House of Sky and Breath (Crescent City) (51 page)

Her head snapped up. Again, that distance in her eyes that told him he’d been shut out before she even said, “That’s a private matter, to use your words.”

Fine. “I’ll be around today if you need me.” He aimed for the door, but added, “Why send the Harpy to get me?”

Her caramel eyes shuttered. “Ephraim thought she might be the most effective.”

“Ephraim, huh?”

“He is my mate.”

“But not your master.”

Power glowed along her wings, her tightly curling hair. “Careful, Hunt.”

“Noted.” Hunt strode into the hall, wondering if he’d done something to piss off Urd.

Two weeks here. With all the shit happening with Bryce and the rebels and Cormac … Fuck.

As if the mere thought of the word
rebels
had summoned her, he found the Hind leaning against the far wall. There was no sign of the Harpy. The Hind’s beautiful face was serene, though her golden eyes seemed lit with Helfire. “Hello, Hunt.”

“Here to interrogate me?” Hunt aimed for the elevator that
would take him back to the training ring. He kept his pace casual, arrogant. Utterly unfazed.

Even if Danaan had been freaked out by her, Hunt had seen and dealt with Lidia Cervos enough to know which buttons to push. Which to avoid. And that if he got her away from Mordoc, from Pollux, from her entire dreadwolf retinue, he’d leave her in smoking ruin. Fancy that—she was alone right now.

The Hind knew it, too. That was what made her dangerous. She might appear unarmed, vulnerable, but she carried herself like someone who might whisper a word and have death fly to defend her. Who might snap her fingers and unleash Hel upon him.

He’d been in Sandriel’s possession when the Hind had signed on—recruited by the Archangel herself to serve as her spy-master. Lidia had been so young: barely into her twenties. She’d just made the Drop, and had no apparent deep well of magic, other than her swiftness as a deer shifter and her love of cruelty. Her appointment to such a high position had been a blaring alarm to stay the fuck away from her—she was a Vanir who’d cross any line, if she pleased Sandriel so greatly. Pollux had courted her almost immediately.

“What the fuck do you want?” Hunt asked, stabbing the elevator button. He blocked any thought of Ophion, of Emile, of their activities from his mind. He was nothing but the Umbra Mortis, loyal to the empire.

“You’re friends with Ruhn Danaan, are you not?”

Burning fucking Solas. Hunt kept his face neutral. “I wouldn’t say he’s a friend, but yeah. We hang out.”

“And Ithan Holstrom?”

Hunt shrugged. Calm—stay calm. “He’s a decent guy.”

“And what of Tharion Ketos?”

Hunt made himself blow out a loud sigh. It served to loosen the growing tightness in his chest. “Isn’t it a little early for interrogating?”

Fuck, had she gone after Bryce already? Was one of her goons—Mordoc, even—at the apartment while she cornered Hunt here, at the elevator?

The Hind smiled without showing her teeth. “I woke up refreshed this morning.”

“I didn’t realize fucking Pollux is so boring that you could sleep through it.”

She snickered, to his surprise. “Sandriel might have done so much more with you, if she’d only had the vision for it.”

“Too bad she liked gambling more than torturing me.” He could only thank the gods that Sandriel had gotten so buried in her debts that she’d had to sell him to Micah to pay them off.

“Too bad she’s dead.” Those golden eyes gleamed. Yeah, the Hind knew who was responsible for that death.

The elevator opened, and Hunt stepped in, the Hind following him. “So why the questions about my friends?” How much time would he have to warn them? Or would all of them fleeing the city confirm that they were guilty?

“I thought they were merely people you hung out with.”

“Semantics.”

Her small, bland smile raked down Hunt’s temper. “An unusual group, even in a city as progressive as Lunathion. An angel, a wolf, a Fae Prince, a mer, and a half-human whore.” Hunt growled at the last word, rage shaking him from his dread. “It sounds like the start to a bad joke.”

“You want to ask me something, Lidia, then fucking say it. Don’t waste my time.” The elevator opened into the hall of the training floor, bringing the scent of sweat.

“I’m merely observing an anomaly. Wondering what might be so … compelling that so many people of power, from different species and Houses, are
hanging out
at Bryce Quinlan’s apartment.”

“She’s got one Hel of a video-gaming system.”

The Hind chuckled, the sound laced with menace. “I’ll find out, you know. I always do.”

