I yawn and blink until the scene stops doubling. Then I wipe dust from the too-large jeans. My hands are filthy. I rub them on the inside of the faded pink sweatshirt.
The retirement community sits next to a field, neat and proud. Fall hits the front walk in an honest way. Pumpkins line the path in mismatched rows, some smooth, some warty, some painted with cheerful faces. Mums crowd big clay pots in burnt orange and wine, while a wreath on the glass door holds dried leaves, small pinecones, and cinnamon sticks tied with rough twine. Someone tucked plastic turkeys into the hedges and a plastic crow into the planter by the bench. The whole place looks tended.
The morning staff has the door propped open with a rubber wedge.
It’s time to see my godmother.
TEN
Justice
Fury runs through my veins with the precision of a laser strike.
Sirens rise and fade while my crews clean the block. Men in dark jackets sweep brass into canvas sacks, roll hoses, and rinse the curb. Two fold a tarp and lift a body to the van. Another checks for pulses that aren’t there and tags wrists. Phones are already out to the right sources in the police department, but we only have a few more minutes until they have to arrive. My men will get it done.
I stalk into Malice Media’s main hub, so angry my ears burn. My white shirt drips and clings to my skin. Blood runs warm down my ribs and cools in the air of the lobby. Security clocks me without a word. The two men who brought me in hold the elevator and keep their eyes forward. We ride down in silence. The car hums. Fluorescents buzz. I breathe through the sting in my shoulder.
The doors open and Kaz looks up from a bank ofmonitors. He’s our resident computer genius. “What the fuck happened to you?”
His damn voice slices across my ribcage. “Firefight. Didn’t you hear it?” My voice is even and low. Copper sits at the back of my tongue. I taste dust and cordite and stale coffee from the elevator.
“Yeah, but I didn’t think you got shot. I got the 911 and sent our soldiers.” His voice grates, like usual, but I don’t wince. My brother relies on him, which is why he’s still breathing. He looks at my bloody shoulder. “How bad?”
“Stop talking. I’m fine.” I brush past him. “Ella Rendale was with me and escaped through an alley, somehow losing both of my men pursuing her. Find her by the time I get back.” My teeth grind.
I reach the far wall and work the locks in sequence. Keypad. Card. Palm. Retina. The green bar crawls to full and relays click until the magnets release. I pull the door and step inside. The room breathes at fifty-eight degrees and fans move in a constant wash. Ozone and cold metal and a faint hint of lemon cleaner hang under the noise.
The wound is high on my shoulder, so I strip out of my shirt to study it. Entry and exit are both shallow. Good. It’s nice to know I gauged it correctly, although the wound is aching like a bitch. Inhaling, I cross to the pedestal at the center, where light panels bathe the stone from four sides. The garnet sits in milled steel, a mass of dark red with crisp facets, the color deepening toward the core. It’s the size of a bowling ball. The air around it feels warmer by a narrow degree. Power pools in the space like an electrical field I can feel on my skin.
My shoulders drop, though one burns. I reach the stoneand place my palm on it. The contact quiets the noise in my head. My breathing evens, and the heat at the edges of my sight cools. How have people not figured this out?
Of course, even if they have, not many can reach our level of expertise. It’s probably something genetic that hasn’t been mapped yet.
I close my eyes, take a long breath in through my nose and release it slowly from my mouth. I push a steady hum through the heel of my hand. The garnet brightens, takes the current, and returns it on a higher pulse. Air catches in my chest as the flow enters, runs across my clavicle, rides my brachial plexus, crosses to my spine, and settles along the ribs. The pattern holds. The stone and I meet on the same frequency and lock. Maybe that’s the key. We’ve got theories and partial proofs. We don’t have the full map. Matter carries energy. Energy carries information. The fit between my field and this crystal stays true every time.
Finally, my eyelids open. The tear in my shoulder knits from the inside first. Heat climbs, then eases.
The pain is excruciating, and I should take several hours to fix myself. I don’t have time. Ella hasn’t given me that time. So I push to get it done, my knees weakening from the agony.
Pain flares hot and cutting for too long before dropping to a dull throb. Ceiling fans pick up a few cycles, and the room adjusts to the load without complaint. The garnet dims by a notch, so I ease more of my own energy store into it, not just surface current but the deeper charge that feels personal and specific. Essence, if that word must stand. The transfer stabilizes the crystal, and a dark red color returns to her center.
I hold contact and keep count. Ten breaths. Twenty. Aminute. I’m going to spank Ella’s small ass raw for this. God knows what kind of damage I’m doing to my body by rushing the healing process.
The pulse under my hand and the rack hum fall into a clean ratio. I add my second hand to the facet and test for resistance. None presents. The stone still has headroom, so I give more. My shoulder tightens once and lets go. I lower my arm and stretch it carefully, noting that my range of motion returns without instability. The edges of the wound seal. A band of heat remains. Functional is enough.
Hopefully I didn’t just give myself permanent damage. I’ll find out later.
I think about the day I worked the damaged crystal that was killing Thorn. It never bound to me and didn’t push back. Although it drained me and led to the mess I’m in right now. The sensitivity in my auditory cortex somehow went from nuisance to pain. Voices that only irritated me before now turn into knives on my nerves. We pulled Thorn out with energy workers in a circle, a timed sequence, and a set of stones that weren’t supposed to share a room. Chance and pressure made it hold. I don’t think we’ll ever reproduce that again, which sucks for me.
This garnet still answers me. That means something. The hole in my shoulder is closed now but still aches beneath the muscle. The stone has given what she can on this pass. I lift my hands. The glow steadies at a lower value, and the server noise eases my pulse. Static clears from my head.
I then open the server room door into the main floor. Cold air spills out and thins. Kaz looks up from theconsole and lifts a hand to stop me at the threshold. “All better now?”
“The only thing I want from you is Ella’s location.” I walk past him.
“Why do you have to be such a dick?”
Fire runs from my shoulder into my biceps, stretching a muscle with pain. “Would you just shut up?” I snap.
