Wrong Side of Dead

Chapter Six

Greg’s dead. He bled out from his leg wound, and while I know it isn’t my fault, I still feel like I should apologize to him. He’s just one more body among dozens of others, carefully arranged in respectful rows beneath a haphazardly erected tent. The smell of death is suffocating in the summer heat, but no one’s bothering me so I stay put, comfortable here among the dead.

I think Greg is one of Sharpe’s Hunters, and he’s also the first to die from today’s engagement. Some are wounded, and they’re being tended to under another tent. I’m not sure what’s become of Bastian—if he’s alive or dead—and I’m not sure I care. Others are taking care of things, so I allow myself the luxury of just sitting and thinking, drumming up enough energy to walk to one of the Jeeps later when we evacuate.

Evacuate. It’s a foreign word to me, and one I just can’t assign to Boot Camp. We’ve always been here. Okay, realistically, we’ve been here about eight years, but for every Hunter currently active, it’s always been here. It’s been our heart, the lifeblood of the Triads. Leaving it all behind feels like walking away from a funeral—fully aware that what I’m walking away from is never coming back, no matter how much I want it to.

We have a city to protect. We have able-bodied Hunters and Handlers who need someone to guide them. If all the brass are truly dead, someone has to step up and make decisions. Maybe Kismet or Baylor, I don’t know. Wyatt’s obviously turned his back on everything he once believed in.

No, not going there. Just thinking Wyatt’s name infuriates me all over again, and makes me second-guess returning, coming back into his life when he’s managed to accept that I was gone. I should have stayed away, for both of our sakes.

Phineas is smart to approach from a wide angle, giving me plenty of time to see him. I am so not in the mood to be startled. He has a bottle of water and a banana, and he’s stripped out of his black shirt and shoulder holsters. Given the heat, I kind of wish I could strip down a little more. I might have, too, if I wasn’t so embarrassed about my starved and tortured appearance.

“They’re bringing food out of the cafeteria,” Phin says as he stoops under the tent. He squats in front of me and holds out the banana. “Hungry?”

“Famished. Thank you.” I start to peel the banana, more grateful than I can properly convey. The first bite is too sweet, too sticky, but I force it down anyway, glad it’s solid. It isn’t a milkshake. And it isn’t lemon.

My stomach clenches and twirls at the memory of those awful protein smoothies, and I choke on the second bite. Spit it out. Phin takes the banana away and presses the bottle of water into my hand. I manage a few sips. Much more and I’ll probably vomit for real.

“I’m sorry, Evy.”

“Not your fault. You have no idea how much I want to be able to eat that.” Almost as much as I want a cold shower. I rinsed my hands before hiding in the tent of death, but my body is sticky with blood, sweat, and a layer of grime that looks like a second skin. If I look half as gross as I feel …

“Perhaps something blander.”

“Something tells me the kitchen isn’t taking orders.”

His mouth quirks. “Once we leave, then. It shouldn’t be much longer.”

“I have nowhere to go, Phin.” The words eject themselves before I can self-edit, and a pang of sadness sits heavily in my chest. It isn’t completely true—I still have the old apartment on Cottage Place. I just don’t want to go back there. And so far, no one has offered me an alternative. Or asked for my help.

He frowns, eyebrows furrowing. “You assume Wyatt won’t ask you to accompany him?”

“Well, he didn’t seem too keen on the idea the last time we talked.”

“Wyatt is used to being in control, to making his own decisions. He’s now part of something over which he does not have complete control.”

I snort, then sip more water. Still hot, still queasy, but definitely less likely to barf at any moment. “So who is in control? This Astrid chick?”

“Please don’t call her ‘chick’ to her face. And yes, Astrid was the leader of the Assembly’s private security force. She helped clean up Belle’s mess last month. She also delivered punishment to Snow.”

Impressive résumé. “Felia?”

“Correct.”

