Lili St Crow - Defiance

“Steady on, Reynard.” Bruce let out a heavy sigh. “It’s a trap for whoever goes near it.”

Christophe rounded on him. “This could be her first mistake. And better we send Kuoroi than my kochana gets it in her head to take a look. Anna wants her dead . I will not let—”

“Christophe!” I actually yelled, grabbing the back of my chair like I was going to pick it up and swing it. He was working himself up but good, and once he did that, good luck calming him down.

He stopped dead, staring at me. And chalk one up for the surprise-o-meter, because he actually looked haunted. Shoulders hunched, spots of fevered color high up on his cheekbones, and his hair messed up. Had he been running his hands back through it? That was really unlike him. Or maybe it was the aspect, but that was weird, too.

“Sit. Down.” I pointed at the chair to the left of mine. “Now.”

It was kind of gratifying, the way he immediately stalked around the end of the table. Hiro stiffened as Christophe drew near, but Chris just kept going, pulled out the chair, and dropped down. Laid his hands flat on the table, palms down and slightly cupped, fingers held close together. Like he wanted to curl them into fists, but didn’t dare.

Bruce coughed slightly. The sound fell dead into tense, thick air.

“Now. Let’s get this straight.” I folded my arms. It felt good to be standing. Like I was in charge. I don’t get that feeling very often. “If I’m not going near this place, then nobody else is either.”

Ezra’s jaw dropped. Cigar smoke threaded out from his nose. Augustine muttered something I was sure was a gutter-Polish curse word. Hiro actually slumped down into his chair, sagging.

“That’s a very bad—” Bruce began carefully.

I ran right over the top of him. “So that’s decided. I’ll take Ash, and Shanks. And Hiro. Christophe will get teams together to cover us, and he’ll monitor from outside.”

There was a faint skritching sound. Christophe’s fingers flexed, and his claws dug into the glossy tabletop. “No.” Just the single word, his jaw set stubbornly. His eyes half–lidded, burning blue. Bruce slowly rose from his chair again, like a tired jack-in-the-box.

My knees felt mooshy, but I kept right on going. “She didn’t kill me last time, when she had the advantage of surprise.” I congratulated myself for saying it so calmly. “This time we’re forewarned and forearmed. With both Hiro and Christophe there, not to mention Shanks and Ash, nothing’s going to get to me. Not even suckers.” Not even Anna.

“Milady.” Hiro had lost a great deal of his color under his caramel tone. He looked pretty ghastly. “Please, reconsider.”

“You’re all telling me I’m the head of the Order.” Very logical, once I thought about it. I only wondered why I hadn’t played this card before. “Right? I’m the head; what I say goes. Well, this is what we’re doing. Anna wants me there? Fine. Alone? Not a chance.” I took a deep breath, bracing myself. “If she wants another crack at me, maybe we can make this a trap for her . And then she’ll tell us where Graves is, and we’ll pick him up.” If he’s still . . . No, don’t think that. We’re going to rescue him.

No matter what.

“No,” Christophe repeated. He was looking pretty sick as well. He and Hiro with the empty chair between them made quite a pair. Bruce stood behind his chair, clutching it like he was expecting the floor to sink. He was chalky too. Ezra’s mouth was still open, his cigar fuming. The thing stank, but at least it and the spilled coffee covered up the copper tang of blood. August rubbed at his face, like he was tired.

“You really think she’ll show up if you just send a bunch of boys?” I shook my head. My hair was drying out a little, but it was still damp enough to make me shudder a little. “No way. I played bait last night, I’ll play bait on this, too.”

“Dru . . .” Christophe, changing it up a little with the one-syllable words.

“That’s what we’re doing. Make the arrangements. I don’t want to be caught by surprise like I was last night.” It wasn’t very nice, but I wasn’t feeling very nice right at the moment. As a matter of fact, I was feeling like a huge raving bitch.

And I didn’t care.

I made my hands let go of the carved chair back. “I’ll want a progress report tomorrow night, as soon as I’m up. Bruce, you can bring it to me before classes start.”

I chose to walk down the side that had Bruce and Ezra, because I didn’t think I’d get past Christophe without something else happening. I made it almost to the door before there was a splintering crack from the table.

“Dru.” Christophe’s voice, very soft. “We should discuss this.”

I waved one hand over my shoulder. “Nope. Don’t think so. See you later.”

I yanked the door open and made my escape before they could figure out who was supposed to follow me around now . Once I hit the hall outside the second set of doors, I was running.

I didn’t look back.

I flipped every singlelock on the door, settled the bar in its brackets with shaking hands, and turned around. Put my back against the door and let out a long, quivering breath. The wards flexed and trembled, bright blue, sliding soundless through the walls.

That was not fun. So not fun.

It was only four-thirty in the morning. Just about time to start winding down. Nathalie would be along soon, or she’d go to the room where I was supposed to be studying to pick me up. I felt bad about leaving her hanging, but Jesus.

I needed some time alone in the worst way. They didn’t leave me alone much except to sleep. It got a little . . . overwhelming, having someone on me all damn night and day. Always someone watching, some danger, something I hadn’t thought of, having to keep my face composed and my thoughts to myself all the time. I was used to Dad giving me some space , at least. And at the other Schola, well, I could feel them watching, but I didn’t see them much. It was different now.

Everything was.

My mother’s room looked different, too, with the lights off and the breathless dark of early morning covering its skylights. Like a stage set, the white bed floating ghostlike and the books all closed, shadowed doors. The bathroom glimmered, and the wide white window seat looked like the edge of a bleached skull.

I shuffled across the room. My sneakers were going to smell like coffee until I could wash them, so I dropped down on the floor next to the white bed and stripped them off, flung them in the general direction of the closet, and grabbed the pair sitting next to the small nightstand. I got a good look at the empty space underneath the bed and had a sudden, disturbing thought.

Is that my mother’s mattress? Oh, God.

The dizziness came, sweeping over me in a dark sparkling wave. I folded my knees, rested my forehead against the hardwood, and tried to control my breathing. The shallow gasps I was hearing were from me , I realized, and the reality of the past few hours hit me like a sucker punch.

I rolled over on my back, digging in my change pocket. The earring was warm, and I tweezed it delicately out. My stomach hurt; I was making little noises in between the gasps.

The bed was neatly made, but I crawfished up to it and reached . Nathalie made it tight enough to bounce a quarter off of—Dad would have approved—and I had no idea how she did it with the coat in there all the time.

I wormed my hand between the top and bottom sheets, pulling everything askew. My fingers touched rough heavy canvas, and I yanked and pulled until I’d got the length of black material free. With the earring in my sweating fist, I hugged the balled-up lump the coat made and buried my face in it. Willed the shaking to stop and the touch to show me something, anything. To give me some hope.