Requiem for the Dead

Chapter Five

I sank down in the booth until the Frosts were out of my view, hopefully putting me out of theirs, and I resisted the urge to punch Reilly in the face for this little ambush. "Son of a bitch," I whispered. All the trust we'd been building between us these last few weeks crumbled.

"I didn't tell them about you," Reilly said, lips barely moving. "I asked them to meet me here."

I had to get out of there, but Reilly was in my way and slithering under the table like a child wasn't in my repertoire of tricks. I could use my Gift and teleport, but there was nowhere to go. No hiding places inside the coffee shop itself, and teleporting into the street was too dangerous. I could end up half inside someone's car. And Reilly didn't seem keen on providing a useful distraction.

Shit!

"What do you want to do?" Milo asked.

"Chalice!"

My stomach flopped to the floor. I remained hunched in the booth, at a complete loss as to what to say to the distraught parents bearing down on our table. In person, Lori Frost was an older, lighter-haired copy of her daughter, right down to a dark smattering of freckles on her nose and cheekbones. Next to her, Stephen was a thundercloud of anger and disbelief, and I had the oddest little-girl urge to hide under the table from his temper.

Some small parts of Chalice had remained behind when I took full possession of her body—images and physical memories of her life. Most of it had faded in the last few months until only vague traces surfaced in my dreams. But looking at them here, standing front of me, I felt a strange warmth in my chest. A tug that I didn't understand.

Lori hovered at the edge of the table like she was contemplating her ability to climb over Reilly and hug me, which made me extremely grateful to have Reilly as a buffer. She stared at me with leaking eyes, from my face down to—

I shoved my hands into my lap, heart thudding against my ribs, hoping she hadn't noticed the fact that my left hand was missing its pinkie finger. I so did not need her flipping out over nine digits when she had plenty of other things to freak out about. Words were burbling up in Lori's throat, but nothing came out that made sense.

"Where the hell have you been?" Stephen asked.

His tone tweaked my temper, and I sat up straighter in the booth. Grief and fear were hiding behind his anger, that much was obvious, but I didn't do well with people who bullied when they were afraid. "Here," I said. "Where have you been?"

He reeled. Okay, so maybe Chalice wasn't so lippy. "We've been trying to find you for months, Chal. You haven't called, you moved out of your apartment. You didn't even tell us Alex died."

My heart hurt a little at that one. In the first few days of my resurrection, Alex had been a good friend. He'd died trying to help me. I'd been able to give Alex's father some closure on his son's death, but I didn't know how to do that for these people. The obvious and true excuse of "I've been busy" seemed lame. Very rarely in my life had I been rendered completely speechless, but this was one of those moments.

"Stephen, please," Lori said. The words were choked with tears, and the noise was attracting attention from other diners. "You promised."

Milo slid out of the booth and stood up, facing Stephen, who he actually had an inch or two on, even though Stephen was far bulkier. "Is there something I can help you folks with?" he asked in a voice older than his age, and with far less patience than usual.

Stephen gave him a hard look. "You can allow us to speak with our daughter, is what you can do."

"Can I?" Milo folded his arms over his chest. "Don't you think the fact that she hasn't contacted either of you in six months speaks for itself?"

Lori gaped at Milo like he'd just slapped her, and I kind of felt sorry for her.

"What about school?" Stephen asked. "The apartment? Her job? How does a person just disappear off the grid like that?" He stopped glaring at Milo to look at me. "Are you in some kind of trouble, Chal?"

It was all I could do to not laugh. These days I was always in some kind of trouble, but it wasn't the kind he'd believe without a lot of therapy. And for fuck's sake, why couldn't I defend myself to these people? Had Chalice always felt so defenseless around them? So much like a child that all she could do was hang her head and nod along with whatever her father said?

"I'm beginning to see that this was a mistake," Reilly said.

"Of course it wasn't," Lori said. "She's our child. We've been worried sick."

"I didn't mean to worry you," I said, pulling the words out of nowhere. "But I've had a lot going on, and I just couldn't call."

"Oh, baby." Lori reached out a hand, but was too far away to touch me. "You always used to say you felt invisible to the world, and I'm so sorry I didn't see you better. Please don't push us away again. We love you so much."

My eyes burned. I wanted to say it back, to give them that much. A little sliver of the daughter they'd lost. I simply couldn't get the words out of my throat. It was a lie, and I didn't want to lie to them.

