As Lie the Dead

Chapter Eighteen

Sunday, 3:37 P.M.

The chicken broth went down easily, and I managed to negotiate for three plain crackers. Wyatt was kind enough to eat his ham sandwich in the hallway, out of sight and out of scent. We were in the process of some steady hobbling around the bedroom, with me in Jenner’s bathrobe, when Phin popped back in.

“I have to leave,” he said.

I nodded. “As soon as you know something—”

“I’ll call.” He left again before I could reply. Saying “Good luck” would have been redundant anyway. I had to trust him. Stabbing aside, he’d kept his promises. I just hated being left behind.

“Think we can get these bandages off?” I asked Wyatt. “It’s hard to know if my knee can bear weight with it wrapped up so tight.”

“Yeah, go sit.”

He retrieved a pair of scissors from the nightstand while I plunked back down on the bed. The bandages kept my legs almost completely straight, and I was eager to make sure the bones had healed right. If they hadn’t and something went down tonight, I’d be hard-pressed to help.

Wyatt knelt in front of me and raised my right leg so that my heel rested on his thigh. Inch by inch, he cut through, revealing pink skin mottled by the tight pressure of the bandages. Up past my knee to where it ended mid-thigh. I flexed, feeling only a little pull as taut muscles started to loosen. I bent the knee, twisted the ankle, and put my foot flat on the floor.

“So far, so good,” I said. “Left leg.”

He repeated the pattern, and on the surface, my left leg looked the same as my right. I moved my ankle first this time. Then lifted, bending gently at the knee. No pain. I bent it farther, drawing my thigh completely to my chest, stretching out the calf and thigh muscles. He stood and stepped back, offering his hand.

I ignored him and stood up. The gentlest twinge crawled through my left knee, but it didn’t buckle. No more aching, no more pain.

“Well?” Wyatt asked.

“Good as new.”

“Just don’t push yourself too hard.”

I couldn’t help it. I started laughing.

He scowled. “What?”

“Don’t push myself too hard? You realize you’re talking to me, right?”

“You mean telling you to be careful is like teaching a cat to read?”

“Exactly.”

He started laughing along with me, and the euphoria felt great. A release of tension and worry I hadn’t had in a while. It started in my gut and spread outward, from toes to fingertips. Tears trickled down my cheeks. I laughed so hard I lost my balance and flopped onto the bed, gasping for air.

“You need to laugh like this more often,” Wyatt said, sitting next to me.

I tried desperately to sober myself. “Why’s that?”

“Because you’re beautiful when you do.”

That worked better than a bucket of ice water. The giddiness disappeared, replaced by embarrassment at his compliment. He wiped the tears off my cheeks with the back of his hand. Traced a finger down to my chin. Tilted my face up. I gazed into smoldering eyes that sparkled with love. His mouth drew down toward mine, warm breath whispering over my lips—

A sharp knock on the door took that warmth away, and we both looked up. Nothing happened. Supposing they were waiting for permission, I said, “Come in.”

Michael Jenner stepped inside wearing baggy blue jeans and a brown T-shirt, with white socks on otherwise bare feet. The picture of comfort was so far removed from the uptight lawyer I’d met twice before. He even smiled, and it made his face look ten years younger.

“Ms. Stone,” he said. “You look well.”

“Almost a hundred percent.” I still leaned into Wyatt, and it was obvious what we’d been attempting. Wyatt, for his part, also remained where he was, unashamed at being caught. If anything, he drew closer to me, almost protectively. He obviously didn’t trust Jenner much.

“Your healing abilities were not exaggerated.”

“Yeah, they come in handy once in a while.” I cleared my throat. “Thank you, Mr. Jenner. For this.”

He nodded. “I may have hidden it, being not my place to influence the Assembly, but I did believe you. I do believe you. I only hope tonight’s audience swings in your favor.”

“Tonight’s audience?” My heart sped up, anticipating his response.

