Outside of Cameron and Will, the rest of the Métis leave a little while later, along with various other Guard and Council members that were present.
Zthane stays behind, though. “Jonah, we need to talk.”
Why does it always feel like those four words never lead to anything good?
“We scouted the entirety of Annar. We can’t find any sign of Belladonna anywhere.”
Kellan leans back against a nearby table, his arms crossed as he listens in.
“That’s not good enough,” Jonah is saying. “Send the Trackers out again.”
“They’ve swept the city three times now.”
There is no dimple showing when Jonah smiles. “Zthane, I’m pretty sure you understand what’s at stake here. If you have to sweep the godsdamn city a hundred times before you find him, do it.”
Our Goblin friend sighs. “You can’t be sure it’s even Enlilkian. For all we know, it’s actually Jens or someone who looks like him.”
“I can and I am sure of exactly who it is.” Jonah takes a step toward him. “You’re taking a big risk, announcing the safety of this plane when the mastermind behind all of this destruction is running loose. I want him found before he can orchestrate any further attacks.”
There’s no maybe here, no hesitation. Jonah believes me and is not afraid to say it. And ... I don’t know why, but it takes me aback a little. He had nothing else to go on but the word of a scared, terrorized girl who had been strangled until she passed out and lingered in some kind of Magical coma for days. And yet, here he is, going to war with the influential head of the Guard, all because he believes me. After all that I’ve done, after I’ve let so many people down by abandoning my Council post for half a year, Jonah believes in me, no questions asked. He could have written me off, his trust entirely shattered, but somehow he still has faith.
Gods, I’m so lucky.
Karl comes and sits down in the chair next to me. “Chloe, are you sure it was Jens? Trackers covered the bathroom after the attack yet couldn’t find any trace of him.”
Oh hell, I just wish they could surge and take the memory already, but nobody seems to be able to access my memories of that event. “I was able to elude Trackers, too.” It’s so embarrassing to admit how desperate I was when I ran last year. “For six months. Even when your best sat right in front of me for a straight week, he couldn’t tell it was me. The only reason he ever called you in was because an Elder was wreaking havoc in Anchorage.”
“Lee was suspicious—”
“But he didn’t know,” I stress. “And it wasn’t for lack of trying. All I’m saying is, if your very best had me right in front of his face and didn’t know it, how can you be so sure the ones you have out hunting Belladonna’s body aren’t passing by him in plain sight?”
Neither Zthane nor Karl answer this.
“Kopano taught me how to shield myself from other Magicals. Who is to say that Enlilkian, the first of all Creators, didn’t master such a feat millennia ago? What if he’s shielding Jens’ body?”
Long green fingers rub at the spot between Zthane’s eyes. “Why would he leave you alive, Chloe? If it was Enlilkian, wouldn’t he have drained you?”
It’s a question I’ve asked myself. Just why did he leave me behind?
I look away, toward the windows. Somewhere out there is a madman. “I don’t know. He said that it wasn’t ...” I swallow hard. “Our time, or something stupid like that. That it’d be soon enough, that whatever game we’re playing isn’t done yet. That there’d be no death for me for some time.”
Karl pulls out the notepad he’d been using to take notes on during the meeting. “I know we’ve talked about this, but ... let’s go over it again. What game was he talking about?”
My skin crawls at the memory. “I don’t know. He seemed crazy. It’s not like he explained the rules to me.”
It’s nothing at all to go on, yet he writes this down anyway.
We spend a few more minutes with me answering the same questions as the day before this and the day before that, before Zthane and Karl finally leave. As Jonah and Kellan are in the midst of one of their kinds of conversations, where half of the words are silent and half out loud, I wander into the kitchen to find Will brewing coffee for his dad.
I take a mug down from one of the cupboards. “It was interesting what Erik and Kate said earlier tonight.”
“Pointless,” he stresses. “It changes nothing.”
One of Cameron’s eyebrows lifts up, but he stays silent.
I lean against the counter. “Would you want it to?”
Will looks up from the coffee bean grinder in surprise. “What, you mean, do I wish I could have a craft?”
I nod.
“I don’t know. Do you wish you didn’t?”
Cameron’s interested in my answer, too.
I’m honest with them. Sometimes having a craft is the biggest weight on a pair of shoulders anyone could ever imagine.