Milo's cell rang. He yanked it out of his pocket. "Yeah?" Listened a few seconds while the rest of us exchanged serious stares. "We're on our way." He hung up and turned to me. "We have to go."

He didn't look surprised or upset—only determined to get us both out of there, and I sent him a mental "thank you" for it. Reilly slid out of the booth without prompting, and I followed him out, careful to shield my left hand from the eyes of not-my-parents.

"Where are you going?" Stephen asked.

"Work," I replied. "I'm sorry, but I can't do this right now."

"Chalice—"

"I'm alive. I'm doing okay. A lot better, in fact, than the last time we talked. Please trust me about this."

"Have dinner with us tonight." It wasn't a question so much as a command.

"I can't."

"We're not leaving town until you sit down and talk to us."

"In that case, find a comfy hotel."

Lori's face scrunched up like she was about to burst into hysterical sobs. I angled around her and past her husband, and Milo came up behind me. We walked to the door like that, him a physical barrier between me and the Frosts. Reilly stayed quiet and stayed behind—good thing, too. I was angry enough at him to break his nose and not think twice.

Halfway back to the car, Milo moved up to keep in step next to me. I took a few deep breaths before I asked, "So what was the phone call about?"

"Nothing. When I saw who was at the door, I texted Gina to call me in exactly three minutes. Figured you'd want a retreat plan."

"Thank you."

"No problem. You okay?"

"Pissed as hell at Reilly for ambushing me like that."

"That stands to reason. I mean about seeing the Frosts."

"It was weird. I'm not their kid, not really, but feeling them bearing down on me like that made me feel like their child, you know?"

"You looked like you were going to cry at one point."

"Yeah, well, the last time my own mother told me she loved me I think I was five years old."

He made a soft grunting sound. "She did say it, though."

"I guess." I slipped my left arm through his as we walked. "So, you up for visiting a communications company on the other side of town?"

"Can't think of a better way to spend a Monday morning."

"Glad to hear it."

We had a long drive to the other side of town, which gave us plenty of time to call Kismet and explain the meeting at Sally's. She had a few choice curse words of her own for Reilly's ambush. Then she gave us directions to Alucard Communications, which had us going Uptown in morning rush hour traffic, so what should have been a fifteen-minute trek across town took nearly an hour.

I tried to not bring up Milo's earlier confession about Marcus. He didn't seem eager to talk about it, and my bringing up something personal made my own current Frost family drama fair game to his questions. But the longer we sat in traffic, not talking, barely listening to a pop hits radio station, the more my curiosity got the better of me. I needed to know something, but I also had to phrase it in a way that didn't make it sound like I thought that, a) Marcus was some sort of forceful asshole, or b) Milo couldn't defend himself.

Got it. "Milo, can I ask you one question?"

He flexed his right hand around the steering wheel, then sighed. "Yes. One."

"Did you kiss him back?"

"No. I was a little too surprised at the time."

"Do you wish you had?"

He gave me a sideways look. "That's two questions, Evy."

"I know."

His attention went back to the road, which left my second question hanging there. And something about his silence made me think the answer was yes.

Alucard Comm was north of Uptown, on the outskirts of where most of the city's higher end businesses and restaurants were located. The place reminded me of a military compound, with its electric perimeter fence and rolling front gate. The building itself was an experiment in modern art, with strange angles and architecture I couldn't hope to understand the aesthetics of. The exterior was mirrored to reflect the city around it and the sky above, giving no hint as to which parts were actually windows and which were walls. Seductive and scary, just like the Bloods.

I didn't have much of a plan in mind when Milo pulled up in front of the guard hut. An older woman with gray hair and a boring blue uniform stepped out of the hut, then crouched down to peer in through Milo's open window.

"Do you have an appointment?" she asked.

"Not as such," Milo said.

"My name is Evangeline Stone," I said, leaning closer to his window. "This is Milo Gant. We're friends of Isleen."

None of the names earned so much as an eyebrow twitch from the lady guard. She eyeballed me, then Milo. "One moment." She disappeared into the hut.

"You wanna lay odds on whether or not she's calling security to have us escorted off the premises?" Milo asked.

"I've been surprised too many times today to lay odds on anything."

We waited, engine idling, until the guard stepped back outside. "You're cleared to go in. An escort will meet you in the lobby."

"Thank you," Milo said.