“You’ve been summoned to appear before the Assembly of Clan Elders to present your case.”

I very nearly leapt across the room and hugged him. Only the vaguest notion of propriety reined me in. “When?”

“One hour. I’ll drive you.”

I shot to my feet; the briefest needle poked my knee. “Does Phin know?”

“I only just received the call, and Phineas is required elsewhere. He’ll be absent from the Assembly, but his opinion is well documented and shall be voiced again by me.”

“Do you think I can convince them?” Good God, was I doubting myself in front of Jenner? Seeking his approval?

“You speak with passion, Evangeline. Like humans, Therians are guided by our emotions. We’re more alike than you think.”

I was beginning to see that and more. I was also beginning to see how the Therians were a threat to other races. With larger numbers and more diverse personalities than vampires or goblins—and with distinctly less political power than the Fey—Therians were an uncontrollable element. They rarely attacked humans, so were rarely hunted by the Triads. And we knew next to nothing about them, as I was quickly learning.

I also hadn’t forgotten his fairy-tale riddle, and, with gratitude and confidence spilling all over the room, it almost seemed like the right time to ask. Would he give me the answer? Probably not. Maybe after the Assembly ruled in my favor….

An awkward silence had settled on the room. It was my turn to speak, but I had gone off into la-la land. I said the first non-riddle-related thing that came to mind. “I’m going to need clothes.”

Jenner’s gaze flickered to Wyatt, who stood and opened a dresser drawer. Inside were neatly stacked and folded jeans, tops … Wait.

“That’s the stuff I took from my apartment,” I said, thunderstruck. “How’d it get here? I left that bag in the stairwell at the factory.”

“Phin found it last night,” Wyatt said. “He went back to see if he could track the gremlins to their new location, but no luck. The bag we tossed because it stank to high hell, but the clothes washed up.”

“What about the photo and laptop?”

He pulled the next drawer. Acrid air drifted up, and I peeked inside. One item on top of another. The photo was facedown, but I had memorized the image the first day I saw it. As I stared, heart swelling with gratitude, a thought struck me. Something I’d been missing recently without realizing.

“Wyatt, do you still have the ne—”

He dangled it in front of me, the silver cross flashing in the room’s lamplight. I hooked the chain around my finger, amazed at my attachment to the simple trinket. Part of it was Chalice’s love for her dearly departed best friend; part of it was my own fondness for the man I’d known for just a few days. It was the only physical object in my life with a sentimental value.

“I’ll let you dress,” Jenner said, and bowed out of the room.

I put on the necklace. My fingers tangled in knotty hair. I knew I’d been sponged down and smelled pretty clean, but my hair seriously needed washing. I doubted the Assembly would care about my appearance; I just despised greasy hair. I changed into clean clothes without much thought to Wyatt’s presence, choosing the nicest of the pieces that I’d grabbed. Black jeans, white tank top, and button-down short-sleeved blouse. I braided my hair into a long rope and secured it with a piece of medical tape, in lieu of an actual rubber band. And once again, I was reduced to the same blood- and soot-stained sneakers. That just couldn’t be helped.

The woman who stared back at me from the dresser mirror was rosy-cheeked and straight-backed and no longer a stranger. She’d still surprise me for a while, but I was comfortable in her skin. In my skin.

Wyatt shuffled up behind me, and I met his gaze in the mirror. “Nervous?” he asked.

“Not really. Why?”

“Because you never used to look at yourself so critically right before meeting someone for the first time.”

“That’s because I never used to care how I looked. I cut my own hair, remember?”

His smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “What’s changed?”

“What hasn’t?”

He slid his hands across my back and up to gently squeeze my shoulders. I leaned into him, against his chest, seeing us side by side for the first time. My brown hair and brown eyes to his black hair and black eyes. The light smattering of freckles on my nose to his five-o’clock shadow that never went away. Almost matched in height, and now much closer in age.

