“What did you trade for?”
“We needed information.” His jaw tightens. “On you. Just a hint about where you were. If you were alive or not.”
I reach for him under the table, grappling for his fingers that are curled tight in a ball. A tiny shard of ice around my heart melts. “You feel shame over that?”
He looks away, and even though he doesn’t answer, the truth is written on his face. A chunk of the despair I’ve felt over the last few weeks chips away as the need to make Dylan feel better, to feel loved, rises in my chest. He refuses to meet my gaze and just as I’m about to force the issue, he looks over my shoulder with interest.
“Tran,” he calls. “Over here.”
“Tran?” The owner of the magic shop upstairs approaches. The ancient (probably literally) man walks over. A heavy cloak covers his shoulders. He takes the chair Dylan offers and sits with a weary sigh.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Dylan says.
“No. I wasn’t sure I would.” His narrow eyes skirt over me. “I try to stay out of the ways of the gods and goddesses. I’ve probably already assisted too much.”
“I know, and I appreciate you meeting us,” Dylan says. “I just want to know if you saw anything that day—heard anything?”
There’s no question what day Dylan is referring to, but I lean in and press anyway. “The day my Guardians vanished. From everything we know, it took place near your shop, but our own canvassing has been futile. No one will talk to us.” Damien would have gotten the men on the street to talk—he was friendly with them. “They’re either afraid or don’t care.”
“Probably both,” he says and sighs heavily. Deep lines crease his forehead. “It sounded like the world ripped in two; I felt the moment in the depths of my chest. The air turned to ice, coating my windows with frost. I heard the shouts of the Ravens and went to assist but my door was jammed tight. It was hard to see—thank the gods, because what I did see?” He shivers. “Tentacles of smoke. Long and black. Something dark from another world.”
He stares at me. Dylan grips my hand. He fought those tentacles in the ring.
“The Morrigan?”
“Or part of her, at least. I fell to my knees and prayed.” Tran reaches under his cloak and rests a crumpled paper bag on the table. “I found this on the street after it was over.”
He slides the bag to Dylan and I hold my breath as he opens it. I don’t know what to expect, but what he pulls out never crossed my mind, even though it seems obvious. Dylan’s eyes flash to mine as he hands over the cracked black box that may hold a clue on what happened to the guardians and how to get them back.
It’s Sam’s camera.
“It’s broken. I couldn’t get it to work, but maybe there’s a way.”
“Thank you, Tran. This is very helpful.”
I try to turn on the camera but it’s pointless. He’s right. I look up and find him staring at me once again. His hands tremble on the table. “I have a warning for you both.”
“What kind of warning?” Dylan asks, but the line between his eyes tells me he already knows. I’m the only one left out of the loop here.
“Not everyone wants you to stop the Darkness. There are many others that have waited centuries, if not longer, for this world to fall to the demons.”
“What do you mean?”
“Watch your back, young warrior. As the civilians fall to the sickness, the darker elements will arise. You’re not just fighting the Morrigan.”
I feel the hair on the back of my neck rise as I look around the room. Every person, witch, demon, and angel is focused on this conversation. “Do you think any of them helped Bunny betray us?”
“Nothing is off the table. The creatures down here? They’re just the muscle and thugs. The gossips and traders. It’s the ones that live in the world up top you have to worry about. They come in all shapes and sizes. Perform all kinds of jobs.”
“Like what?” I ask.
“Doctors. Police. Those that will be called upon in a time of crisis.”
I look at Dylan. Again, he’s not completely surprised. “You knew?”
“You know the history, Morgan. Who do you think Hitler used as his commanders? As his closest confidants. It wasn’t back-alley scum.”
I think of the photos I’ve seen. He’s always surrounded by a tight posse. Doctors. Generals. Educators. Which would be manageable if I hadn’t just lost most of my own posse.
“Thanks for the information, Tran,” I say, standing from the table. Dylan follows my lead, taking the camera from me and slipping it in his coat. “If you hear anything, let us know.”
The old man nods.
I feel the eyes on us as we exit the bar. I don’t miss the Shaman’s nod. A simmering rage boils beneath the surface of my skin. I don’t like not knowing the rules of this world. Who is an enemy or not.
Bunny has opened a wound that will not stop bleeding.
Chapter 4
Morgan
When we leave the bar, I can’t help but notice the difference in the city. The streets are less crowded. Shops close early. People walk with scarves and surgical masks over their mouths and noses. The virus is here. It’s real.
We return to The Nead and Dylan takes the camera to Sam’s studio. He hopes to recover any image locked inside. Full of anxious energy, I go to the basement gym and blow off some steam. Hildi is already there, beating the shit out of a punching bag. She nods at the other gloves hanging on the wall, “Wanna fight?”
“Yeah,” I say, yanking them off the hook. “I kind of do.”
There’s a white canvas sparring mat in the middle of the room. I’ve used it many times before, mostly training with Clinton. I’ve bled on it. I’ve made love on it, and that’s when I realize that every room in this gigantic house has taken on emotional meaning to me. I blink back tears of nostalgia.
“You ready?” Hildi says, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Yeah,” I tug on the gloves and square off. “Show me what you’ve got.”
I’ve fought Hildi before, mostly just out of some kind of supernatural pissing contest to prove my worth. I won, and now we’re friends. Or at least I think we are. What if we’re not? What if she’s one of the bad guys? Is that what Tran meant? Did Bunny leave her here to watch over us? Friend or foe, I won’t take it easy on her, and when she punches me in the kidney, I know the same is true of her.