The gate rolled back. He drove down a short road that opened into a small, twenty-car lot marked Visitor's Parking. A secondary road continued past the lot, probably to private underground parking. I was crazy curious where they kept their helicopters, too. Three other cars were in the lot—for show as likely as anything, since it was Monday morning when most people were going to work.

Unless they already lived in their building of employment. My own commute was a short walk down a mall corridor.

I sent a quick text to Wyatt, telling him where we were and what we were about to do. You couldn't be too careful before walking into a completely unknown situation, and I had too much to live for now to take stupid risks.

The main entrance to Alucard surprised me with its simplicity. For some reason, I expected higher security, or something akin to a prison visitation setup with iron doors and keycards. The revolving door could be found at any business center, and the lobby had a high, domed ceiling with modern chrome fixtures and two large, black leather couches. Behind the couches was a single elevator door, which dinged at almost the exact moment we walked inside.

The elevator opened. A tall, willowy man with short, white hair and piercing lavender eyes strode toward us. He walked with such grace he practically floated, and he wore a red robe reminiscent of one I'd seen Isleen's father wear once, only this one was far less ornate. He stopped just out of arm's reach, then bent slightly at the waist, as if bowing.

"Welcome," he said. "My name is Eulan, of the house of Noro."

"Evangeline Stone," I replied. "My associate, Milo Gant. We represent the interests of the Watchtower Initiative."

"I know. I have heard of you, Ms. Stone."

My reputation had a habit of preceding me pretty much everywhere. "Forgive my bluntness, but I've never heard of you."

He smiled, which only sharpened the angles of his face—and showed off his fangs. "That does not surprise me. Although I imagine you do not know very many of my kin on a first name basis. Aside from those who briefly partook in your Watchtower, of course."

"Speaking of whom, may I inquire about Isleen's condition?"

"Your inquiry is not unexpected, and it is why I volunteered to meet with you."

"So you can politely tell me to mind my own business?"

Eulan's mouth twitched. "Not quite. Isleen spoke of you more than once to me. She respects you, Ms. Stone, and she values your friendship. Few humans have ever made the same impression."

"She was the first vampire I ever trusted." It might have sounded like a small thing, but given my previous personal point-of-view on anything not human, it was huge. Once someone fully gained my trust, I'd fight hard for them. "I also valued her friendship. But she never spoke to me of you."

"She would have no reason. Vampires are not as…chatty as humans, when it comes to our personal relationships. Isleen and I are promised in our equivalent of marriage."

Are promised—present tense. It gave me hope. "So she's alive?"

"She is…not yet dead."

"What does that mean?"

Eulan directed us to the two black sofas. I sat with him, while Milo stood nearby and listened. "It means that we are still seeking a cure for our brethren who were infected by Thackery's virus. It is fast-moving and devastating, and the only way to halt the virus's progress is to subject it to extreme cold."

I stared. "You froze them?"

"They are being carefully monitored by our physicians as their bodies maintain temperatures well below that required for cognitive function."

"In English?"

"They froze them," Milo said.

Eulan raised a single white eyebrow in Milo's general direction. "The process is more complicated than that, but yes. Many of those infected have led long lives. We will not give up on them."

I appreciated the sense of loyalty the vampires had for each other, and it gave me a fresh perspective on the Fathers' decision to pull support out of the Watchtower. They had their own people—sick and well—to worry about.

"What about the Watchtower volunteers who were not infected?" Milo asked.

"Until we understand the virus better," Eulan said, "they remain quarantined. We cannot guarantee that they will not inadvertently infect others. Such results would be disastrous to our people."

"So they stay locked up indefinitely?"

"Correct."

I thought of Quince, a relatively young vampire I'd worked with for several weeks. He was a natural actor and eager to make a difference through the Watchtower. He hadn't been infected. The virus had been linked to a sunscreen that allowed vampires to walk around in sunlight, and Quince had never used it. But he was still locked up, a prisoner among his own people, for something that wasn't his fault.

"I am sorry I do not have better news for you," Eulan said.

"It's more news than I've had in a month," I said. "For all of our differences, I consider Isleen, Quince, and Eleri to be my friends. I care about what happens to them."

"Then allow us to do our work as we see fit. Humans have an uncanny need to control the uncontrollable, and in this we will not be moved."

"We won't interfere. That isn't why I came today. But please, if you need anything, you can ask."

"Appreciated, Ms. Stone. However, as I understand, you have your hands full with other obligations."

"You mean our old, sewer-dwelling enemies who are coming out of hiding?"