But below the surface of this new body, I was still an insecure, twenty-two-year-old orphan with anger-management issues and a foul mouth. I’d never felt as comfortable in Wyatt’s arms as I felt at that moment, but I feared where acceptance of that comfort—screw it, of that craving—might take us.

We’ll see where the day takes us. It had skated us close to this edge so many times—a thin border between accepting and denying—that I wanted to scream. Or to laugh at the hilarity of it all. I had a man beside me who admitted to loving me, wanting me, and I’d been given a second (third? fourth?) chance to be with him. And all I could do was stare mutely into a mirror and wonder what the hell was wrong with me.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Wyatt asked.

I barked laughter. “It’ll cost you at least a dollar.”

“Worth it.”

“I’m thinking we should go.” I spun in his arms and put my palms on his chest. His hands slid to my waist. We drew together at the same time, mouths finding each other in perfect sync. It was a gentle kiss, without the fervor of lust or need, but I still felt it in my toes. The touch and taste of him, the smell of him in my nostrils. The soft stroke of his tongue against my lips, and the way my belly quivered when his fingers pressed into my hips.

“For luck,” I said when we parted.

“Think we need more luck than that?” he asked, arching one eyebrow suggestively.

“I think it’ll tide us over. Come on, Truman, we’ve got a date with some shape-shifters.”

Michael Jenner’s house turned out to be a two-story condo in a new development ten minutes’ drive outside the city, tucked several miles west of Parkside East. Nearly in the mountains that bordered that side of the valley. He drove a Cadillac, which didn’t surprise me in the least, and he coasted along the winding roads like a practiced race car driver. Fast turns on sharp curves, as though exhilarated by the speed and danger.

I was enjoying myself and the view from the front seat, but Wyatt had a death grip on his door. He sat behind Jenner, at an angle from me. Every time I cast an amused smile his way, he’d glare.

As we closed in on the city, the whispering tendrils of the Break sparked brighter, and I realized just how faint it had been at Jenner’s house. Isleen was right—the center of the city, specifically the northern section of Mercy’s Lot and the mountains above, was like a beacon to those who could sense the Break. No wonder Wyatt had never moved out of the city. And leaving hadn’t done much for Chalice’s mental health.

“It won’t be like facing a panel of judges,” Jenner said when the first hints of the Uptown skyline came into view. “They won’t bite you, and they can’t sentence you. Just say what you wish to say, and then wait to be told what to do.”

“You mean either wait to be told what I want to know,” I said, “or to be told to get the hell out?”

“Yes. Most likely, though, they’ll ask you to leave the room while they argue among themselves.”

“Sounds a lot like a courtroom to me. Will Wyatt be allowed to go inside with me?”

“No, the audience is with you alone.”

Wyatt grunted his disapproval. Nothing to be done about it now.

“I don’t suppose the Assembly has anything on the name Leonard Call?” I asked.

“Nothing that they’ve shared with me, no.”

“It’s odd, since he’s been recruiting a large number of Therians.”

“True. However, my answer remains the same. If your police records were unable to produce an identity for this man, it’s likely the name is merely a front. Right now, our best option for identifying him lies with Phineas.”

“I know.” Wrapping my brain around the idea of a human turning against the Triads just made my head ache. What could have happened to make someone so angry at their own species? Granted, I’d been pissed at the Triads when they killed the Owlkins and took the last of my friends away. Stripped me of the last of my family … “Hey!”

I sat up straight so fast I banged my knee on the underside of the dash. I ignored the flash of pain and twisted around to face Wyatt. “This Call, or whatever his name is,” I said, “he’s got to be super-fucking pissed to go after the Triads like this, right?”

“Either pissed or he’s making some sort of power gambit,” Wyatt replied, eyeing me cautiously. “Why? What are you thinking?”

“That the violent loss of a family can make someone homicidal. You remember the Greek restaurant ten years ago? You said two teenage sons were left behind.”

Wyatt stiffened. “Yeah.”

“Do we know what happened to either of them?”

