“Sixty-two percent,” I finally say.
“Huh?”
“We own sixty-two percent of the real estate holdings in the New York metro area, which ismorethan half, though most of those deals were done through various other holdings and shell companies that can’t be traced. We also ownmorethan half the police force, an estimated eighty percent of the reputable journalists, an estimatedhundredpercent of the shoddy ones, and a good deal of the vampires, shifters, fae, and anyone else you might think of contacting in your apparent mission to make our lives difficult. In fact, the only thing wedon’town a controlling stake in is the community of witches and mages—they tend to be much less welcoming of outsiders. But something tells me you’re not keen on ringingthemup tonight, are you?”
Again, the girl says nothing.
“I’m sorry. Did I misread the situation?” I grab my cell and thumb through the contacts. “The Archmage and I have become rather chummy of late. Shall I call him and let him know where to send his car service? I’m sure he’s eager to retrieve you.”
“You win,” she says with a defeated sigh, getting back to her feet. “No more games. Just… just tell me what I need to do to get out of here.”
“And go where? Home to the parents who sold you to Hell? To the demon prince you stabbed at the altar?” I rise and go to her, crowding into her space once more, unable to keep my simmering irritation from bubbling over. “Or perhaps, little mortal, you’d like to take your chances on the streets of New York. Plenty of opportunities for a pretty young girl there. If you’re clever and resourceful enough, you might even live to tell the tale.”
She glances up at me through her dark lashes, a tear glittering on her cheek. In a whisper I wouldn’t be able to hear if I wasn’t a gargoyle, she says, “I thought you were a myth.”
“A myth created by the ones who made us, all to keep our existence secret.”
“Madeyou?”
“We were men once, Miss Avery. Cursed to this life by the dark fae with a potent mix of their own magic and the demonic magic of Hell. Now, only the most powerful fae can sense what we are beneath our human glamours, and they are forbidden to speak of it.Youare forbidden to speak of it. The only reason we’re allowing you to see us in our true form is to impress upon you just how serious this situation really is.”
Whether it’s the darkness in my tone or the words themselves, Westlyn nods, acceptance finally settling into her gaze.
“For whatever reason,” I continue, “fate has set us on converging paths. As I’ve said, we cannot allow you to leave.”
She slumps back against the wall and rakes her hands through that inky dark hair, loosening her tangled braids. Locks of silver shimmer against the black, and my claws curl in response, almost like I can feel those silky strands myself.
“They’ll come for me,” she says. “They always come for me. The shadows… it’s how they travel.”
The very idea has my fangs aching to sink into a shadow mage’s throat. “We’re not going to let them anywherenearyou.”
Her eyes brighten just a fraction. I recognize that look for what it is.
Hope.
And that won’t do at all.
In a dark whisper, I say, “You belong tousnow, little mortal. And we always protect what’s ours.”
“Really?” Another hollow laugh rushes out, her earlier fire returning with a vengeance as she pretends to search through her non-existent pockets. “Sorry. I seem to have left the deed and title to my body back at—”
“Back at the cathedral with the demon you nearly bound yourself to?” I snap. “Or perhaps you dropped it somewhere over the Hudson as I was flying you to safety.”
“So that’s it, then? You tell me we’re fated to cross paths and I can’t leave and I’m just… just here to do your bidding?”
“I think you’ll find thatourbidding andyourbidding have some common ground.”
“Enlighten me, then.”
“What is it you most desire, Miss Avery?”
She taps her lips, pretending to give it some thought, and I brace myself for the wave of sarcasm sure to follow.
“Well, let’s see,” she says, her voice bright and bubbly. “I’d love the chance to go to college, maybe get a job. Maybe even make a few gal pals my age. A boyfriend would be nice too—preferably not one that wants to damn my eternal soul. Oh! And I’ve always dreamed of opening a bird sanctuary. Is that the common ground you’re talking about? To be perfectly honest, you don’t strike me as the looking-for-a-boyfriend typeorthe bird-lover type, but hey, no judgements either way.”
“What I’m asking you, Miss Avery, is what you want rightnow.” I lean in close again, hooking a clawed finger under her chin and tilting her delicate face toward mine. “Because something tells me you wouldverymuch like to see Lennon and Celine Forsythe twitching in a pool of their own blood as the light slowly leaks from their eyes. And that, little mortal, is where I believe we might find that elusive common ground. So I’ll ask you once again—no more pretense, no more games. What is it youmostdesire?”
Chapter Eighteen
