To an outside observer, sure, Jude would probably appear calm and rational. No smashing furniture, no vicious outbursts, not even the twitch of an eyelid or the ripple of a dark wing to give him away.
But I know him too well to believe he’s truly taking this in stride. The fact that he’s holding back right now? Nothing but a warning of the carnage to come.
And this time, I won’t be attempting to win him over with sound arguments against violence or a point-by-point list of all the reasons we need to lie low. I won’t insist that he let the magical community handle their own. I won’t remind him that the so-named men of shadow and stone are already under suspicion for murder and extortion and the alleged kidnapping of a young bride, and we can’t afford to draw additional attention to ourselves.
No. This time, when Jude pours the gasoline? I’ll be the one handing him the fucking flamethrower.
After what feels like another fifteen hundred years of pure torture, he finally gets to the end of it.
I close my eyes, trying to breathe through it. It’s like living fire, this feeling inside my chest. Eating through my veins. Incinerating my bones.
“Rook.” The firm command of his voice and the touch of a warm hand over mine brings me back to the moment, and I open my eyes, meeting Jude’s across the table.
Once again, I’m struck by the stone-cold calm in his outward appearance.
“I need you on this, brother. Focus.”
I take a deep breath and nod, picturing our sweet little witch sitting in the very spot he now occupies, sipping her latte, feet swishing under the table as she flips through another lore book helping me search for clues about her past. About ours.
For her, I remind myself. For her, I can pull it together.
“Names,” I say, booting up my laptop and pulling up the voter registration, organ donor, and criminal records databases for New York State. I haven’t been able to hack into the DMV on my own yet, but if I can’t track the fuckers myself, I’ll send the names to our contact there. She just sent over the details on Hunter’s healthcare visitor, but she’s always happy for more work.
If one thing’s been constant since the establishment of this sprawling metropolis, it’s this:
It’s a rare city employee whoisn’tthrilled to take our money in exchange for a little insider info.
Jude rattles off two names—Jacob Pomeroy and Alonzo Florentine. Starting with Pomeroy, I enter all possible spellings into the databases and two different online public records aggregators, then submit my queries.
Because this? This is a thing I can do. An actual task, logical and reasonable. It settles me, grounds me, keeps me sane when all I want to do is fucking explode.
“That’s it?” I ask. “Just the two guys?”
“And another cocksucker called Full Metal Jacket. Westlyn never knew his real name.”
“Same age as the others?”
“Yeah, they were all school chums. A bunch of other arseholes showed up too, but she claims she doesn’t remember them. We’ll give her some time and see if she changes her mind.”
“Social media,” I say. “That’s our in.”
While the databases are looking for matches, I grab my tablet and pull up all the apps, double-checking I’ve got my security settings on lockdown. Anonymous is theonlyway to go here. The last thing we need is these bastards figuring out they’re being tracked, or worse—turning the tables on us and coming after West for a reunion tour.
“Talk me through it, resident genius,” Jude says, coming around to my side of the table to watch over my shoulder. “My app-sleuthing skills are as rusty as a metal arsehole, balls-deep in the river.”
“Hate to break it to you, Jude, but…” I laugh, grateful for a momentary reprieve from the fire raging inside me. “Your similes could use some finessing, too.”
“You get what I’m saying though, yeah?”
“What you’re saying defies all logic and paints a horrifying picture, but… Yes, it’s clear you need some pointers on using the internet to track down our enemies.”
“Brilliant. Let’s have it, then.”
“Well, we’ve got the names of two out of the three ringleaders, and the third is possibly still using the same alias. So that’s where we start. We analyze the social footprint from dickheads one and two, along with any socials with a New York IP address using the Full Metal Jacket handle or some variation thereof. If we don’t get any hits in New York, I’ll expand the search, starting with the locations of common VPN servers they might be using to obscure their locations. From there, we can cross-reference the friend and follower lists and narrow down the rest of the friend group. Since they openly talked about magic and summoning demons, it’s likely they’re all mages, and mages in this city are a tight group. I’d be surprised if they’re not still in close contact.”
Jude fists my hair, giving my head a playful shake. “Ah, Rook. I’ve got no idea what in thebleedinghell you’re talking about, but times like this, I wanna just grab you by the hair and kiss you.Withtongue.”
“Ireallyhope you’re still speaking in metaphor.”