It seemed like a good epiphany, and the motive fit the pattern. From Wyatt, I got something I didn’t expect—a sharp head shake and terse “It’s not them.”

“How do you know?” I asked, a little deflated. It felt like a good lead. Granted, it hadn’t been the Triads who’d killed those women, not exactly. But close enough for someone still holding a grudge to—

“Because I knew them, Evy. Catalyst for the Triads, remember? One of them died less than a year after the fire. The other isn’t Call.”

“How—?”

“Just trust me, he’s not.”

“Fine.” So much for my investigative instincts. Wyatt’s refusal to offer up more information was vastly annoying, but it made sense he’d know. I could imagine him keeping tabs on those early victims out of some noble sense of guilt, even though he’d not been responsible for the deaths of their parents.

“But maybe you’re onto something,” Wyatt said a moment later. His eyebrows scrunched in thought. “Instead of looking at it from Call’s angle, look at it from the motivation angle. They’ve been recruiting for a month, right? What happened, Dreg-wise, roughly five weeks ago?”

Middle of April. I’d been down with the flu for the first half of the month and had just been allowed back to work. Confinement to our crappy apartment, sipping tea and cocoa, and listening to Jesse and Ash chat about their latest assignments for ten days—five of which were spent in the haze of a high fever—had been hellish. Most of the details of those conversations were lost. I really remembered only the four-day goblin hunt I’d gone on my first day back.

“You’re going to have to fill in those blanks,” I said. “I wasn’t in much of it, as I recall. What was everyone up to?”

“Routine stuff, as far as I remember.” He gazed down at his interlocked hands, as though the answers were etched on his skin. “Baylor, Sharpe, and Nevada all had extended assignments south of the city. Rufus was looking into a string of muggings in the Lot that were linked to Dreg activity. Willemy’s team was off duty, recovering from some nasty magic virus they’d stumbled into while on routine patrol.”

I listened, attentive and amazed at his recollection of so many events. He rattled off three more Triads and their whereabouts during the time frame. All accounted for except one. “What about Kismet and her boys?” I asked.

“Neutralize job Uptown.”

Those had always been my favorite. We got our suspect and our choice of weapons and, depending on the victim, our own time frame in which to “neutralize” them. Goblins and Halfies were always easiest, but we also had open Neutralize orders on them—if you saw one, kill it. The more specific Neutralize jobs were given over high-profile suspects—vampires, Therians, even the occasional psychotic Gifted human. They were rare assignments, which made them preferred. A nice change to the routine.

“Do you know the target?” I asked.

Wyatt looked up, his hands no longer interesting. “You know we don’t share that information among Handlers.”

“Figured it was worth asking, especially since, of all the things happening during that time frame, it sticks out the most. Think Kismet would tell you if you asked?”

“Maybe, given the circumstances. It isn’t really a policy to not share, it’s more of a safety measure. The less we know about one another’s business—”

“The less likely someone else can beat it out of you.”

He smiled grimly. “Exactly.”

We’d passed through Uptown and were pointed toward the Axelrod Bridge, the only major crossing over the southern tributary of the Black River—below where the Anjean connected—that separated Uptown from the East Side. For some reason, I’d expected the Assembly to meet in Mercy’s Lot. Showed how much I tossed all Dregs into one basket, even though Jenner’s own address proved that Therians did indeed live all over the city.

Jenner easily navigated the underdeveloped, ghostly section of town not far from the skeleton of the Capital City Mall. We were less than ten blocks from the area where the hound attacked. Ten blocks from the place where I’d shot an innocent man. A pang of guilt settled in my stomach, sour as lemon juice. An unlucky shot from my gun had nearly killed a man on a bicycle who knew nothing of the secret battles we waged on a daily basis.

But that secrecy and his ignorance were the things I was fighting for. Weren’t they?

