“What am I supposed to do, go to the Mageri? They’ll put me down like a rabid dog.”
I knew all about that fear. Years later, it was still difficult to undo all the paranoia Fletcher had instilled. “Only if they think you’re unstable. You haven’t murdered anyone, have you? The Mageri has an evaluation process. If you don’t want to seek their protection, then escape Cognito and find a small town. Live your life.”
She adamantly shook her head. “He saved me from a drug overdose. They thought I was dead. Fletcher gives me everything I need. I’m not a prisoner. I go out, work, shop, and someday he might grant me independence.”
I lowered my head. Rachel didn’t want to hear the truth. Fear had nestled into her heart and made a home. “Can you do me a favor?”
She stared at me wordlessly.
“I just want my friends to know I’m alive. That’s all.”
Rachel peered over her shoulder at the door. “He’ll find out.”
“There’s no way he’ll know unless he follows you, and from the sound of it, he barely gets off the couch. I’m not asking you to give them directions on where to find me. I just want them to know I’m alive. They’re not human, so they have a right to know. It’ll make Fletcher’s life easier,” I added. “I’m the reason why the Mageri is looking for him. I can tell them to stop searching.”
“It sounds dangerous. What if they force me to talk? I can’t.”
She had a point. Keystone wasn’t going to let her walk without Christian charming her for information. She would never take such a risk. “What about leaving a message with a bartender? He knows my friends, and you won’t have to confront anyone. You can just walk in, drop off the note, and leave before he even reads it. No arranged meetings or anything that would make you uncomfortable. I promise Fletcher won’t find out, and if anything, this’ll help his situation. Helping him means helping both of us. He can go back to his job and start earning money again. I’ll put something in the note that says I’m choosing to leave. That way the Enforcers won’t be able to touch Fletcher. He’s not smart enough to believe this’ll work, but you are.”
She worried her lip.
What Rachel didn’t realize was that the note was irrelevant. The important part was someone being able to identify Rachel. She had a distinct look and style. Not many women had a pixie cut, and her large green eyes were stunning even if the rest of her was quite plain. I wasn’t sure how much my team knew about the buyer—if anything—but I was hopeful that Enforcers showing up at Fletcher’s work wasn’t a coincidence. Someone might be able to trace her to the hospital he worked at. Maybe Keystone had given up searching, but that didn’t mean I had to give up.
“Please, Rachel. I don’t know anything about your family or past, but you have to know how it feels to leave someone behind. My friends are all I’ve got in this world. I don’t want them worrying about me. If I can just tell them that I’m happy and alive, it’ll be the closure everyone needs. Fletcher can go back to work, and your life goes back to normal.” I realized Rachel was more influenced by fear than sentiment, so I threw in something else for good measure. “You’re not registered with the Mageri, are you? How long do you think it’ll take before they realize you shouldn’t be working at the hospital? The Enforcers will be back, and they’re not going to believe your story. Send the note, and my friends will call off the search.”
Worry filled her eyes. “Okay,” she whispered. “What’s the message?”
I scooted closer and lowered my voice. “Go to a club called Nine Circles of Hell. There’s a bartender named Hooper. You can’t miss him. He’s got patterns shaved on the sides of his head and a bunch of lip rings. He’s the only one there that knows my friends, so make sure he’s the one who gets the message. If he’s not there, go back and try again. Write down the message so he doesn’t forget.”
“But it won’t be your handwriting.”
I chuckled. “My friends have never seen my handwriting. Tell them… Tell them to stop searching. It had a surprisingly good outcome, and I’m happy now. And tell them to give my Mercedes to my father. Please don’t forget that part. He’s old, and it’s the last good thing I can do for him. Do you think you can remember that?”
“Stop searching because you’re happy. And give your Mercedes to your father.”
“That’s all.” I hoped the innocuous message would make up her mind.
Rachel collected my plate and glass. “I have to go. He might be awake, and he’ll get suspicious that I’ve been down here this long.”
I reached out and seized her wrist. “Thank you. For everything. The lamb was superb.”
A fragile smile touched her lips. “He likes that dish a lot, so it’s my specialty.” Her eyes flicked to the wounds on my arms, and they were numerous. “Do you want any healing light?”
I shook my head. “I don’t want to get you in trouble. I don’t know you very well, but you seem like a nice person.” I let go of her wrist and scooted back against the wall, the blanket tucked around me.
She rose to her feet, breaking eye contact. “You shouldn’t fight him. Just let him take your light. It’s easier that way.”
Now that I had energy in me from a hot meal, I planned to defend myself. I’d managed to fight off Fletcher a number of times, and even though his physical abuse brought a different kind of assault, my light was the only power I had left.
Rachel made her way out, and when the door closed behind her, the last remaining candle snuffed out.
Christian lifted the newspaper and pretended to read as the next customer hustled into the butcher shop from the door on his left. Dead carcasses hung from the ceiling, and a revolting display of chopped flesh drew everyone’s eyes to the counter. He’d charmed the butcher and his assistant to pay no attention to him. That way he could sit there as long as he wanted.
It wasn’t a place people came to eat, but there were two tables pushed up against the long red bench. No chairs, so you had to sit facing the counter. Sometimes people ordered a ready-made sandwich to eat while they waited for their orders.
He glared at his plate of half-eaten pastrami. The other half had gone into the trash.
The black-haired young man behind the counter sang along to the Italian music on the radio. He and the butcher must have been a father-and-son team since they looked alike and cussed at their customers. Their red aprons over black shirts smartly masked blood and other stains. They were situated in the Breed district, and Christian quickly deduced that the workers were Shifters. During the long stretches of boredom, he studied their mannerisms and tried to guess what their animal might be. At first he thought wolves and then mountain lions, but today he guessed bears.