"The very same. We despise the goblins as much as you do. I am sorry that we cannot offer our assistance this time."

"So am I, but you have to see to your people."

Good Lord, who was I, and when did I get so understanding? A few months ago I would have called him selfish for being unable to see past his own problems and focus on the bigger picture. Now? I can totally see where he's coming from.

"If our situation changes, or if we acquire information that is useful to your cause, you will be contacted."

"I appreciate that."

Eulan nodded. "I assume that I do not need to ask for your discretion in regard to this facility."

"You don't," I said for myself and Milo. "And I'll make sure the person who gave us this location knows better than to open his mouth."

"Thank you. Shall I walk you out?"

"No, we're fine."

"Then be well, Ms. Stone. Mr. Gant. It is said that even the darkest chapters of our past may hold the key to the brightness of our futures."

"Said by whom?" Milo asked.

Eulan only smiled and walked away. The cryptic message didn't make me feel any better about anything. One of the darkest parts of my personal past was coming back to haunt me in the form of "Kelsa" scratched into dead people's legs. Vampires weren't known to be psychic, so I didn't read too much into it.

My cell rang on our way back to the car. I fished it out of my pocket. "Stone."

"It's Baylor. I need you to meet me under the Lincoln Street Bridge. Someone left you a note."

The Lincoln Street Bridge extended over the southernmost leg of the Anjean River, right before it fed into the larger Black River that bisected the western side of the city. The pedestrian and vehicular bridge ran parallel to a train bridge, and it was the only way to cross from Mercy's Lot and Downtown into the East Side. Since we were Uptown, on the other side of the city, we had a trek to get to the location.

I didn't have to ask Baylor on which side of the river I needed to go. I knew exactly where to meet him. On the northwest bank, the first exit off the bridge wrapped around to a narrow one-way street that ran along the bank of the river. The road was barely wide enough for a single car to pass, and two other cars were already parked on the thin shoulder near our location. Milo pulled up behind the last car.

"Yes," he said, as though we'd been in the middle of a conversation.

Hand on the door pull, I stared at him blankly for several seconds until I realized he was answering my second question from earlier. He wished he'd kissed Marcus back. I grinned. "Okay."

He gave me a shy smile—so unlike him—then climbed out of the car.

I followed him along the shoulder with the constant thunder of cars passing overhead a head-splitting soundtrack to the afternoon. The ripe odors of the river mixed with motor oil and tar to create a toxic stink that made my eyes water. Wyatt, Marcus, and Adrian Baylor stood on the other side of the chain link fence that protected the underside of the bridge from trespassers like us, and the dozens of graffiti artists who'd already visited. Milo and I slipped through the same hole in the fence.

Once upon a time, I'd come here to talk to a bridge troll named Smedge. He wasn't a friend, exactly, but we were friendly. He gave me information when he had it, on almost anything I asked pertaining to the supernatural races of the city. I hadn't spoken to him in months. The last time I'd come here, someone had poured tar all over the cement to prevent Smedge from rising.

Trolls are made from the very earth themselves, and they can move through any natural dirt or stone material. Things like tar and metal, though, stopped them cold. Trolls were also part of the Fey, who were now our enemies, and even though Smedge couldn't rise through the layer of tar still clinging to the ground, being here again made me nervous.

"You've had a busy morning," Wyatt said as he came to join me.

"No kidding," I replied. "I owe Reilly a black eye for that stunt he pulled with Chalice's parents, but I may forgive him for the tip on the vampires."

"Anything useful?"

"Just that the Bloods are keeping to themselves until they find a cure for those Thackery infected."

"They're still alive?" Baylor asked. Another ex-Triad Handler and long-time friend of both Wyatt and Kismet, Adrian Baylor had an easygoing personality that contrasted sharply with his fierce fighting skills. He was the kind of guy you wanted to have leading you into battle—or helping you figure out random, cryptic messages.

"Kind of. From what we were told, they're in some sort of frozen stasis for the undetermined future."

"That's something."

"Yeah. So where's this message that couldn't be left on my cell phone?"

Baylor pointed at the underside of the bridge. I moved closer, studying the spray-paint splattered concrete that angled up in steep slabs, all the way to the steel bottom of the bridge. In glittering silver paint someone had written "Stony" with an arrow pointing to the right. Curious now, I walked in that direction, until I found a spot on the ground where the tar had been scraped away. Not a large spot, maybe the size of a manhole cover, but it was there. In that same glittering paint "knock three times" was written on the stone.