The city thinned out as we continued east, into a lower-class residential area. Block after block of crumbling row homes materialized, with cement front yards the size of postage stamps and bars on all the windows. It was a land of cracked sidewalks, cars missing tires, and the faces of people too bored to care why a fancy car was suddenly driving through their neighborhood—or they simply assumed we were on our way to sell something illegal.

After several more turns that wound us around a few times (I couldn’t tell if he was lost or just avoiding potential tails), Jenner pulled into a half-empty parking lot shared by a furniture store advertising “Best Seconds,” a linen outlet, and a few other similar businesses.

I stretched as I got out, my legs stiff from the thirty-minute drive from one side of the city to the next. It was like traveling between worlds. The odor of car exhaust was a far cry from the fresh-cut-grass scent of Jenner’s neighborhood. Shoppers went about their business, paying us little mind. I felt as self-conscious as a cat in a dog pound.

Jenner led us across the parking lot. I followed behind Wyatt, keeping him in front of me at all times and my attention constantly circulating. We weren’t equipped for an ambush from anyone—be it the Triads, Call’s people, or an old-fashioned mugging.

We entered a rug and flooring megamart. The sharp scent of new carpet made my nose itch the moment we stepped into the lobby. A long sample room was on our right, and a two-story, seemingly endless warehouse of carpet and linoleum rolls, flats of wood flooring, and shelves of remnants was on the left. Jenner went that way.

“Strange place for a meeting,” Wyatt said quietly.

Jenner glanced over his shoulder. “You were expecting some clandestine location, no doubt?”

“More clandestine than a carpet store?” I asked. “Where—?”

“Just follow me.”

He navigated a path through the maze of shag, pile, and Berber in dozens of colors and patterns, deeper into the cavernous warehouse, until I was sure we were lost. In the recesses, far from the lingering voices of salespeople giving their canned pitches, Jenner pushed through large swinging doors marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. I kept close to Wyatt, every sense on high alert. Watching. Listening.

Jenner bypassed a row of parked forklifts and turned down a dimly lit corridor. We passed a break room that reeked of cigarette smoke and greasy food, three office doors, and two restrooms. At the end of the corridor was another door marked PRIVATE. It was heavy and gray like a fire door, but without the crash bar. Just a simple knob and lock, for which Jenner produced a key.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Truman, but you must remain here,” he said.

Wyatt scowled.

I squeezed his wrist. “It’s fine,” I said. “I don’t plan on making an inaugural address, so this should be over pretty fast.”

Wyatt twisted his wrist so his hand caught mine. “Good luck.”

“Piece of cake.”

Jenner inserted the key, turned the knob, and held open the door. I released Wyatt, annoyed at having to leave him behind, and slipped into dimness. The door closed, adding to the near-dark. I felt Jenner shift, then move around in front of me. The air was danker, like a basement, but smelled clean.

“Stay here.” Fabric rustled, then Jenner was gone.

I stood frozen in place, listening to the varied sounds of people breathing. Footsteps. A chair scraped. My eyes began adjusting to the dim light. I could make out vague shapes and got an idea of the size of the room. Not large—maybe as long as a school bus and a few feet wider.

Sudden light glared at me from three directions, all high and from above. I winced and shielded my eyes, tensed for attack. Beyond the beams I could still see those shapes, but they didn’t move toward me. Jenner had to be among them, but I couldn’t distinguish him from the others. I felt suddenly like a criminal being sweated by the police. The light drilled in my head, setting me on edge and keeping me there.

“You may speak,” a male voice boomed. The acoustics prevented me from pinpointing the source.

“Thank you for seeing me,” I said. Seemed like a good way to start. “You know why I’m here, so I won’t bore you with repetitive details. I’m sure you also know who I am and my history as a Triad Hunter, and that I’m no longer under their employ.”

