An apology is halfway out of my throat—maybe I bumped him or something—but he smiles.
“You’ve done good work, Callahan Thomas.”
At first, I’m just confused.
How does he know who I?—
But then I think. To the last person to call me that name—my confirmation name.
The only people who ever have.
My blood goes cold.
“What?” I whisper, my lips sticking together as I speak.
“Good work,” he repeats. His voice is foreign-sounding and strained, and his smile only broadens as he tilts his face towards mine. My reflection gleaming in the twin black boxes where his eyes should be.
I rip my hand away and run.
Run from the chapel. Across campus. Kicking up mud, I don’t care. I vault the stairs to the porch and break my fall opening the door.
“Where is she?” I pant. “Where’s Gwenna?”
THIRTY-ONE
KAI
All those fucking weapons.On top of everything, that petty little detail is bothering me. All those fucking weapons I just rebuilt for all of us. Customized, perfectly balanced, dialed in, and we're just gonna leave them behind.
But I guess that's what it takes. I have no problem traveling light with my own shit—I crammed a duffel bag full in about ten minutes, and that’s only because it took me forever to find a third pair of socks—but I also realize that traveling light means not carrying ten thousand dollars’ worth of armory and kit with us.
And I guess that's what it's worth, too—no, Iknowthat’s what it’s worth. Yet that doesn’t stop me from throwing a little pity party for myself as I dump my bag onto the couch in the Camlann House living room.
King looks up from an armchair, where he’s flicking through his phone. I drop onto the couch next to my bag and nod at him. “Taking some photos for posterity?”
“What?” He jerks his head up.
“Of your estate.” I wave a hand at the room, the fireplace, Camlann House in general. “Hard to say when you’ll darken these doors again, no? Figured you’d be getting nostalgic.”
“Oh.” Kingston blinks. Then he looks back at his phone. “No. I don’t care.”
“You don’t?” I have to say I’m surprised to hear it. “Aren’t you old money people all sentimental about your various properties?”
“Maybe.” Kingston scrolls. “Not this one.”
Hmm. I itch my neck, where the fucking Nicorette is burning into my skin. Maybe change the subject, I think. “Tickets?” I ask.
“Checked in.” He holds up the phone, the screen lit with barcodes. “Departure in four hours. I figure we just leave the Escalade in long-term parking, and then maybe?—”
Bang.The front door slams open, practically bouncing against the opposite wall.
“Where is she?” It's Callahan, running in, practically gasping. “Where’s Gwenna?”
Kingston frowns. “She's not with you?” he asks.
Cal's face goes pure, bloodless white. “No,” he says. “Why?”
Something's not right. I jump to my feet, suddenly jittery. “What do you mean,why? She left right after you did. She said she was going to the chapel.”