So eye color really does run in Clans, as every copper-eyed were I’ve met so far has been Felia. Phin shares bright blue eyes with Joseph, Aurora, and Ava—the last of his own Clan of birds-of-prey shifters. “How about the others?”

“Marcus is Felia, as well. Leah is Ursia and Kyle is Cania.”

“Leah is a bear?” I can’t help the brief bubble of laughter at the idea of the slight woman with multicolored hair shifting into a bear—grizzly, black, panda, or teddy. It seems too ridiculous.

As if I have room to judge.

“So how’d Wyatt get mixed up in the Assembly’s little task force?” I ask.

“He was invited, same as I.”

“By Astrid?”

“Yes.”

“So she decides who to let in?”

“Mostly, but Marcus is her second, and his opinion carries a lot of weight.”

Terrific. “Any other humans?”

Phin hesitates. “Not at present. Tybalt was considered, but his loyalty to Gina Kismet and her team made him too great a risk.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Please understand, Evy, this isn’t personal. The Assembly has long seen a need to protect itself and its Clans, and now we have the means and the outside support to do so.”

“Outside support.”

He presses his lips together, an indeterminate emotion passing across his face like a shadow. “I can’t promise anything except this: you will have somewhere to go. When you were—when you went with Thackery, the Assembly was … honored by your sacrifice.”

“Phin—”

“Please, Evy.” He takes my hand and squeezes it tight. “The other Elders saw a human Hunter trade herself for a Dreg whom she called a friend. Astrid was assigned to look for you. Wyatt was out of touch these past few days because he was in the mountains with her and Marcus, following a scent trail. Wyatt may have let you go, but he never gave up hope of punishing Thackery for taking you away.”

A bubble of emotion settles in my throat and makes it difficult to breathe. He may have let you go. I can’t argue the truth in Phin’s statement. It’s too late to fix what Thackery helped us break. Wyatt and I both changed dramatically, and I doubt for the better. All we can do—all of us, I realize, as I glance at the activity beyond the tent—is to start over.

“It feels like such a small thing to say thank you,” Phin adds. “You saved many lives that day, Evy, but you saved mine as well. Again.”

I put down the bottle of water and cover our clasped hands with my other, holding tight. His touch is cotton and steel—something so unique to him and comfortingly familiar. “I don’t have many friends, Phin, but I’ll always fight for the ones I have.”

“As will I.” His eyes burn with a fierce truth.

“Just stop getting kidnapped, okay?”

He smiles. “I’ll do my best.”

“Good.”

Movement outside the tent catches my attention. A young man, probably a trainee, is standing in a patch of sunlight. His gray sweats are stained red and black, and his face is pale beneath a mop of thick brown hair. His wide eyes look around without seeming to really see. He’s scared, if his trembling hands are any indication, and more than a little lost. I don’t know him, but I can guess his story—this was his last chance to make a life, to matter. And he’s watching it burn to the ground.

My heart aches for him, and for the dozen or so others like him who have nowhere to go. And more than that, my chest burns with anger.

For the first time since waking up in Chalice Frost’s body and realizing I had a second chance at this life thing, I feel like I have a choice. A choice about my next step and where I want to go from here.

“I want to speak with Astrid,” I say.

Phin blinks. “I’m sure I can find her for you.”

“Not right this minute. I want an official meeting with the head of your Assembly task force.”

“Are you applying for a job?”

“Maybe. Does she book appointments for that?”

“There’s a first time for everything. I’ll speak with her and let you know.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And I meant what I said, Evy, about you having a place to go, even if only for a few days. You’re more than welcome in the condo I share with Rufus.”

I nod, acknowledging without committing. Phin and Wyatt haven’t been there in several days; however, they may both return tonight, and I don’t have the strength for another fight with Wyatt. “So, any word on our evacuation progress?”

“Several large trucks are en route to assist in removing all salvageable equipment,” he replies. “I don’t think a decision has been made on the structures.”