A murmur rippled through my hidden audience. Okay, so maybe they didn’t know the last part. I backpedaled a bit, remembering what Jenner had said about speaking with passion. “For four years, I lived with the unwavering belief that what the Triads did was right. I followed orders, no matter what they were, and I slept soundly believing I’d done what was necessary to protect humankind. I began losing that faith almost two weeks ago, when my own people turned against me without proof and without cause. I lost it completely yesterday when I threatened the foundation of their faith, and they nearly killed me. To my knowledge, the Triads believe me dead.” With a small smile, I added, “Again.”

“Your situation is unfortunate,” a woman said. Her voice was soft, almost singsong in its cadence. “But why should we reveal to you one of our most protected secrets? Such information in the wrong hands would be devastating to the Therians in this city.”

“I know,” I replied. “Your only guarantee that I will protect this information lies in the fact that Phineas el Chimal trusts me implicitly. I don’t condone mass murder, and I can’t excuse what the Triads did to the Coni and Stri Clans, but I also can’t put the weight of that responsibility on the shoulders of one man. Not when someone else is ultimately responsible.”

I struggled for the words—the best way to put my thoughts out there for them to understand. “I may not be able to produce those responsible as I promised Phineas I would. And I tend to think with my heart rather than my brain, so it’s also entirely possible I’m seeing conspiracies where none exist. But even if you choose to not reveal the other bi-shifting Clans to me tonight, I leave you with a simple plea. Protect them. Because if there is the tiniest chance I’m right, then they’re in grave danger. Perhaps not from the Triads but from someone out there with the power to see that you’re destroyed piece by piece.”

“You speak with conviction, Evangeline Stone.” The same woman, louder. “It is true that we know your history, as well as the history of the Triads’ dealings with our people. We learned long ago not to underestimate the human need to control their environment, and their fanatical need to maintain power once it is gained. It’s why we choose not to draw attention to ourselves and prefer to keep matters internal.”

“And how’s that working out for you so far?” I could feel Jenner’s glare, but curbing my sarcasm wasn’t top priority.

“You have brought us no proof that the other Clans are in danger.” It was the first man who’d spoken, annoyance dripping off every word.

I curled my fingers into tight fists, frustrated. “I never promised you proof, just my theories and my experience.” Once again, I was drawn back to my conversation with Isleen. “There’s something larger at work here. Why can no one else see that? Maybe the Triads, for all their good intentions, were a bad idea ten years ago, but what were we humans supposed to do? What kind of help did the Therians offer us when Halfies and goblins started attacking in the streets?”

Another murmur of conversation broke out. Had I hit a nerve? Or just overstepped my bounds?

“We cannot undo the choices of the past.” A new male voice, deeper than the first, like he was speaking through a tuba. “We must look to the future for our people and make choices for our continued survival.”

I nodded. “We aren’t much different, then.”

“We are, though,” Deep Throat said. “Because faced with the choice between the most innocent Therian and the evilest human, you will always choose the human.”

“You can’t assign that moral judgment to me.” It took every ounce of self-control to not fly at them. “You don’t know me.”

“We know Triad Hunters. We’ve seen them make their judgments for a decade now. You say you’re different, because you’ve been hunted by your own people. But those are words, Evangeline. Only words.”

“Fine. So what was the fucking point of this if you’d already decided I’m just another untrustworthy human?”

“The Assembly has decided nothing,” Breathy Female said. “You should know as well as we that speaking with a person tells much more about them than you can learn secondhand by speaking to someone else. You have several supporters among our kind, and we were curious to see the woman in whom that trust has been placed.”

I swept my arms out to my sides. “So what do you think? Faith misplaced?”

“On the contrary,” Deep Throat said. “You’ve shown you’re not blind to the errors of your people, even though you continue protecting one of their worst.” More fist clenching kept me still; I bit my tongue hard to hold back a sharp retort over all the good Rufus St. James had also accomplished. Worst, my ass. “It’s time for the Assembly to discuss your request.”

“Do you have anything else to add?” Jenner asked. He was somewhere on my right, hidden in the shadows. The tone of his voice hinted that I should say no and excuse myself.

