I smell his blood before I see him.
“Risking death already?” I mutter. “Life at the enclave must be grim.”
“I’m leaving town, but I’ll be back,” Ciprian says, stopping ten feet from me, his face bathed in shadow. “I want to make it clear again before I go that your secrets are safe with me.”
I scoff. “Which ones?”
“All of them.”
Examining my hand, I feign disinterest. “Run along then, back to your daddy.”
“Fuck you, Alistair.” Ciprian steps into the light. His pale face is mottled with bruises. Every inhale floods my nose with the smell of dried blood. “Are you so prejudiced that you would hold my parents against me? That’s not a popular mentality here on the Fringes.”
I roll my eyes. “That mentality only applies to non-enclave heirs.”
“Well”—Ciprian laughs, the sound dripping with bitterness—“if you need an enclave heir in your corner, you know how to find one.”
“Thanks for the warning, but I prefer my former allies stab me in the face, not lie to it.”
Ciprian sighs and sways, catching the wall with his hand to stay upright. “Cool. You can hate me all you want, Alistair. We both know my blood is the only reason you’re standing here.”
He backs away, swallowed by the night before I can tell him that’s exactly why I’m furious.
SEVEN
Unspoken rule of the Fringes #38:
Flash too much muscle, and someone will test it.
CELINE
“If you keep walking like there’s a piano strapped to your back, we won’t make it there by sundown.” I toss a disgruntled look at Luca as he ambles along behind me, making our two-block walk seem endless.
He yawns. “You woke me up after four hours of sleep and made me run for miles. I’m exhausted, baby.”
I scrub my hand over my face. He’s right, but without training I won’t be able to defeat my dad. And with Luca glued to my side, he needs to be ready too.
The four hours we slept weren’t enough, but I’m too wired to be sleepy. Experience tells me I can survive months this way before I crash. Luca will adjust.
“I appreciate you running with me,” I tell him.
“Scary,” he mutters. “You’re about to say something awful, aren’t you?”
“We’ll be doing that run every morning.”
“Like that.” Luca sighs and jogs reluctantly to my side. He drapes his arm over my shoulder. “Are you ready for the fight? We can call it off if you want more time.”
“I’m ready for whatever they toss at me.”
I smile brightly at him even while caterpillars explore my stomach lining. The nerves are a good sign. They mean I’m locked in. Fighters should respect their opponents enough to feel a rush of anticipation before a match.
As dusk falls, the Mouth of Hell appears the same as any other warehouse. Far off the Strip and deep in the heart of the Fringes, the setting sun casts the graffiti—colorful, magic-infused witch wards meant to repel humans—in honey-tinged gold. Beautiful, but gone too soon. The sun dips behind a building, returning the wall to its normal, shadow-gray pallor.
“Do you think Malach will burn the apartment down while we’re gone?”
I glance over my shoulder, then peer up at the darkening sky. “I’m more worried he’s sneaking around watching us. He was weirdly chill when I told him he had to stay behind.”
“Agreeing to avoid a lie?” Luca chuckles. “That’s not a bad evasive maneuver.”