"Why do I feel like I just fell into the plot of a horror movie?" I said to no one in particular.

My backup had fanned out into a wide circle. Baylor produced his sidearm and held it pointed at the ground, his finger braced on the trigger guard. Milo stood next to Wyatt, whose eyes had gone silver. Opposite them, Marcus's hands hovered near the waist of his jeans, just in case he had to strip and do a fast shift. No one gave me advice.

"Let's see who's home," I said.

Knocking your fist against solid rock hurts like hell. Doing it three times was just plain cruel. I stepped back from the circle, heart kicking a little harder, both excited and scared to see what came out of the ground.

A deep rumbling rose up from below my feet almost immediately. I tensed, but didn't move. The stone inside of the circle fell in on itself, like someone had let the bottom out. It swirled down like water into a drain, the opposite of what I usually saw, which was a big fist or face growing up out of the ground. A rabbit hole of some kind had formed, deep and too dark to see down.

"You are not going in there, are you?" Milo asked.

"Not a chance in hell," I replied. I'd jumped into Smedge's mouth once before and ended up in the middle of the Fey's underground city, and I had no idea where this particular troll's gullet stopped.

Disappointment over not actually seeing Smedge again was quickly brushed away by the appearance of a tiny bald head with tufts of white hair fluffing up from the perimeter. More hair poked out of his pointed ears, framing his whole wrinkled, ancient face like a cotton cloud. Small, sparkling eyes peered at me from beneath bushy white eyebrows, and he leaned forward on a spiraled wood cane. He kept rising up until the he was completely above ground, the earth beneath him solid like it had never moved.

"Horzt," I said, recognizing the old gnome immediately.

He nodded, but did not smile. His sharp eyes took in his audience, and he didn't speak until he seemed satisfied that he was among friends. "Greetings from the Apothi, Evangeline," he said.

"Greetings." I knelt down to get eye-level with him, curiosity beating against the inside of my skull like a hammer. "I never expected to see you again."

"Nor I you, child."

This was the creature I had to thank for even being alive today—the one who'd gifted (or cursed) me with my healing powers. The powers Thackery never believed were magical. So much pain because this little gnome had been tricked by an elf. And so much joy, I realized, with a quick glance at Wyatt.

Wyatt watched us with a wary expression, and I understood. This could easily be a trap from the Fey.

"Sorry to be blunt, but why are you here?" I asked.

"A war is coming," Horzt replied. "The Fey are quiet now, but Amalie is cunning and she is planning. Always planning. You confound her, Evangeline, but not for much longer."

"Can you tell me anything?"

"I can't. The Apothi are no longer welcome among the Fey Council members. Our people are divided, thanks to Amalie's reign. Not all agree with her end game goal."

"Which is what?"

His deeply wrinkled face squished down into something horribly sad. "A return to a time before man ruled this earth. She means to see you destroy yourselves, and she will use every tool available to do so."

"Without lifting a finger of her own?"

"Correct."

We'd learned, to our utter shock and amusement, that despite Amalie's apparently bloodthirsty nature, sprites and the rest of the Fey were actually pacifists. They couldn't make a physical move in a fight to hurt me. However, Amalie had no problem sending a horde of goblins in my general direction. Or taking over the bodies of three police officers and using their influence over the Triads to have me set up for murder. She was the ultimate manipulator.

"She will attack you sideways," Horzt said. "By any means necessary to accomplish her goal."

"Yeah, we've noticed. Is she behind the upswing in goblin violence?"

He nodded. "The loss of Walter Thackery and his machinations have left a void in her reach. She's going to fill it with whatever will hurt you most. Your allies are thinning out, but I can offer you two small gifts."

Horzt reached into the folds of his robe and removed a long, narrow leather pouch. I took it, the material impossibly smooth, and unfolded the top. Wyatt came forward a few steps to watch me pull out a roll of thin, yellowed paper with a white, bone-like pole at each end. A scroll of some kind, tied together with a piece of silky thread.

"This is a written history of the elves," Horzt said. "We keep very little written down, as our languages are oral and not transcribed."

I gentle unrolled part of the scroll. The tiny lines of black ink were written in characters I didn't recognize. "What language is this?"

"Aramaic. The scroll was written by humans as a favor many, many millennia ago. We came into possession of it when the elves were all but destroyed."