It hovered on the tip of my tongue, but something else came out instead. “What do you know about a Kitsune named Snow, who’s been helping to recruit a militia intent on wiping out the Triads?” I asked.

No murmur this time—full-on conversation broke out, too loud and chaotic to pick out anything specific. Just familiar words flung around: “she,” “Snow,” “they,” “Triads.” I’d hit a very specific nerve and had them arguing among themselves. Less than a minute passed, and then someone shouted a word that sounded like “pizza” but couldn’t be. Because it shut them all up.

“Snow’s actions are not endorsed by this Assembly,” Deep Throat said. “If you want more answers than that, investigate his connections to the Triads. The skeletons you find will not please you.”

“Nothing about this investigation so far has pleased me,” I said. “Least of all everyone’s inability to give me a straight fucking answer. Anyone in particular I should ask about Snow’s skeletons?”

“The killer you protect.”

Well, that was something. I just needed access to Rufus again. Not easy when he was still in the hospital, guarded by Triads who thought me dead, and still potentially a day away from being turned over to the Assembly for punishment. Was it a coincidence that Rufus was connected to both the Sunset Terrace massacre and Snow? All the possible implications made my head hurt.

“One final question,” Jenner said. “Where do your loyalties lie?”

It was both straightforward and a trick question. I wanted to believe I’d always pick the right side, no matter who stood there, but I knew I was deluding myself. It was impossible to undo twenty-two years of being human and four years of being trained to distrust, hunt, and kill Dregs. I was starting to change—this last week was proof enough—but it would take time.

“Right now?” I said. “My loyalty is to myself.”

“Please wait outside.”

The trio of glaring spotlights turned off, flooding the room in blackness. Strange spots of dark noncolor danced in my vision. I backed up until I felt the door, turned the knob, and slipped out into the dim hallway. Wyatt was by my side instantly, but I ignored him for the moment, rubbing my eyes until their normal focus returned.

“Well?” he asked.

“They said to wait while they sacrificed a goat and divined an answer from its entrails,” I said grumpily.

He blanched. “Huh?”

“They said to wait.”

“Did they say anything more helpful than that?”

I shrugged and leaned against the wall, keeping my voice low in the enclosed corridor. “They want to believe they’re morally superior, because they don’t go around hunting other species, but they’ve also spent the last decade as passive observers while others do their dirty work and now they have the nerve to be annoyed at the current state of things.”

The corners of his mouth twitched. “You got all that from a ten-minute audience?”

“No, I went in there thinking that, but the audience confirmed it. They also seem to think that all Hunters are bloodthirsty murderers who will always choose the worst human over the best Dreg, and they keep using Rufus as their prime example.” My anger at their insistence on referring to him as “the murderer” returned, hot and encompassing.

“Rufus is hardly an example of the worst of us,” Wyatt said, disgust in his voice.

“Not to mention the fact that he’s a Handler.”

He scowled. “So?”

“So he gives the orders; he doesn’t actually pull the damned trigger.” I cocked my head sideways, studying Wyatt’s furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips. “What?”

“Handlers live and die with the orders they give to their Hunters, Evy. Do you know how hard it is to be the one who says it’s time for a person to die? To give the Neutralize order on someone I’ve never met and who’s never personally done me any harm? Putting people I’ve come to care about in harm’s way day after day?”

His voice had risen incrementally during the mini-rant. I put my hand on his arm and shushed him. He continued to glare, but not at me. At himself, maybe, or at his role in life.

“All I meant,” I said, “is that it seems unfair to call Rufus a murderer when he wasn’t the one who went in with guns blazing and set the apartments on fire.”

“No, but it is his job to take responsibility for his people, just like any good captain would. Maybe it doesn’t make him a murderer, but it does make him responsible. Just like it makes me responsible for everything you and the other Hunters under my command have done.”

“How many?”

“How many what?”

“How many Hunters have been under you?” He quirked one eyebrow, and I caught the subtle innuendo in my question. “I mean, how many Hunters have been in your Triad since the program began?”

