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“I think I’m shaky because I didn’t really eat anything since noon,” Grey murmured. “Probably won’t do us much good to be running on fumes.” He fidgeted as he popped a couple clusters of granola in his mouth and hunched in on himself.
Noel slowly chewed, relishing the honey, oats, and other flavors he couldn’t quite place. His magic greedily accepted the offering, dissolving it before it filled his stomach and demanded more. That’s it for now, he silently scolded, rubbing the stickiness off his fingers.
A small paper bag crinkled in front of him. “Cookie? Might as well help me eat them just in case we don’t get the chance to enjoy them tomorrow.”
Noel’s magic vibrated in anticipation, and he bit back a relieved sigh. God, that word sounded like magic to his ears. He barely even thought before his hand dipped into the bag. Noel wasn’t going to turn down a treat after a nightmarish evening. “Is this thanks for saving you?”
“A little.” Grey tugged one out for himself and folded the bag back down, setting it off to the side. He stared out into the distant tree line. “But it doesn’t seem like you have much of a plan now that we’re away from the obelisk.”
Noel bit his cheek. “Yeah, well, there wasn’t a ton of time to consider that when the goal was just to escape… Do you know of a place that would greatly oppose the Grand Capital? Some place far enough away from the Old Trail?”
Grey shook his head. “Isn’t every surviving city on the Old Trail? Everything outside of it is dead land. No one can live out there without some sort of well-thought system in place. Even then, the fair folk at the Fringes won’t let you get that far.” His words shifted into a mutter as he took another bite of cookie.
Noel broke off another chunk, relieved when his magic didn’t tear it to pieces. That trade was complete, so now he guessed he could run off a little sugar for the night. “We’ll need to get fuel first, I think. Probably should stop by a compound before word spreads too far that we’re loose out here.” He chewed the rest of his treat, brushed his hands off on his pants, and stood. “Ready?”
Grey quickly bundled up his spread of goods, folded everything back into his bag, and struggled to his feet, still wobbly. Noel tried to shake off the twinge of concern needling in his chest as he got on the bike again. The key slid into the ignition, and he went rigid as arms encircled him.
It’s fine. This is fine.
Noel shifted, ignoring the heat of a boy resting against his back. Hemomancer or not, of course now he was hyper aware of Grey’s pulse. Grey’s presence. Grey’s unnecessary generosity. Grey’s terrified quiet in the midst of uncertainty.
And you’re both destined to die.
Maybe that was why he was suddenly feeling a little boy-crazy. But his body surrendered to that bleak sentiment, anchoring him back to reality with his soles on the pedals and his head firmly on his shoulders, rather than lost in the clouds.
5
GREY
Light pricks of rain made Grey bury his face in the back of Noel’s jacket. It took everything in him not to shiver in brief spasms with the chilled wind slipping past. His body ached for sleep, complaining with every shift of the motorcycle breaking his lull.
At least he wasn’t riding with a heartless psychopath, as far as he could tell. He’d initially told himself the remorse reflected in his green eyes had been a sham—a trick of the forest’s swimming shadows. But after he’d pried him from the jaws of danger for a second time and hadn’t demanded anything when they stopped to rest, Grey decided that this was as close as he’d probably get to an ally in this sick, twisted Calling.
“It’s funny,” Grey mumbled, pulling his face away from the black denim. “The Calling kept pestering me to hurry and get to the obelisk and now it’s dead silent.”
Noel snorted. “It probably stopped because it knows we’re fucked. If there’s a way to escape it, it certainly doesn’t give a shit. Just some twisted fair folk echo slowly squeezing us to death.”
To death.
Grey swallowed and stared at the back of Noel’s jacket. He didn’t want to die—not like this. Not for some sick game, all for the fair folk’s amusement.
It made him question where he’d gone wrong. He’d left trinkets and saucers out for the fair folk when he was younger—a habit that turned into him growing various wild plants on the outskirts of his town, even if Aunt Ingrid frowned whenever she found him tending to them. Guilt still gnawed at him from healing himself back in the obelisk clearing by unconsciously sucking the life from tree branches and their leaves. But Grey had always done his best to respect the fair folk with whatever he did because that’s what he’d always been taught.
He peered over Noel’s shoulder as a trailing wall came into view, not nearly as tall as the city he’d wandered through the streets of nearly half a day ago. That austromancer woman spouting doom and gloom surfaced to the front of his thoughts, where he recalled how some of the other townsfolk told her it was too early for another Wild Hunt.
There had to be a reason for it—something that could be mended or appeased to lull that bloodlust back to sleep for a little while longer. Something that could show the fair folk that he wasn’t one of the mancers they wanted to hunt because he’d respected their wishes his whole life and kept to himself.
“You think maybe there’s a way to break this thing?”
His eye flicked to Noel’s working jaw. “Maybe… I’m not sure where that answer might be though. Well, outside of stored away in some book or something the Grand Capital.”
Grey’s face dipped toward jacket again, the world unfocusing, even as the motorcycle slowed near the compound’s chain linked gate. There had to be a way to break it. There hadn’t always been a Wild Hunt like this—not something this ritualistic and well-controlled from the old tales Atticus had told him.
“Hey.” Noel’s soothing tone snapped him out of his thoughts. “When we go in here, don’t use your real name, and hide anything that might identify you, okay?”
“Yeah, okay,” Grey forced out in a whisper, unsure if it would be appropriate to let go of him now or when Noel had to dismount. He awkwardly held on while a whistle sounded from Noel’s lips.
The post guard that jogged over to the gate, mid-chuckle barely gave them a once-over before pushing it open and ushering them in. Noel guided them through, and the metal clanged behind them.