The main building, which housed Research and Development, is a smoldering mess. The dormitory in the rear of the grounds and the entire gymnasium complex are in various states of disaster, but neither has serious structural problems. Still, if we’re really evacuating for good, everything needs to be leveled.

“Some well-placed explosives will take care of the problem, I’d think,” I say, only half-serious.

“It’s being considered.”

“Problem is, it’s too damned noisy,” Kismet says from somewhere behind us.

I twist my head to look at her, as sweaty and blood-smeared as the rest of us. “Fire?”

“Harder to control. We don’t want the whole mountain to go. Normally, we’d ask the Fey for help, but—”

A little hard to do with the brass dead, the entire Council ignoring us, and very little left in the way of magical allies. “Right,” I say. “Any news on Bastian’s condition?”

Kismet takes a few steps forward. She’s short enough to not have to stoop beneath the low tent. “Morgan’s taking him and two others to the hospital. Their injuries are serious and we can’t treat them here.”

It’s a risky move. Without our contacts in the police department, those medical records will be hard to hide. Operating as Triads depended upon secrecy and the ability to move around without being bothered by the real police. It’s an advantage we’ve lost in a most spectacular manner.

“We’ll take the other injured out of here in waves,” she continues, speaking to me like an equal. It’s unsettling. “Some of the rooms in this motel will be for our little MASH unit, and the others for living in until we come up with something more permanent. The equipment can be stored in the trucks for now.”

Good plan, all around. “What kind of help is Astrid offering?” I ask.

“Assistance with transportation and any medical personnel we require.”

When she doesn’t continue, I say, “And?”

“That’s it.”

I glance at Phin, whose expression is blank. Our hands are still entwined, and I’m sure Kismet’s noticed, but I don’t give a shit. “Gee, that’s generous.”

Kismet shrugs. “She didn’t have to help us at all, Stone. Her team showing up today helped immensely. A lot more people could have been hurt or killed.”

“True.” Annoying, but true.

“And she wants to meet with us. Officially meet.”

“Meet, huh?” Looking up at Kismet is starting to hurt my neck, so I let go of Phin and carefully stand. The tarp brushes the top of my head. No dizziness, no vertigo. Score one for me. “Who’s us?”

“Me, Adrian Baylor, and you.”

I hear Phin stand up behind me, tenting the tarp upward. “Why me?” I ask. “I’m not in charge of anything.”

“Wyatt wants you included in this.”

So Wyatt spoke to Astrid about me. I can’t help wondering if it’s because of our little fight, or in spite of it. Or which makes me less crazy. “Now?”

“Tonight, after we’ve moved out and settled in.”

“I guess you and Baylor are in charge now, huh?”

A haze of grief steals briefly across her face, chased just as quickly by uncertainty. “Looks that way,” she says. “Which means you’re welcome to come with us, Stone.” Her gaze flickers over my shoulder. “Unless you have a better offer?”

“Depends on your definition.” I can’t explain why I’m leery of returning to Phin’s shared condo. Especially if Wyatt shows up.

I can’t tell her the secret that Rufus confessed to me about his involvement in the death of Wyatt’s family ten years ago, and if I’m put in the same room with both of them, I won’t be able to keep my mouth shut. Maybe that’s what Rufus wants, and maybe the chance to unload his guilt is what he hoped for when he told me, because I don’t like lying to Wyatt.

God, I don’t want to be responsible for this secret.

“This works out, though,” I say, my way of redirecting the conversation. “I wanted to speak with Astrid anyway. Right now, the Assembly is our best chance.”

Kismet nods, understanding without further clarification. The future of the Triads and the safety of the city are foremost in her mind, as well. “The vampires, too. They’ve helped us in the past. They don’t want to see the goblins or Halfies overrun the city any more than we do. Your contacts would be useful.”

“Contacts?” I snort. Can’t help it. “Isleen and I didn’t exactly exchange phone numbers. She just has this odd habit of showing up.”

Kismet arches a slim eyebrow at me.

