Kelly Meding - Another Kind of Dead

“Yeah, I do. I don’t suppose this means our Gifts will work extra good during the storm?”

“The storm can give you more power, but it also messes like hell with your control. You may accidentally use your Gift without tapping into your emotional trigger.”

“Good to know.”

Another minute and nothing. A young couple scurried down the street on the opposite side, holding hands and laughing. Probably trying to get home before the bottom fell out. Even the few robins I’d seen earlier were gone, hiding from what was coming. My anxiety level tipped the scales, souring my stomach and ratcheting up my heart rate.

“It’s going to rain soon,” Wyatt said. “It’ll wash away any trail left.”

Come on, Phin, where are you? “I’m going to check out the roof nearest the park.”

“Evy—”

“Save it. I’m going.”

His hand circled my left wrist, a gentle pressure. The touch sent my pulse racing, spurred as much by him as the storm. “I was going to say concentrate. The storm’s going to play with your Gift. Don’t let the power unfocus you.”

“I won’t.”

He let go. I pulled the roofie-ammo gun out of my jeans with my left hand. The steady ache-itch in my right was a frustrating distraction, but one I could live with for now. I eyed the farthest house on the block, trying to recall anything I knew about the roofs of these houses. Usually flat, some with access from below.

I closed my eyes. My tap into the Break flared like a lighthouse beacon, flashing through my mind and body in a current of live energy. I flew apart faster than ever and zinged toward the roof. My direction shifted, spinning toward the west, drawn by the power of the thunderstorm. I yanked away from it. Grasped for the roof. Back again, then forward. Pulled in one direction but desperate to go in the other.

No! Another mental jerk got me over the house, and I let go of my tap. I spilled onto the tarred roof in a tumble of limbs, banging my wounded wrist hard enough to send flares of white-hot pain through my arm and shoulder. Not my most graceful landing ever.

I scrambled to my feet, heedless of the new headache pounding behind my eyes. It would go away, just like the others. A quick scan of the rooftop revealed no one, osprey or otherwise. I crabbed toward the edge of the roof overlooking the park and peered down. Four teens were gathering their shirts, done with their basketball game, but that was it. No Token, and no Phin.

Spinning around, I sat hard on the tar-paper roof, back to the short wall, gun loose in my hand. A light splattering of raindrops plinked off the roof and left dark spots on my jeans. Could I have missed seeing Phin fly off? No, he would have made sure we’d spotted him before tailing Token.

Music tinkled nearby, a muffled orchestral tune I didn’t know. I stuffed the gun into the back of my jeans and crept down the length of the roof, toward the northern end of the house, until I found the source. A black case blended into the ground, the perfect size for a pair of glasses. I picked up the case and pried it open.

It wasn’t the ringing cell phone—identical to the phone we’d found with Willemy’s body—that made my stomach wrench. It was the careless wad of brown-and-white feathers stuffed into the case next to it.

I plucked out the phone, snapped the case shut, and slipped it into my back pocket, determined to shove the whole thing right up Thackery’s ass the next time we met.

Secured line, private number, just like before. “Are the chicken feathers supposed to scare me?” I snarled into the phone.

Thackery’s deep, rumbling laugh made me want to reach through the line and throttle him. “You know whose feathers they are, Ms. Stone. Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you.”

“Why don’t you come out so we can chat in person?”

“I don’t like the rain and despise getting wet.”

The rain was growing heavier, a steady drizzle that soaked my thin T-shirt and weighed down my jeans. I shielded the phone with my bandaged hand. “So what? You just wanted your hybrid back and thought you’d kidnap a member of the Assembly of Clan Elders while you were at it?”

“That particular hybrid is of no use to me. He’s yours to do with as you wish.”

Telling him that I didn’t have Token seemed kind of stupid, so I kept it to myself. Token was probably wandering the streets in the rain, hoping to sniff his way back home, with no idea we’d lost him. Shit.

“As for the shape-shifter,” Thackery continued, “his position as an Elder is an unfortunate circumstance. I’m more interested in the fact that he’s a friend of yours.”

“Fuck you” died on my lips. I had to keep calm, even though my temper had reached its boiling point. Thackery knew we’d be here. He knew we’d be tracking Token somehow, and he’d taken Phin to use against me. “I don’t respond well to threats.”

“So I’ve heard. Think of this as a negotiation, then, not a threat, because you have a decision to make.”

“Let me guess? Me and my special blood for Phin’s life?”

“Among other things, yes.”

“Which means what?”

“Very soon your loyalties will be put to the ultimate test, and you will have to make a decision about where you stand.”

I snorted. “Like I haven’t heard that before. I don’t suppose you want to save me a little time and effort and tell me who betrayed me to you?”

“ ‘Betrayed’ is such a strong word in this particular case, as their loyalty was never to you.”

Not helpful. Thunder rumbled loudly overhead, reminding me I hadn’t seen the start of the real storm. My insides vibrated with its power. “When do we do this?”

“Are you injured?”

“What does it matter?” If my betrayer was as close as I assumed, Thackery should know I was hurt.

“It matters to Phineas.”

Bastard. “I have a broken wrist.”

“How long will it take to heal?”

“Completely heal?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe twelve hours.”

“Are you lying?”

“Do you want it partially healed or completely? And why the hell do you care if I’m injured?”

“Because I prefer my test subjects to be in the best possible shape when they come to me. I had only intended to take samples of your blood, Ms. Stone, but you couldn’t let it happen, so now this has to. I need those samples.”

“I couldn’t let it happen?” I was on my feet pacing, sneakers slapping against the wet roof with each step. Rage tore through me like an electric shock. “Do you have any fucking clue what that trickster you sent did to me?”

Something I said surprised him, because several long beats preceded his reply. “I underestimated the trickster’s need to follow its instincts. For whatever it did to you, I am sorry.”

“Shove it up your ass, Thackery! You aren’t worried about what I’ll do in the next twelve hours? That I could still find you? Maybe even get myself killed before you get your precious blood?”

“I think you’ll take care not to do anything that will force me to kill your shape-shifting friend. I have no qualms about angering the Assembly, so please do not assume my threat is empty.”

The image of Rhys Willemy, bled dry and impaled on a wall, flashed in my brain. “Trust me, I’m done assuming things about you.”

“Good. We’ll speak again in twelve hours.”

I fought hard for control as I put the phone in the pocket opposite the case. The rain beat down harder, ice-cold, stinging the bare skin on my arms and face. I shivered, gooseflesh breaking out over my neck and down the backs of my legs. I’d been played for a fucking fool by someone today, and I was determined to have that person’s head on a pike before the end of my twelve hours.