill out every secret held in her heart, but she stomped down firmly on the instinct. There was no space now for soft emotions, not if she wanted to learn the truth.
“I love you too,” she said and stepped out the car.
The Cleaners stepped forward with synchronized precision but made no sign that they would detain her. For the moment, her heart steadied.
Rob opened the back of the car and handed her the single backpack she’d filled with her meager belongings. One of the Cleaners moved forward and took it from her, and then they all moved away to give her and Rob a moment to say goodbye.
She didn’t know what to say, and Rob seemed similarly lost for words. He pulled her into a fierce hug.
“Be safe, Ally. Don’t do anything stupid.”
She grinned. “When have I ever done anything stupid?”
Rob remained uncharacteristically serious. “This isn’t worth dying for. Our families have already given too many lives to this cause, I don’t want you to give yours too.”
“Our families have given too much for me not to try. I must do this Rob. I can do this.”
She gave his hand one last squeeze, then turned, and walked away, following the Cleaners into the shadows of the Elemental College.
Chapter 2 – Jamie
Jamie groaned as he struggled through a sea of darkness toward consciousness. His head was pounding, as if someone was pressing a jackhammer directly against his skull. Keeping his eyes closed, he fought off a sudden wave of nausea.
What had Pete given him to drink last night? Pete’s crowd liked to party, so Jamie had experienced his fair share of hangovers in the last couple of weeks. And say what you would about Pete’s friends. Pampered socialites—yes. Spoiled brats—almost certainly without exception. But above all else, they possessed the constitutions of a practiced alcoholic, shrugging off the aftereffects of a night of drinking with ease.
He’d learned a hard lesson the first night he’d partied with them—champagne and beer didn’t mix well together. Neither did champagne and whiskey. In fact, to be safe, champagne shouldn’t be mixed with anything else.
Jamie groaned again. His head wasn’t just pounding; it seemed to be simultaneously stuffed with cotton wool and glass shards. This was not your run of the mill hangover.
Allyra had been worried that some Revenant might jump out from the shadows and kill Jamie. Turned out, it was far more likely that his liver would give out way before he found any sign of Cleaners or Revenants.
Jamie tried to gather the scattered fragments of his mind. They proved as elusive as autumn leaves twisting in the wind. He tried to rub his eyes.
Except he couldn’t.
Surging panic, served with a side of nausea. Jamie finally forced his eyes open. He was tied to a chair. Iron shackled his wrists and ankles. For a minute, he struggled against the bonds, but it was futile, gaining him nothing but more nausea.
He stilled.
Well, this isn’t good…
Think!
Think!
He took a deep breath.
Think.
What was the last thing that happened?
A party. Fancier than most. Planned rather than spontaneous.
New Year’s Eve.
But the people were the same. Rich. Entitled. Gifted.
So was the alcohol—champagne. Served in extraordinary flutes—almost certainly formed by Gifted hands. In fact, the entire party had been a rare and ostentatious display of the Gift.
There was decadence all around Jamie.
It was in the unusual and expertly curved shape of the crystal champagne flute in his hand. It was in the crispness of the champagne as it danced over his tongue. It was in the vastness of the house behind him, so large that it could no longer be called a house. Mansion, villa, or estate might have been more apt descriptions with the infinity pool at his feet and the uninterrupted view of Table Mountain stretching before him.
And finally, the decadence was in the stilted conversation around him. It was the sound of people speaking, not to make friends but connections. It was the murmur of insincerity.
New Year’s Eve, and this was how the one percent celebrated it. At least, this was how the Gifted one percent of the one percent celebrated it. Evidence of the Gifted surrounded him. There was a water fountain filled with dancing nymphs, controlled not by design or electronics but rather a talented Oceanic, whose deft skill had the nymphs swaying to the sound of the music around them. The fireworks that lit the sky at midnight were not made in a factory, rather coordinated by Infernos like himself.
Despite the brazen display of Gifted wealth, there had been nothing particularly strange about the party.
They had left the party.
As usual, Pete had been surrounded by a gaggle of female admirers. Few girls could resist basking in the glory of Pete’s good looks. And the fact that he was the heir apparent to the enormous Andromeda Corp fortune certainly didn’t hurt either.
Pete had always been Eva’s friend, and Eva, in turn, had been Allyra’s friend. It had never occurred to Jamie that Pete Andrews was part of the Andromeda Andrews. But, glancing at Pete now, it was hard to believe that he could be anything other than fabulously wealthy. The cut of his suit was expensive, and the pale blue of his shirt had obviously been chosen to complement the golden-brown tone of his skin. His dark, curly hair had been recently barbered, cut