“I look forward to it,” Hunt said, stalking toward the doors. A dark figure loomed ahead of them—Baxian. His eyes were on the Hind. Stony, and yet seeking.

She stopped short. The
Hind
stopped short.

Baxian said, “Lidia.”

The Hind replied flatly, “Baxian.”

“I was looking for you.” He inclined his head to Hunt in dismissal. He’d take over from here.

“Is it to explain why you vanished into the night with Hunt Athalar?” she asked, folding her hands behind her back in a perfect imperial stance. A good little soldier.

Hunt passed Baxian. “Not a word,” Hunt said so softly it was barely more than a breath. Baxian nodded subtly.

Hunt had barely pushed open the doors to the training area when he heard Baxian say carefully to the Hind, as if remembering who she was, “I don’t answer to you.”

Her voice was smooth as silk. “Not to me, or Ephraim, but you still answer to the Asteri.” Her true masters. “Whose will is mine.”

Hunt’s stomach churned. She was right.

And he’d do well to remember it before it was too late.

38

“This is a dumb fucking idea.”

“You really love to say that, Legs.”

Bryce peered at the two-story iron doors in the back alley of the Old Square, the surface embossed with stars and planets and all matter of heavenly objects. “There’s a reason no one comes to the mystics anymore.” Hel, she’d suggested it while working on Danika’s case this spring, but Hunt had convinced her not to come.

The mystics are some dark, fucked-up shit
, he’d said.

Bryce glowered at Tharion and Ithan, standing behind her in the alley. “I mean it. What’s behind those doors is not for the faint of heart. Jesiba knows this guy, but even she doesn’t mess with him.”

Ithan countered, “I can’t think of another alternative. The Oracle only sees the future, not present. I need to know what’s going on with Connor.”

Tharion drawled, “If you can’t stomach it, Legs, then sit out here on the curb.”

She sighed through her nose, trying again. “Only lowlifes use the mystics these days.”

They’d had this conversation twice already on the walk over. She was likely going to lose this round as well, but it was worth a
shot. If Hunt had been with her, he’d have gotten his point across in that alphahole way of his. But he hadn’t answered his phone.

He’d probably give her Hel for coming here without him.

Bryce sighed to the baking-hot sky. “All right. Let’s get this over with.”

“That’s the spirit, Legs.” Tharion clapped her on the back. Ithan frowned at the doors.

Bryce reached for the door chime, a crescent moon dangling from a delicate iron chain. She yanked it once, twice. An off-kilter ringing echoed.

“This is a really bad idea,” she muttered again.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ithan said, tipping his head back to study the building. The tattoo of Amelie’s pack was glaringly dark in the sun. She wondered if he wanted to tear the flesh off and start anew.

Bryce set the question aside as one of the planets carved in the door—the five-ringed behemoth that was Thurr—swung away, revealing a pale gray eye. “Appointment?”

Tharion held up his BCIU badge. “The Blue Court requires your assistance.”

“Does it, now?” A croaking laugh as that eye—eerily sharp despite the wrinkles around it—fixed on the mer. It narrowed in amusement or pleasure. “One of the river folk. What a treat, what a treat.”

The planet slammed shut, and Tharion stepped onto the slate front step as the doors cracked open a sliver. Cold air rippled out, along with the tang of salt and the smothering dampness of mold.

Ithan trailed Bryce, swearing under his breath at the scent. She twisted, throwing him a reproachful glare. He winced, falling into step beside her with that sunball player’s grace as they entered the cavernous space beyond.

A gray-robed old male stood before them. Not human, but his scent declared nothing other than some sort of Vanir humanoid. His heavy white beard fell to the thin band of rope that served as a belt, his wispy hair long and unbound. Four rings of silver and gold glinted on one of his withered, spotted hands, with small stars blazing in the center of each, trapped in the nearly invisible glass domes.

No—not stars.

Bryce’s stomach turned over at the minuscule hand that pressed against the other side of the glass. There was no mistaking the desperation in that touch.

Fire sprites. Enslaved, all of them. Bought and sold.

Bryce struggled to keep from ripping that hand clean off the arm that bore it. She could feel Ithan watching her, feel him trying to puzzle out why she’d gone so still and stiff, but she couldn’t tear her gaze from the sprites—

“It is not every day that one of the mer crosses my doorstep,” the old male said, his smile revealing too-white teeth, still intact despite his age. Unless they’d come from someone else. “Let alone in the company of a wolf and a Fae.”

