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“Bain’s penumbra.” There was no point in lying to him. The truth would come out eventually, or my version of it—the one that carefully skipped over the two bullets Cate had delivered herself.
Goemon grimaced. He studied me over the barrel, his eyes mere slits in the bright sunlight. Then he shouldered his shotgun. “I’ve always liked you, Gage. Unlike that asshole Bain.” He shook his head, black hair streaming behind him. “But rules are rules. I don’t make them.”
“I know,” I said warily. I scratched the brand on my neck. It was surprisingly itchy, but I supposed being marked for death wasn’t meant to be comfortable.
His mouth dashed into a thin line before he sighed. “I’ll give you a running start, won’t even let the others know I saw you, if you answer one question.”
“Shoot.” I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “On second thought. Just ask.”
Goemon barked a short laugh, but something primitive gleamed in his squinted eyes when he turned them on me. “Was it worth it?”
A smile curled my mouth, my fingers already twitching to snap as I answered, “Yeah, she was.”
…
Cats scattered, hissing and arching their backs, as I appeared in my sister’s living room. The feeling was entirely mutual, maybe even a little more so today. The witch on the couch scowled at me, dropping knitting needles into her lap, before she bellowed, “Fi, your asshole brother just nipped into our living room.” Romy glared down at my muddy boots, her dark eyes flashing at her dirty floor. “And he is making a fucking mess.”
Even on days when I didn’t track half the bayou onto her wooden floors, there was no love lost between me and my sister’s girlfriend. But today, I ignored her, searching the apartment for Cate. I shouldn’t have come. I knew that, but I couldn’t run yet. Once I knew she was safe, I could let her go. But not before I told her everything. Not before I told her how I felt.
There was no sign of her, and I whipped in Romy’s direction, ignoring the finger of panic tracing my spine. “Where is she?”
“Not having a freaking heart attack like some of us.” Romy glared as she picked her needles back up, and that casual annoyance made my blood run cold. She shouldn’t be acting this unnerved by my sudden appearance. Not after that phone had rung.
“Where is she?” I demanded, not waiting for an answer I feared wouldn’t come. I thundered into the adjoining kitchen, continuing past its cluttered counters to the hall.
Romy was on her feet now, padding behind me. “Fiona! Remind me why your family is allowed past my wards again.”
My sister finally appeared, wearing her usual disdain, but it slid from her face when our eyes met.
“Where is she?” My words softened, pleading with my sister, with the gods, with whoever might be listening. “She called, right?”
Her gaze cut to Romy, who subtly shook her head. Fiona pursed her lips before waving me on. “Come with me.”
Each step felt heavier than the last as I followed her back to the kitchen, a pit opening in my stomach. She should have been out of the city by now. Maybe she’d gotten lost.
Fiona twisted her hair up, tying it off in a messy knot. Always good in a crisis—that was why she was the only number saved on that emergency line. She sifted through a few takeout menus until she unearthed the phone from the pile and plucked it free of the charger. “It didn’t ring.” She cocked her head as she passed it to me. “And there are no missed calls.”
My eyes fixed on the screen, willing it to light up now.
“What’s going on, Lach?” Fiona’s eyes probed me, her breath uneven. “Is it Ciara? Shaw?”
“They’re fine.” I shook my head. “Roark just checked on her.” Fiona hadn’t spoken to me since I’d phoned her about our sister’s betrothal to Bain. There wasn’t time to catch her up now. I would explain everything she had missed when Cate got here. Things had progressed too quickly, going from possibility to certainty with the breathtaking velocity generally reserved for stupid ideas like picking fights or falling for the one woman you shouldn’t even touch.
But her fist banged the counter, the cat at her feet darting to safety. “Will you tell me what the fuck is going on? Why would someone be calling that phone?”
There was a rush of air, and Roark appeared near the table.
“For fuck’s sake.” Romy clutched her chest.
Fiona moved to Romy’s side, stroking soothing circles on her back. She shot a look at Roark as she dragged Romy toward their bedroom. “He’s expecting a call. Good luck.”
But he already knew. He always did, even though I’d blocked him as soon as I felt Cate’s panic bleating in my own chest, shielding him from what I’d found when I arrived in that room and realized what I had to do. I’d reached out for a split second as I left the bayou, asking him to check on my family and telling him where I was heading.
I didn’t bother shutting him out now as I paced into the living room, waiting for the phone to ring, as I replayed those desperate minutes, my instructions to her, that final, inexorable choice. Where had things gone wrong? She was good in a crisis, trained for it. Even after shooting MacAlister, she’d tried to stop the bleeding. She was thinking clearly despite the shock. She had followed what I was saying. The memories ratcheted my steps faster, my instinct beckoning me to return to New Orleans. She was still there. I wasn’t sure how I knew, but I felt it.
Roark moved into my path. “Everything is secure in New Orleans.”
But it wasn’t—she wasn’t. My arms curled over my head, my palms covering the mark of the Wild Hunt. I’d sent her to that garage, knowing everything was in place for her escape. I had acted to protect her from them, but I had miscalculated something. Panic gripped me, as unshakable as that new tattoo.