This gets a little hoot of acknowledgment, and I laugh, some of the weight lifting from my chest.
Taking my first deep breath in what feels like an hour, I reach out and stroke his head, my energy immediately settling. Out here in the dusty backyard, fresh air caressing my skin, the golden sun hanging over the horizon, the grounding energy of the red rocks steadying me, it’s almost impossible to feel anything but peace and contentment.
Even when it seems like the rest of the world is on fire.
“There’s no way that was Ani,” I tell Jareth. “Now, I’m not saying it’s coincidence—how could it be? But if his hometown was attacked by witchfire, my guess is someone’s setting him up. Doc was on the right track with that. Soldiers of Light? No, that’s bullshit. Even if therewasa group of mages that wanted to wreak havoc on the human world, they certainly wouldn’t go around bragging about it.”
Another hoot. A flutter of wings.
“I’m thinking it was Judgment—he’s the most likely candidate here, what with his obsession with the Wand and fire and tormenting souls. Possibly with a big assist from Agent Eastman and his merry band of conspiracy theorists too, right? Because guys like that? They want usallto burn in hell, even if it means sending a few of their own into the fiery pits in the process.”
Jareth watches me closely, blinking his bright golden eyes.
“Goddess, I really wish you could talk to me,” I say, tracing the soft edge of his wing. “What would you say, I wonder?”
“I’d probably start with an apology,” comes the gravelly reply.
Jareth takes off at the approach of a new visitor, and when I turn around, it’s Baz I find standing before me, his eyes red, his mouth pulled into a deep frown.
“You’re right,” he says. “You don’t even have to say it. I’m an asshole. The biggest fucking asshole this side of the apocalypse.”
I let out a sigh. “Baz, you just—”
“You’ve always known that about me though, so you can’t exactly claim false advertising. I’m thinking this works in my favor, because at the very least, you know I’m not a liar.” He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my jeans and pulls me close, locking me in a fierce gaze, knuckles brushing the bare skin of my belly. “A world-class dickhead, maybe, but not a liar. So when I tell you I’m sorry, pleasepleaseknow it’s the truth.”
Here in the setting sun, his red-brown eyes are on fire, the heat from his fingers radiating against my skin as he slides his hands along my waistband, stopping to rest at the small of my back.
“I never should’ve said that shit,” he continues. “I swear I didn’t mean it. IknowAni’s still with us. He said your name, Stevie. Trust me—I’ve been holding onto that fact like a lifeline for weeks. I’m just…” He closes his eyes and shakes his head, emotion choking his words. “I fucking miss him. I want him back here with us where he belongs. I’m going out of my fucking mind.”
I lock my hands behind his neck and lay my head against his chest, timing my breaths to the strong, familiar beat of his heart.
“I love you,” he whispers, and I tighten my hold, feeling like he’s the only thing anchoring me here right now. The only thing keeping me from spiraling and spinning right out into space.
“It wasn’t him,” I say against his chest, fresh tears leaking from my eyes and soaking his T-shirt. “All those people, the fire… Please tell me it wasn’t him.”
Baz rests his cheek on the top of my head and sighs, his hands winding into my hair, his heart beating like a drum against my ear.
He doesn’t answer me.
Hecan’tanswer me.
Because for all his faults, Baz Redgrave—truth in advertising—is not a liar.
Twenty-Eight
STEVIE
It’s well after midnight, and I’m lying awake in Ani’s bed, running my fingers through his soft, coppery hair, watching him sleep. I’ve been here since we finished dinner—a somber affair of soup and salad, none of us able to speak more than a few polite words in the wake of the devastating news coming out of California.
We are truly fugitives now, a house full of witches and mages with no legal rights, no country, no home but the one we make together.
The enormity of it hasn’t even hit me yet. And it can’t—not now. Because if I let myself think about it for more than one minute at a time—reallythink about it—I’ll crumble.
So for now, I close my eyes and focus on the sound of his steady breathing, singing him a lullaby of eighties rock ballads until I finally drift off to sleep.
* * *
I’m dreaming. I must be. Because when I open my eyes again, a flickering candle burns on the night table, the golden flame reflected in a pair of the most beautiful caramel eyes I’ve ever seen, peering down at me over a smile as big as the sky.