Bryce gripped her purse, mastering her temper, and lifted her chin. “We need to consult your …” She peered past his bony shoulder to the dim space beyond. “Services.”
And then I’ll take all four of those rings and smash them open.

“I shall be honored.” The male bowed at the waist to Tharion, but didn’t bother to extend the courtesy to Bryce and Ithan. “This way.”

Bryce kept a hand within casual distance of the knife in her purse as they entered the dimness. She wished she had the reassuring weight and strength of Danika’s sword, but the blade would have stood out too much.

The space consisted of two levels, bookshelves crammed with tomes and scrolls rising to the dark-veiled ceiling, an iron ramp winding up the walls in a lazy spiral. A great golden orb dangled in the center of the room, lit from within.

And beneath them, in tubs built into the slate floor …

To her left, Ithan sucked in a breath.

Three mystics slept, submerged in greenish, cloudy water, breathing masks strapped to their faces. Their white shifts floated around them, doing little to hide the skeletal bodies beneath. One male, one female, one both. That was how it always was, how it had always been. Perfect balance.

Bryce’s stomach turned over again. She knew the sensation wouldn’t stop until she left.

“May I interest you in a hot tea before we begin the formalities?” the old male asked Tharion, gesturing to a thick oak table to the right of the ramp’s base.

“We’re pressed for time,” Ithan lied, stepping up to Tharion’s side. Fine. Let them deal with the old creep.

Ithan set a pile of gold marks on the table with a clink. “If that doesn’t cover the cost, give me the bill for the remainder.” That drew Bryce’s attention. Ithan spoke with such … authority. She’d heard him talk to his teammates as their captain, had seen him in command plenty, but the Ithan she’d known these past few days had been subdued.

“Of course, of course.” The male’s filmy eyes swept around the room. “I can have my beauties up and running within a few minutes.” He hobbled toward the walkway and braced a hand on the iron rail as he began the ascent.

Bryce glanced back to the three mystics in their tubs, their thin bodies, their pale, soggy skin. Built into the floor beside them was a panel covered in a language she had never seen.

“Pay them no heed, miss,” the old male called, still winding his way toward a platform about halfway up the room, filled with dials and wheels. “When they’re not in use, they drift. Where they go and what they see is a mystery, even to me.”

It wasn’t that the mystics could see all worlds—no, the gift wasn’t the unnerving thing. It was what they gave up for it.

Life. True life.

Bryce heard Tharion’s swallow. She refrained from snapping that she’d warned him. Ten fucking times.

“The families are compensated handsomely,” the old male said, as if reciting from a script designed to calm skittish patrons. He reached the controls and began flipping switches. Gears groaned and a few more lights flickered on in the tanks, further illuminating the mystics’ bodies. “If that is of any concern to you.”

Another switch flipped, and Bryce staggered back a step as a full
holographic replica of their solar system exploded into view, orbiting the dangling sun in the center of the space. Tharion blew out what she could only assume was an impressed breath. Ithan scanned above them, like he could find his brother in that map.

Bryce didn’t wait for them before trailing the old male up the walkway as the seven planets aligned themselves perfectly, stars glittering in the far reaches of the room. She couldn’t keep the sharpness from her voice as she asked, “Do their families ever see them?”

She really had no right to demand these answers. She’d been complicit in coming here, in using their services.

“It would be upsetting for both parties,” the male said distantly, still working his switches.

“What’s your name?” Bryce advanced up the ramp.

Tharion murmured, “Legs.” She ignored the warning. Ithan kept quiet.

Yet the old male replied, utterly unfazed, “Some people call me the Astronomer.”

She couldn’t keep the bite from her voice. “What do other people call you?” The Astronomer didn’t answer. Up and up, Bryce ascended into the heavens, Tharion and Ithan trailing her. Like the assholes were second-guessing this.

One of the mystics twitched, water splashing.

“A normal reaction,” the Astronomer said, not even looking up from his dials as they approached. “Everyone is always so concerned for their well-being. They made the choice, you know. I didn’t force them into this.” He sighed. “To give up life in the waking world to glimpse wonders of the universe that no Vanir or mortal shall ever see …” Stroking his beard, he added, “This trio is a good one. I’ve had them for a while now with no issues. The last group … One drifted too far. Too far, and for too long. They dragged the others with them. Such a waste.”