“Officially? Six, including you.”

My lips parted. “In ten years? Really?”

“Yeah.” He turned and leaned on the wall next to him, his hand slipping into mine. I held it loosely while he spoke, grateful for his warmth. “Before you was Cole Randall, before Jesse was Guy Aldiss, and before Ash was Laurie Messenger. Ash replaced Laurie eight years ago, so she was my longest-surviving Hunter, but after you came, you three were the longest unit to survive intact. Four years is a damned long time for a Triad.”

I grunted, struggling to tamp down the grief that welled up when I thought about Jesse and Ash. Barely two weeks since I lost them, and I’d not given myself much time to grieve. For them or for anyone I’d lost. There just hadn’t been the luxury of time. It was easier to compartmentalize it and store it away.

“It’s funny,” I said, resting my head on his shoulder. “Except for that first night, I never really thought about the Hunter I replaced, or what his rank was in the Triad. Was Cole a good guy?”

He squeezed my hand tighter. “Yeah, he was. Good fighter, quick thinker. One of the few Hunters I’ve ever met who actually liked using a broadsword. Heavy damned thing, but it was his preferred combat weapon. He’d swing it at goblins like a baseball bat and make some impressive splatters.”

“I’m sorry he died.” It was a strange sentiment. A real live person had died a horrible, grisly death at the hand of some murderous Bloods to allow me to take my place in Wyatt’s Triad. Every single Hunter in the city was there because someone else had died. Just as Boot Camp was diligently training the kids who would one day take our places in the ranks.

“I’m sorry, too.” His voice was soft, strangled. “Did the Assembly say anything else useful?”

“Just to investigate Snow’s connection to the Triads and we’d find his motivation. My guess is someone’s team has tangled with him in the past, and all the hints they were dropping pointed to Rufus.”

“Too bad getting access to him now is going to be harder than robbing a bank with a rubber-band gun.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

We stood in silence for several minutes, until my neck started to ache. I straightened up and rolled it, then flexed my knees. Let some circulation back into my muscles.

“Legs okay?” Wyatt asked.

“Fine, I’m just getting tired of standing.”

“We could sit.”

“And tempt them to take longer? No thanks.”

“I don’t suppose they gave you a timetable on their decision?”

“I’d guess not much longer. They made their feelings pretty clear before they kicked me out.”

As if to prove my point, the door swung open and Jenner emerged. The grim line of his mouth told me my answer.

“I’m sorry,” Jenner said as the door fell shut. “But their decision is no.”

I blew a frustrated breath through my teeth. “I’d like to say I’m surprised, but I’m not.”

“It was a close vote, believe it or not. I was impressed by those who supported you.”

“I guess asking who they are is useless.” On Jenner’s nod, I asked, “Were any of the bi-shifters on my side?”

“About half.”

“The man who asked questions, the one with the really deep voice? Which Clan was he from?”

Jenner shifted his weight, his eyes flickering away. Subtle hints to his discomfort. For a lawyer, he had a terrible poker face.

“He’s Kitsune, isn’t he?” I asked. He nodded.

Wyatt grunted, which earned him a strange look from Jenner. Not quite a glare, but certainly not friendly. “Well,” Wyatt said, “this has been a complete waste of time.”

“Not entirely,” I said. “Maybe I didn’t get what I came here for, but I did learn a few things I hadn’t otherwise known.” My pointed look was just for Wyatt. He held my gaze for a few seconds, then nodded.

“What is your next step?” Jenner asked.

“We wait for Phin to give us an update,” I said. “And we keep digging into who this Call guy is and, likewise, Snow’s connection to the Triads. Mr. Jenner, I hate to inconvenience you, but—”

“You require transportation.”

“Yes.”

“I can help you acquire a car, but after that my involvement must end. I cannot jeopardize my position with the Assembly by continuing to assist you.”

“I understand. And thank you.”