“Not really. It’s not anything.” Isabel’s smile fades. I can’t look at her anymore, so I look at Shadow. With the daylight fading and the darkness reaching for her, anxiety curls low in my stomach. Her coat is so black, so deeply black, I’ve always had an irrational terror of losing her at night. “I didn’t talk to them.”
My words sound confessional and they hang in the stormy silence. A cold breeze sweeps across our property, stirring the trees at the edges of the field and lifting a lone hawk into the unsettled sky.
“Daryn … You went all that way and you didn’t speak to them?”
“I chickened out, Isabel! I couldn’t figure out what to say! ‘Sorry’? What good would that do? I’m the one with the Sight. Was the one. I knew we’d have that showdown with the Kindred. I should’ve had a better plan. I should’ve anticipated every outcome. But I didn’t and Gideon lost his hand because of me and Sebastian’s hurt or possibly dead but definitely trapped in a realm with a demon. A realm I opened. How do you apologize for that? For making a mistake that big? What could I have said to make any kind of difference?”
Isabel carries a meditative quiet about her. I love it. I used to try to emulate it. She taught me that the quieter you are, the more you hear and see and understand and even feel. Quiet lets you fill yourself up. There’s wisdom to be found in listening, in silence. But since my screwup, I’m not always quiet. I have a new volume, a yelling volume. It comes out of nowhere too, like those air horns people bring to sporting events. Just hit the right nerve and WAAHHHH!
It’s awful. Isabel doesn’t deserve it. Neither does Shadow. She takes a few steps toward me before she realizes I’m fine. Mostly fine.
My throat feels raw and I’m biting down so hard I may crack my own teeth. Isabel reaches over and squeezes my wrist with her strong potter’s hand. I watch the hawk riding the storm winds as I wait for the tears that have welled up to be reabsorbed into my eyes. To the west the clouds have broken and are spilling themselves open. Unlike me.
“This is as close as I got.” I slip my phone out of my pocket and pull up the only photo I took during my week away. I’ve looked at it five hundred times and every time it hits me with a different feeling. This time it triggers an aching, wishing feeling, like I want to be that hawk up there, gliding through a storm like fear is just a myth.
Isabel takes the phone. “Is this Gideon?” She must see the answer on my face, because she turns back to the phone and studies the photo. I wonder if she’s looking for his prosthetic hand. You can’t see it in the photo. I could barely see it in real life. “He’s handsome.”
“It’s a picture of his back.” He was turned away and standing in a crowd about forty feet away from where I lurked like a stalker. Which I technically was.
“Yes, but I can tell.”
A smile rises inside me. This should be good. “How can you tell, Iz?” I waggle my eyebrows. “Does he have a handsome back? Do you think his butt is handsome?”
She rolls her eyes. “If you must know, he has a handsome bearing. He holds himself like he’s comfortable with the moment. I extrapolated from that.” She hands the phone back. “And I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Kind of. ‘Hot’ fits him better than ‘handsome’ does, but … whatever.” Appreciating Gideon’s handsomeness is like standing in front of a bakery window full of the most delicious things I’ve ever seen—then trying the door and realizing it’s locked. And realizing I’m the one who locked it.
“I know this has been hard for you, Daryn.”
“I only wish I hadn’t sucked you down with me.” I’ve wondered if I’m her current mission as a Seeker. Maybe her Sight told her how much I’d need her?
“You haven’t.”
“Well, regardless, thanks. For everything. For being marooned here with me.” I scan the vastness that’s all around me. So beautiful and isolating.
“You don’t have to thank me, you know that,” she says easily, but there’s a rare intensity in her gaze. She pats my arm, glancing toward the cabin. “It’s getting dark and I’ve got soup on the stove. Come inside? We’ll talk some more over dinner.”
“I’ll be right in.” I listen to her trudge away, the bang of the screen door telling me she’s inside.
Shadow moves closer, bobbing her head, her eyes never leaving me. Somehow I can feel that she knows more, senses more, than even Isabel.
What aren’t you saying? What are you planning?
I climb off the fence and sweep my hand down her strong neck. The curls of her darkness wrap around my fingers, following my movement. She feels like sun-warmed silk. Like steadiness.
“We’re going after Sebastian tonight, girl,” I tell her. “It’s time to make things right.”
CHAPTER 2
GIDEON
“Hate to say it, Cordero,” I say, dropping into the chair in front of her desk. “But I’m a little disappointed.”
Natalie Cordero, PhD in criminal forensic psychology, my ex-interrogator and current boss, looks up from her laptop, peering over the frame of her glasses. “Morning, Gideon. I don’t remember asking you to come in here.”
“That’s okay, I’ll be quick.” I rest my prosthetic hand on the arm of the chair, in plain view. I’m not above using it as propaganda if it helps get Sebastian back. If there’s a better reminder of what the Kindred did to him, I don’t know what it is. The Kindred got me, too. Just not as badly. “We need more resources. More drones. More geniuses. More of everything, and we need it quickly.” After eight months, we finally have a shot at getting Sebastian back, but it hinges on finding Daryn. She’s our way into the realm where Bas is trapped. Daryn not only has the key; she’s also the only one who can use it. But none of that matters if we don’t find her. “We’re at four days,” I continue. “And you know what they say about cold trails.”
“What?”
“They say—” I rub my jaw, buying a second. She’s the criminologist. I thought she was going to fill in the answer for me. “They say that cold trails suck.”
“Elegantly put, but the trail isn’t cold yet. We’re getting close. Some of the top analysts in the world are on this. We’re gaining ground.”
Her eyes move past me, into the warehouse space where the team is huddled around desks, laptops, easels. We took over this place—an abandoned food-distribution hub—as our command center right after Daryn’s appearance at Fort Benning a few days ago. Since Cordero’s in charge she’s set up in here, the old manager’s office, which somehow smells more like frozen meat than the rest of the warehouse. The rest of us are working in an office supply flotilla in the middle of forty thousand square feet of open space.