Kelly Mendig - Three Days to Dead

Wyatt opened a small metal case. “The hell, Rufus?” he said. “Where did you get grenades?”

“Took them from a Halfie nest once. Be careful, they’re pretty old,” Rufus replied.

“Nice.” Wyatt closed the lid and put it back into the trunk.

I plucked two more clips of fragmenting rounds. The back pockets of my jeans bulged with the ammunition, creating a false sense of security. In the past, having those weapons made me feel powerful, invincible. Knowing I wasn’t invincible anymore—and in fact, likely to die again very soon—made me feel like a fake. I was putting on a good show for Wyatt, even though we both saw the only real outcome of today’s planned assault.

“We’re going to need a car,” I said.

“So will we,” Nadia said. “We have ours. Good luck with yours.”

Helpful as always.

Wyatt pulled a light jacket off a coat hanger and slipped it on, effectively hiding his weapons. He walked over to Rufus, offered his hand, and tilted his head. Rufus looked first at the offered hand, then at Wyatt. The two men shared something in that look—silent encouragement, a parting of ways, maybe even an apology—and shook.

“See you on the flip side, man,” Rufus said.

“Yeah, you too,” Wyatt replied.

We left as cautiously as we’d entered and exited through the rear door of the building, back into the stink of the alley. It had cooled off significantly, enough for me to wish I’d borrowed a jacket, too. We headed for the street end of the alley.

“We’ll go a few streets over,” Wyatt whispered, “then look for something we can drive.”

“You ever hot-wired a car before?”

“I’ve seen it on television. How hard can it be?”

The explosion shook the ground. I pitched sideways and found myself on the mucky concrete, with Wyatt on top of me. Heat swirled around us. Bits of wood and brick and rubble peppered my exposed shoulder and cheek. He grunted. The roar of fire pushed through the thundering of my heartbeat and drowned out all other sounds. I turned my head, hazarded a look up. Windows and chunks of wall had blown out. Smoke billowed, acrid and thick.

The fifth floor was engulfed in flames.

4:04

We watched the grisly scene from the roof of the building across the street. Tenants were evacuated into the street, many in nightclothes. Some clutched small children wrapped in blankets. Fire trucks arrived and poured water on the spreading flames. Police put up barricades, herded reporters, and tried to keep order amid chaos.

Wyatt and I stood side by side as the last of our allies were taken from us. I wanted to cry for Rufus and the brave spirit he had been, only I had no tears left. Wyatt was not so lucky. Unshed, they pooled in his eyes, creating a glassy, faraway look.

“Ten years,” he said quietly. “I worked with him for ten years, and now …”

I tried to think of something sympathetic to say, but it all felt hollow. Trite. “Could it have been those grenades?” I asked instead.

“Doubt it. I don’t buy this as an accident, Evy. The timing was too perfect.”

“Do you think Nadia was right? Are we walking right into another of Tovin’s traps by going to the preserve?”

“I don’t think we have a choice anymore.”

“As if we had one before.”

He grunted.

“We still stick to the plan,” I said. “We recon the preserve and get our bearings, and then we retreat to formulate our attack plan and hope the other Triads don’t blame this on us and really do show.”

“If they don’t show? Without any help, it’s suicide.”

He seemed to miss the irony in his words. “Wyatt, we don’t have a choice, even if there’s no one left to help us.”

“I would not say that,” said a lilting, female voice. It came as though carried on the wind, and might as well have been a phantom, since we hadn’t heard anyone approach.

We pivoted in tandem. Wyatt reached for one of his guns, while I crouched and wrapped one hand around the handle of a knife. Twenty feet away, in the middle of a gravel roof she’d made no noise walking across, stood Isleen. Alive. She held out empty palms. Her calm expression never changed.

“I am no threat to you,” she said.

“Holy shit, I thought you were dead,” I said, standing. I quashed the very real urge to race across the roof and throw my arms around her neck. Never in my life had I been so happy to see a Blood.

“Even half-breeds know better than to kill one of their royalty, Evangeline.”

Royalty? No shit. I’d have to ask her about that. Later. “How did you escape?”

“I was never taken, only drugged and tied up in one of the empty mall storage rooms. It took my Family time to locate me, and it took me almost as long to locate you.”

“And how did you find us?”

A soft sigh escaped, as though the litany of necessary questions bored her. “I was following your friend. I spotted him earlier today on the street. The change was easy to recognize. I trailed him to the hospital, and then here when the humans took him. I was correct to do so.”

Her story made sense, even though the foundation lay on her happening upon Alex in the street. I hated coincidence, but didn’t necessarily discount her explanation because of it. She’d always showed a keen interest in discovering the truth. That didn’t appear to have changed.

“You’ve been watching the building the whole time?”

“No, an hour ago, I spotted an osprey on the roof of the building. It flew away, and I attempted to track it. I failed. When I returned, the fire had already begun.”

“I wasn’t accusing you—”

“You said an osprey?” Wyatt asked.

Isleen nodded. Dummy me finally caught on. “The only osprey in this city are weres,” I said. “It was a surviving Owlkin?”

“I believe so,” she replied, “so I attempted to follow it. We are not friendly with shape-shifters of any ilk, but we know what your Triads did to them.”

I flinched.

“Do you think the survivors blame Rufus’s team?” Wyatt asked. “That they’re targeting them?”

“The Owlkins were always peaceful,” I said. “I can’t imagine them burning down an entire apartment building out of spite.”

“Watching his people being slaughtered by supposed allies can change a man’s perspective on vengeance, Evy.”

Good point, and we finally knew Owlkin survivors existed. But it didn’t help us in our impending fight, not even a little bit. If Wyatt was right, the Owlkins may have just cut us off from our only backup. Unless …

“Can you help us, Isleen?” I asked.

“That depends on the information you share. Why did the half-breeds take you, and how did you escape?”

We fed Isleen the highlights of our captivity and escape and time in First Break. Its existence seemed to surprise her, if the quirk of one slim eyebrow was any indication. I left out details of its location and our exit through the tunnels. The Fair Ones had trusted us enough to let us leave; I wouldn’t betray their trust by giving them up. I also left out the discovery of my Gift; some information I just won’t give to a Blood.

“You are certain Tovin is at this nature preserve?” she asked after a long pause.

“No,” I said, “which is why we’re on our way there now. We had hoped for some Triad backup, but I get the feeling that’s on the rocks once this gets around.”

Her attention flickered to the fire behind us. I turned and felt the heat of it on my face. So much destruction, so much loss.

“Until they get it out and get the fire marshal in,” Wyatt said, “there’s no way to know how or where it started. I just know that we could have walked out sixty seconds later than we did.”