As quietly as possible, I climbed the stairs, careful not to put too much weight on the risers. An inconvenient creak might warn any remaining intruders. At the top, I pointed down the hall. While he moved to check out this floor, I continued up to the third story.
My heart pounded in my ears. Underneath the fragrant herbs kicked up by the destruction downstairs and the musty odor of old building, the scent of fresh blood and lavender reached my nose.
I prayed it didn’t belong to Brooks. That Mac had picked him up before all this happened. That maybe there was a logical explanation for him leaving behind the wig. But something in my gut told me my prayers were wasted. Because barring one of the intruders being fae, there was no other explanation for that telltale lavender scent. Not in the concentration I was detecting. As this realization hit me, I started praying death had come quickly for the faery.
I’d just reached the top of the stairs when a creak sounded behind me. I swung around with my gun raised. Adam held up his hands on the landing below. I relaxed a fraction. As he climbed the rest of the way, he shook his head solemnly.
I acknowledged this with a jerk of my head. Then I turned to approach the closed door to the attic apartment. The collision of boot heel against wood sent shock waves up my leg. The door exploded inward. I rushed in with gun ready for action.
The living room was empty except for more signs of intrusion— bashed TV, ripped couch cushions, overturned coffee table.
“Clear,” I whispered.
Adam rushed in and went to check the kitchen. I covered him as my eyes scanned the room for anyone who might be hiding. A couple of seconds later, he came back shaking his head.
My eyes moved to door number two. Something told me I didn’t want to see what waited on the other side. The scent of blood was stronger here. I glanced at Adam. His expression was determined but wary. He tipped his chin down and angled his gaze toward the panel.
I blew out a slow breath as Adam’s hand gripped the knob. Twisted. I raised my gun. A squeak of hinges. The panel receded, revealing the darkness beyond.
My better night vision meant I went in first. Blood saturated the air. I scanned the corners first, finding nothing but strewn clothes and toiletries. When no one jumped out at me, my eyes moved to the bed.
A large body-shaped lump huddled under the bedspread.
“Don’t you f**king move,” I said in a low, ominous voice. Adrenaline surged through me. I sidestepped to the side of the bed, my gun trained on the lump.
“Get the light.”
A second later, light flared. My sensitive eyes stung from the sudden brightness, but I gritted my teeth and kept the gun steady.
The first thing I noticed was the stain set against the cabbage roses on the gaudy damask spread. The red blotch bloomed like a wound among the floral tragedy.
My hand started shaking. I didn’t want to pull the cover back. The lump hadn’t moved through all the commotion. Dread pooled in my stomach. Adam stepped up on the other side of the bed. Our eyes met over the bloodstain. Resignation tightened Adam’s features. He grabbed the edge of the coverlet and whipped it back.
The world tilted on its axis. A chill passed through me like someone had walked over my grave. “Goddess protect us.”
The damage rendered the face unrecognizable. Bloated eyelids stained purple. Distended cheekbones split and bleeding. Nose bent and crushed. A gag smeared with streaks of red stretched the swollen lips into a grotesque facsimile of a smile.
I wanted to pretend that battered body before me belonged to a stranger. But the inevitability of the truth mocked my hope.
Adam ducked in and placed two fingers at Brooks’s neck. “There’s a pulse.”
I was too busy trying to control my rage to feel relieved. My hands shook as I fumbled with the knots of the gag. Adam worked on the ropes binding the fae’s hands and feet.
As I worked, I tried not to focus on the blood pooling on the white sheets. The metallic-lavender scent of his blood and the lingering stink of violence made my throat fill with bile.
When I finally pulled the gag away, a thin whimper escaped his lips. I clung to the unsettling sound as further evidence he lived. But judging from the extent of his wounds, just barely.
“Brooks?” I shook him gently, careful not to touch the lacerations on his arms. My voice sounded abnormally loud and panicked to my own ears. “Can you hear me?”
His tongue darted out, probing the corner where the gag had burned the skin. “’Bina?”
I put a hand on his brow. He cried out and tried to pull away. My heart clenched. I couldn’t imagine the terrors Lavinia’s goons perpetrated on his fragile body. “Shh. It’s okay. You’re safe now.”
Because of the swelling, his eyes were sealed shut. But with a trembling hand, he reached out and grabbed my arm. I sat carefully on the edge of the bed and held his hand. The tips of his golden fingernails were jagged and bloody. His grip was so weak I tried to share some of my strength through our connected palms.
I looked up at Adam. His eyes glowed with suppressed rage. My own insides felt like a cauldron of acid. But we had to make sure Brooks stayed alive before we released the valve on our anger.
“Brooks,” he whispered, lowering to his haunches. “It’s Adam. I need to check your wounds, okay?”
Brooks’s head moved restlessly on the pillow as he struggled to talk. Worried he might hurt himself more, I squeezed his hand. “Try to be still, okay?”
He seemed to settle then— whether by choice or simply weakness, I didn’t know. It didn’t really matter, I guess. The important thing was Adam had a chance to look him over.
After a few minutes, he pulled me away with a promise to Brooks we weren’t going far. “He’s lost a lot of blood,” he said. “I can try to help with the pain, but his injuries are too extensive for my healing abilities.”
Biting my lip, I looked back at the bed. The faery’s complexion had the gray pallor of impending death. I clenched my fists until my nails cut half-moons into my palms. “We have to do something.”
“Go get Zen.”
“Okay,” I said and rushed toward the door. A heavy calm had settled over me. The ability to detach was a survival mechanism that had served me well many times in my life. Later, it would catch up with me and I’d use the rage to my advantage. “Anything else?”
His gaze crept back to the bed. “You can pray.”
19
An hour later, I sat on a picnic table in the courtyard behind the store, praying to every god and goddess from every pantheon I knew. Giguhl sat in a nearby chair, his claws clasped between his legs as he joined me in silent vigil.