At the end of the street, a sage-coloured sign above a storefront readGoldsworth. I blinked, certain my mind was playing tricks. But the letters remained, the same ones I’d seen before. I moved toward it, glancing behind me for Cahir, but there was no sign of him.
The shop was shuttered, wedged between two buildings, its interior dark and empty. It looked like nothing more than an ordinary store. I couldn’t understand why I had seen it.
Jus then, I noticeda Scion hiding at the alley next to one of the buildings, but he wasn’t looking at me. His attention was fixed elsewhere, his veins shimmering faintly. A second Scion slid into view beside him, murmuring something as they both focused on something to their right.
My gaze followed theirs.
I stopped breathing. Because…it washim. A head taller than the rest, with the messy hair I recognized. I had woven my fingers through those strands countless times.
Reagan’s hair clung to his forehead, though the velvet blazer he wore was dry. I’d bet it was Gwin next to him, hidden behind the mass of bodies between us.
A battle mage I recognized was there, though not in his usual uniform. More of Mountheim’s patrollers mingled in a larger square down the cross street, blending with the crowd.
The Scions next to the shop watched him, one aiming at Reagan as he scanned the streets, searching.
Looking for me.
His gaze found me across the open street, held me—and kept searching.
A muted sob clawed its way out of my throat.
Down the street I’d just come from, Cahir strode in my direction, his fists balled.
I should run to Reagan, but the hidden cowards kept their aim, waiting for the perfect moment when the crowd would part.
My access flared to life, coursing down my arms and gathering in my hands.
Cahir’s footsteps thudded behind me, and I lunged forward, bumping into shoulders as I moved toward the alley. The distant screech of a bird rang in my ears as I wedged between people.
There was power thrumming in my veins, and I let it loose towards the alley.
Chapter 59
Reagan
It must have been some human holiday, Reagan reasoned, because the town had swollen with crowds, people drifting through the wide squares and little parks and garish movie theatres.
Jane must have found Mountheim ancient when she arrived. Compared with the human towns built much later, the Hall would have seemed impossibly old.
Searching had grown harder with so many heads to sift through. The squads lingered throughout the town, hidden in plain sight among the humans, each one hunting for the smallest sign of the Order’s leader. Reagan still doubted Giddeon Madden would risk a step into human territory, not when the man excelled at scraping every trace of himself from the world.
But this was the only lead they had.
What chewed at him in the last day was the absence of a message. No threat. No demand. Any abductor would have already bombarded Mountheim Hall with a list of demands in exchange for Jane. Gold, power, land. Any prize they could askfor, knowing they had the strings to make him dance. Instead, the Hall had received nothing.
He didn’t let himself think of what that meant.
“Anything?” Reagan asked his sister.
His focus was on reining in his access enough to blend. Humans might not know who he was or what he was, but even they could feel the thrum of his ample access when it spilled loose. They would stare, and he would attract attention.
Restraining it took a considerate amount of energy, like wrestling a stronger version of himself and forcing it down. Thus far it had held. The only attention he had drawn had been due to his height, which wouldn’t count as anything unusual.
Gwin shook her head, rounding a stone bench near the inner circle of the square, drawing closer to the pale statue at its centre. Puddles glimmered in the hollows left by the earlier shower.
“Sit and pretend you are enjoying your day off work,” Gwinifer murmured, her tone light as she lounged.
“I cannot sit,” he replied. It was easier to keep his access under control when standing, easier to watch every shifting corner of their surroundings.
