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Clay snorted and took the biscotti from my plate.
"Hey," I said. "Can we go back to being rude and dismissive? At least I get to eat my food, then."
He broke off half. I reached for it. He handed it to Elena.
"I'll go get us more," Mom said, waving me out. "Coffee for you guys?"
"Yes, but let Savannah grab it," Elena said. "She knows what we like."
Elena handed me a twenty, but that was the extent of her "asking." I didn't take offense. I'm pleased that she treats me as part of the Pack. I'd grown up spending summers at Stonehaven with the Pack and I understood the mentality. Children are pampered and cosseted, which is wonderfully safe and cozy, until you hit the age where you balk at that coddling. That's when you begin the transition to an adult Pack member, which means--since it's a hierarchical structure--you start at the bottom. As Alpha-elect, Elena could order anyone except Jeremy to get her coffee.
As I left for the counter, I heard Elena introducing herself and Clay, and I kicked myself for forgetting that they'd never met my mom. Mom must have said hi through Jaime before, but that wasn't the same thing.
When I came back, Elena's face was grave, her eyes troubled. Even Clay--sitting back, taking the beta position--looked concerned. Mom's voice held an odd note of uncertainty.
"What's up?" I said.
They looked up, as if startled. I set the coffee and biscotti down.
"Seemed like an intense conversation." I looked at Elena. "You didn't just send me away to get coffee, did you?"
She met my gaze. "No. I wanted to get your mother's opinion of this mission."
"Elena doesn't like it," Clay said. "I agree. This psycho de Rais wants you for his collection, Savannah. You've already escaped him once. Now you're going back?"
"So you think Giles really is de Rais?"
"Does it matter? Even if it's not the guy who slaughtered children a few hundred years ago, it's still the guy who's been slaughtering supernaturals today--"
Elena cut in. "I've told Benicio and Lucas my concerns, and they've assured me that the risk is minimal. They trust that your glamour spell will hold, and if anything goes wrong, we'll be ready to go in. You'll also have Eve there, with her sword. I'm still not happy, but your mother has explained why you need to be there."
She took a sip of her coffee, then set the mug down. "I'm going to ask that you keep this mission brief, though. We'll find the building. You'll infiltrate it. You'll get a few details. And then you'll exit, pronto."
"We will," I said.
We had only the street name of the meeting place, which would have been a lot more useful if it was a short street. We split up, and started at opposite ends, searching for an office front that screamed "activist cell inside." None did. It was just a boring street of boring low-rise office buildings.
As we walked, Mom used her Aspicio powers as discreetly as possible to peer into buildings, but saw nothing. Then a van turned into a lane a block away. A plain whitepanel van. Just like the one SLAM had used to transport me from their meeting hall.
I told Mom this as I propelled her along the sidewalk. We broke into a jog. When we reached the lane, we heard a man's and a woman's voice, and the hair on my neck rose before I even consciously recognized them.
"Severin and Sierra," I muttered.
The twins were Giles's enforcers. I'd first encountered their work at the home of a supernatural named Walter Alston. Giles had wanted Alston to summon Lucifer. He couldn't. Severin and Sierra had made sure he was really certain of that by torturing him to death. Fire is an amazing power, but for sheer nastiness, there's nothing like an ice demon.
"So these are the two who are working with Balaam?" Mom said. The bow case glowed blue, the light seeping out. She looked perfectly calm, but that sword was better than any mood ring.
"Yes," I said. "If we can grab them, I say screw infiltration."
"Agreed."
I motioned to the narrow lane where they'd driven the van. We took another step. Then, from down the lane came a gasp of pain. An oath. Sierra snarling, "Get her!"
A young woman raced out in her bare feet, a cord dangling from one wrist. She veered our way, almost crashing into us. She stopped. Our ey
es met. Mascara ran down her cheeks. One of them was marred by a white line where the skin had been frozen.
When running footsteps sounded behind her, I knew what I should do. Grab the girl. She wasn't going to escape the twins--they were too close behind. Stop her and hand her over and win ourselves an introduction. But I thought about what had remained of Walter Alston, eyes gouged out, fingers and teeth lined up on the desktop. I froze.