“Okay, fine,” I say. “You call her, I’ll kiss her ass.”

Behind me, Phin chokes to hide laughter. “It’s very likely a vampire representative will be at your audience with Astrid,” he says.

I pivot on my heel, hands going to my hips. “Why’s that?”

He smiles, the enigmatic bastard. “A lot’s happened in the past three weeks, Evy.”

A series of sarcastic barbs die on my tongue as I comprehend the hidden meaning in his words. “Like unexpected alliances?” His expression remains neutral. “I’ll take that as a yes. Awesome.” I spin to face Kismet again, whose mouth is open in an O. “Looks like we’ll get to talk to the vampires tonight, too.”

Her expression shifts from surprise to annoyance. “Secret alliances between the Assembly and the Families? When were we going to hear about this?”

Phin steps around me, closer to Kismet. “When the Assembly chose to disclose it. We work with your Triads, not for them. We no longer answer to you.” It’s not quite a threat, but it’s close enough.

And I don’t know how I feel about it.

Someone had the good sense to empty out Boot Camp’s stash of sweats and spare clothes and distribute them to the motel rooms housing the refugees. Changing into clean sweat-shorts and a T-shirt makes my shower so much sweeter, and I’m almost energized as I exit the bathroom.

The four female trainees assigned to the room clam up the moment I step out. They’re a little intimidated by me, and I hate it. Okay, so I came back from the dead, have nearly died enough times to make any cat cash in its nine lives, and I can be pretty scary when I yell. Which I did ten minutes ago to gain access to their shower.

“Thanks,” I say as I glide through the small room, straight to the door. Summer humidity hits like a soggy blanket the moment I step outside onto a cracked sidewalk, facing a weed-pocked parking lot and the side of a mountain. Many of the room doors are open, creating a beehive effect of people going in and out at random, passing messages or delivering supplies. Three hours here and things are running smoothly, thanks to Baylor and Kismet.

The Green Acres Lodge office has become our modified command center, so I head around to the front. The motel is L shaped, the inside of the L facing the mountains, and the office on the short end, along with an old diner. I’m on the long end, so it’s a hefty walk. My poor stomach is tied up in unhappy knots, an awful combination of nerves and lack of food.

I still have no idea where I stand in all this. My brain wants to help the remaining Triads in whatever way I can. My heart wants to find Wyatt, haul him into the nearest empty room, and demand to know what he’s thinking. What he’s feeling. To have him tell me everything that happened while I was missing.

But I don’t even know if he’s still here, or if he left with his new playmates.

A familiar Cadillac is parked in front of the office, next to a red sports car with heavily tinted windows. Looks like I’m the last one to the party, so I pick up my pace. Instead of the office, I find them assembled in the diner, chairs clustered around a few pushed-together tables. The entire place is spotless, and the retro chrome gleams under fresh lightbulbs in overhead fixtures. It reminds me a little of the diner where Phineas and I almost had lunch one day.

All of the usual suspects are here: Kismet, Baylor, Phineas, Astrid, Marcus, and Wyatt. The three less-expected faces offer pleased smiles at my entrance. Michael Jenner, despite the heat, is wearing one of his customary suits. As representative of the Assembly, he always shows up to speak for the best interests of the fourteen were-Clans. For a lawyer, he’s not half-bad.

I don’t know why I’m surprised to see Isleen and Eleri, but I am. Isleen has been an ally and a tentative friend since my resurrection—as much a friend as any vampire can be to a human. She stands and walks to me, extending her hand for a firm shake.

“It pleases me that you are alive, yet again,” she says, her voice a familiar, lilting cadence that most vampires possess.

“I’m pretty pleased about it, too,” I reply. My smile is forced. I’m too damned tired for witty banter. I just want to know what’s happening. I shake Jenner’s hand, too, then pull a chair into the circle between him and Baylor. Wyatt is directly across from me, staring intently.