"So we need an Aramaic expert."

"Or a really smart internet translator," Milo said behind me.

Horzt frowned. He probably had no idea what the internet was.

"Thank you for this." I handed the scroll to Wyatt, then tipped the tube over for the second object weighing down the bottom. Another leather pouch, about the size of a grapefruit, dropped into my palm. The pouch was cinched tight, but whatever was inside wasn't solid.

"You needn't open that," Horzt said. "Not yet."

"What is it?" I asked.

"The cure for your infected friends."

My heart slammed against my ribs. "For the vampires? You found a cure for Thackery's virus?"

"I did. A teaspoon dissolved in a cup of warm human blood. Split the dosage among six. You should have enough for them all."

Relief flooded my chest, and sharp tears stung the corners of my eyes. "Thank you so much for this. But won't Amalie be pissed at you for helping us?"

"She no longer cares for the future of the Apothi, no matter our actual worth. So we will follow our gargoyle brothers to the north and leave the city for the mountains."

"I thought the Fey needed to be near First Break." First Break was the underground home of the Fey, built to protect a gateway to another plane of existence that housed the worst sort of monsters and demons.

"We need to be close to a Break, to our source of power. And this city does not house all of them."

"We could offer your people sanctuary at the Watchtower," I said without thinking—or discussing it with the people actually in charge of those decisions.

"A generous offer, but I must decline. Amalie will not chase us if we leave. Her wrath is far reaching and her memory long. I cannot risk my people becoming nearly extinct like the elves."

Like the Coni and Stri—two Clans of shape-shifting birds of prey that Amalie had helped destroy. My thoughts turned to Phin, and I missed him more than ever. "I understand," I said. "So this is good-bye, right?"

"For now. Perhaps we will meet again in a brighter future." Horzt turned around and gazed up at Wyatt. "I'm sorry I can't do anything to fix you, but your infection is beyond my ability to heal."

"You've already given us so much," Wyatt said. And he wasn't just talking about today's information and gifts.

"Be well and good journey to you all."

"Good journey," Wyatt said, and I echoed him.

The ground beneath Horzt rumbled, and he slowly lowered back into the ground the same way he'd come up. As the concrete swirled into place, shapes began to form. Shapes that became words: Good Bye Stony.

"Good-bye, Smedge," I said. "Horzt, too."

The words disappeared, and the rumbling ground was lost to the thunder of traffic overhead.

I studied the medicine pouch, shocked that I had the answer to one of our biggest problems sitting in the palm of my hand. It seemed too damned easy. Nothing fell into my lap like this, and yet I had no reason to doubt Horzt's sincerity.

"Something tells me Eulan will be surprised to see us twice in one day," Milo said.

"No kidding." I dropped the pouch back into the larger leather holder, then put the scroll inside with it. No sense in damaging either one of them.

"Do you think we'll find anything useful on that scroll?" Baylor asked as our group headed back for the hole in the fence.

"Hard to tell until someone translates it," Wyatt said. "But I doubt Horzt would have risked giving it to us if it was useless."

"Agreed," I said.

Marcus held up the piece of fence while the rest of us ducked through. We stopped as a group next to the first car.

"I want to get the cure back to the vampires," I said before anyone else could.

"Right," Baylor said. "If this works, we can certainly use their help again. Take Milo and Marcus with you. Truman and I will take the scroll back to the Watchtower and get started on translating it."

Across the circle from me, Marcus tensed at almost the exact same moment that Wyatt did. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Marcus growled. Wyatt grunted, then collapsed face-first to the pavement. A splash of red feathers poked out of his back, right between his shoulder blades.

"Get dow—!" Marcus couldn't even finish his thought before a dart hit him in the throat, and he dropped like a rock.

Milo lunged for Marcus. I grabbed Milo and yanked us both behind the parked car. Baylor skidded to a stop at our feet, a dart in his thigh, and he fell unconscious a split-second later.

"Where the fuck are they?" I asked, clutching the case to my chest. We were facing the road and the water, with no hiding places for snipers. They had to be under the bridge.

"No idea," Milo said. He grabbed Baylor's gun from his hand. "Call it in."

I fumbled into my back pocket for my phone. Something small bounced off the roof of the car, then hit the pavement in front of us. A round object that made my chest tighten. I didn't have time to reach for my emotional trigger, to attempt to teleport us out of there.

Milo tackled me to the ground right as the flash bomb exploded.