A Matter of Heart (Fate, #2)

I repeat, more forcefully, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”


“As I know that Jonah thinks Mac is a terrible influence on me, and has told me more times than not that I need to find myself some better friends, I’m going to go out on a limb and say he has no idea you two are so close.” He takes a step closer to me and I bristle. The shield around me cracks and falls away, but it’s okay. Kellan is more than welcome to feel what I’ve got to offer right now.

“I wasn’t aware that I needed your brother’s approval on who I can be friends with.” I shove my hand out, preventing him from coming too close. “And if I don’t need his, I most certainly don’t need yours. Besides. Isn’t he your friend, too?” I don’t give him room to answer. “Somebody you like to break bones with?” I grab at the hem of his plaid shirt and lift it. Sure enough, there are notches in groups of five on his belt, too.

More than Mac’s, that’s obvious. It makes me sick.

He’s doing this because of me. Because of our Connection.

He shoves my hand away and lowers his shirt. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I wish I didn’t.

I need a drink. Where’s the waiter when you need him?

A hand drops onto my shoulder; I whirl around to find Etienne Miscanthus. “There you are!” he says, and like Mac before him, presses a kiss against my cheek in greeting.

I point into the crowd, ignoring how Kellan has to cross his arms to hide clenched fists. “You just missed Mac.”

“Persimmon, can we go talk somewhere?” His violet eyes settle on Kellan. “Do you mind if I steal your lovely, Jonah?”

Amazingly, Kellan does not correct him. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

Etienne is taken aback by this. I laugh; it’s shrill. “He’s kidding of course. Etienne, this isn’t—”

Etienne cuts me off, though. “It concerns what we discussed in my office earlier.”

Which must mean . . . Jens Belladonna?

“Go and find Sam or something,” I tell Kellan. “Isn’t there something she can kiss and make better?” And then, before he can say another word, I link my arm with Etienne and practically drag him away.

“That was . . . tense,” Etienne says to me.

But I don’t want to talk about that. “What’s up?”

He leads us over to a wall. I can see Kellan in the distance, in the spot I left him, arms still crossed, eyes practically boring holes into Etienne’s back. Like he has a place to disapprove. “I don’t know how to say this other than just put it out there. I wanted to let you know that Belladonna has been doing a lot of digging in Creator histories,” my Storyteller friend says to me as quietly as he can. “Despite the Council’s rebukes, it doesn’t appear that he’s going to let this . . .” He lets out a hard breath. “Insanity go.”

I sigh. “He’s been following me.”

“Have you told Jonah?”

I shake my head.

“He’s got one of his goons tracing your family line, too.”

I bite my lip and consider this. Mac rematerializes by my side. Where in the worlds did he come from? “You tell her?”

Etienne smiles thinly. “And finally, he’s got a Tracker on you at all times.”

My mouth falls open. “Excuse me?”

Mac’s words are crisp and precise; there is no indication of his former drunk status. “It isn’t anyone from the Guard, just some woman he knows. But yeah. There’s a Tracker following you everywhere you go. Even missions.”

They’ve got to be kidding me. I’m on a prank show or something. That’s what tonight is. Some kind of giant joke.

“Go get her,” Etienne tells Mac. The Goblin nods and melts into the crowd.

“We were concerned after our talk with you,” Etienne continues. “So, Maccon and I have done some digging of our own. Your friend Alex has been exceedingly helpful.”

I close my eyes for a moment, try to make sense of this all.

Etienne leads me around a corner, where we wait in tense silence before Mac reappears, practically dragging a very gaunt and unusually tall Gnome by the upper arm. “Are you out of your mind?” she shouts as he shoves her towards where Etienne and I are standing. “You can’t just drag me around like some primitive thug!”

I’d clearly been mistaken in my previous assessment that Mac was drunk, as he’s smirking with narrowed eyes that still manage to be razor sharp. “Chloe, meet your official stalker. I believe her name is Trixie Grindledottirr.”

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