“I was just expressing the Assembly’s sincere condolences,” Jenner says, “on the loss of so many of your people today.”

“I’d think the Assembly would be doing backflips over it,” I say, unable to censor myself.

Astrid makes a startled noise, but Jenner just chuckles. “I admit, there are a few Elders who expressed a sense of justice over the news. However, they’re also intelligent enough to see how this can be a devastating blow to lasting peace. The Triads were far from perfect, but they were effective in their efforts to quell the larger uprisings of the darker races.”

“Effective until now,” Astrid says.

“We might still surprise you,” Kismet retorts.

Astrid folds her hands in her lap, copper eyes flashing. “Your forces are at half strength, the Fey Council is ignoring you, and your protection within the Police Department has apparently committed group suicide. You’d be lucky to manage surprising a house cat.”

Wow. All eyes are on Kismet, who’s in her seat only because Baylor’s hand is on her shoulder. Color rises high in her cheeks. Marcus nudges Astrid in the ribs, and she shifts her glare to him.

“This bickering is unproductive,” Isleen says. She stands, drawing up to her full, lean height. Long white hair cascades down her back, a familiar and stark contrast to her black clothes. Lavender eyes take their turn sending silent messages to various people in our circle. “And if there are no objections, I will begin.”

No one objects.

“After the events at Parker’s Palace, Mr. Jenner approached the royal Fathers of the ruling Families with an offer from the Assembly. Although neither the Assembly nor the Fathers condoned the actions of the man named Leonard Call, we could also not ignore the implications of their organization and their ability to attract members of both our races. We also could not continue ignoring the host of internal problems that have been plaguing the Triads for months.”

Baylor grunts—the only sound in an otherwise silent room. I glance at Wyatt, who’s giving Isleen his full attention. I have no doubt he’s heard all this before; he just doesn’t want to make eye contact with those of us who haven’t.

No one else is asking, so I do. “What was the offer?”

Isleen tilts her head in my direction without actually looking at me. “An alliance between our peoples.”

This time it’s Kismet who makes a noise. “Really? Since when have the vampires and the Clans ever gotten along?”

“Necessity creates strange bedfellows,” Jenner replies.

I glance at Phineas, on Jenner’s right, and he’s staring straight at me.

“This alliance was not offered lightly,” Phin says, addressing the group. “Fourteen Elders means that many opinions were heard and many concerns still remain. However, what Call and Snow managed to do at Parker’s Palace is only one illustration of how ineffective the Triads have become. There are simply not enough of you, and your methods of control through fear no longer work.”

It’s a conversation that Phin and I had weeks ago—words I didn’t want to hear then but am hearing now. I hate that he’s right and that the remains of the Triads are being pressed between a rock and a fucking hard place.

“The Clans and the Families are not your enemies,” Isleen says. “But we can be your allies, and we are offering humans a partnership in this.”

“What is this, exactly?” Kismet asks. The fact that she doesn’t say no outright gives me hope. I don’t know Astrid or Marcus, but I do know Phin and Isleen. And I trust them.

“A multirace security force,” Astrid says, unfolding from her chair. She isn’t a tall woman, but she ripples with the power of her animal half, and it makes her presence in the room that much larger.

Kismet stands as well. “Run by you?”

“No,” Isleen says. “Run by a trifecta, a representative from each of our races. Final decisions go through them.”

“Then let me guess. You and Astrid represent your people?”

“Correct.”

“So who represents ours?”

“That is a choice you will have to discuss if you choose to accept our offer.”

Kismet and Baylor exchange a look I can’t see, then both turn to face me. Asking or deferring, I have no idea, so I shrug and tilt my head. Their call. I’m not against the idea, but I won’t speak for them or the other Handlers and Hunters. It won’t be easy convincing them that this is a good idea, and it won’t go over any better coming from me. In fact, some of the Handlers might nix it outright just because I said it.

“What specifically is this partnership about?” Baylor asks as Kismet sits back down.

“It’s about protecting our peoples and this city from those who would destroy it,” Isleen says. She gives Astrid a look I can’t see—I’m starting to really hate the chair I chose—and Astrid sits. “As you well know, the Families and the Clans have remained mostly neutral in the actions taken by the Triads these past ten years. We do our best to present no threat, and we expect to not be threatened in return, save the most extreme of cases.”

Cases such as Snow—a were-fox—or Kitsune, who helped organize Halfies, vampires, and other shifters in a rally against humans, and who murdered more than sixty of them at an arts benefit last month. Cases such as the occasional rogue vampire who thinks biting and infecting humans is a good idea.

“We wish to see the half-Blood problem wiped out, as well as the goblins permanently disabled as a threat,” she continues. “Humans have their flaws, but evolution has given you this world, and I have no desire to see the dark races reclaim it.”

“Do the Clans feel the same way?” Baylor asks.

“The majority do, yes,” Jenner says. “This city allows the Clans something that does not exist in many other places. It gives us a chance to interact freely with humans, to be part of your world, your culture, and your technology. Because we age more rapidly than humans, it’s difficult for us to establish ourselves in urban areas. It’s why so many of us have chosen to live here, rather than hiding in tiny towns scattered across the country. Or, as some have done, choosing to live as animals.”

He’s laying it on the table, and I respect Michael Jenner more than ever. I’ve never considered how rapid aging must interfere with a Therian’s ability to interact with humans, to create and establish relationships without revealing their inhumanity. Sure, in the two years I knew Danika, I saw the were-falcon age from a skinny preadolescent to a mature young woman. Physically, at any rate. She wasn’t even five years old when she died.

“Neither of our peoples want to see humans crushed or removed from power in this city,” Jenner continues. “Because if the city falls to the rule of goblins, Fey, or others, they will spread beyond the valley and across this state and into others. Fear and violence will become a way of life, and that way leads to destruction.”

“The Fey don’t want to rule; they’ve been our allies,” Kismet says.

Wyatt laughs. It’s a low, terrible sound that skitters worms of fear down my spine. All eyes are on him, but he says nothing. Arms crossed over his chest, he gives his full attention to Isleen.

She takes the stage again. “You assume the Fey are your friends because they came to you ten years ago and pushed you to create the Triads. You assume the Fey are on your side because they’ve fed you information and occasionally patted you on the head when you’ve done a good job. You assume too much, and you forget that the creatures helping you are not human, care nothing for humans, and are as old as the rivers dividing this city.”

The fear in my spine settles icy cold in my gut. My mind whirls with information. Things I know about the creation of the Triads—Amalie approached Wyatt and the first trained Hunters; Amalie made contact with the officers who became the brass; Amalie set everything about the Triads in motion.

“I don’t get it,” I say, startling myself by speaking at all. “Why would the Fey Council put so much time and effort into the Triads? Just to control us?”

“That,” Isleen replies, “and to amuse themselves.”

“Amuse themselves?”

“Human literature is often incorrect in its records of the ancient races, but humans did manage to capture one aspect of the Fey. They see other races, lesser races, as playthings. They delight in interfering and creating chaos. And, although not immortal, most live an exceptionally long time.”

“So you’re saying that Amalie’s been playing us this whole time? That everything she’s done for the Triads is the setup for some sort of ten-year practical joke?” I can’t reconcile the notion with everything I know, and a quick glance at Baylor and Kismet suggests the same on their end.

“Ten years is half my lifetime,” Jenner says, “and an eighth of the average human’s. But it’s merely a moment to a sprite or a faerie.”

“Or an elf,” Wyatt says. Speaking for the first time, and his words make my stomach twist. He hasn’t changed his posture or taken the floor. His expression is flat, but his eyes blaze with anger even from a distance.

I catch his gaze and hold it. “What are you saying?” I ask.

“That I’ve been a fool. A fool and a puppet, and I’ve been those things for a long, long time.”