Page 75 of Immortal Game

“Fury,” said Daniil. “You sound awful.”

She hadn’t spoken since she got back home. It was also very late, and he’d startled her out of a dream. “Do you have any idea what time it is here?”

“Three in the morning.”

Blearily, Shea pulled the phone away from her face and squinted at the clock. Yes, he was right. Whatever he wanted couldn’t possibly be this urgent. “Call back in twelve hours.”

“I looked into the player who calls herself Lily Keenan.”

Shea sat up in bed. The blanket fell off her shoulders and cold air settled heavily over her. She couldn’t remember if she’d forgotten to turn on the heat, or if she’d forgotten to pay her electric bill. “I don’t want to talk about your conspiracy theories.”

“It’s not a conspiracy theory.”

“Still don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why not?” he replied impatiently.

“Why…?” She trailed off. At this hour, everything seemed fake. Was this actually happening, or was this some lucid nightmare? How did he get her number, anyway? “Because, I don’tknow, it’s three in the fucking morning, and the whole situation is a little painful?”

“Oh, are you still wallowing?” Mock sympathy bled into his voice. It made her want to reach through the phone and strangle him, which was admittedly preferable to the numbness she hadn’t been able to shake for days. “You were too soft and got manipulated. Get over it.”

“Soft?” she echoed in disbelief. “What, you would’ve checkmated her?”

“I wouldn’t feel bad about it, either. It was her choice to make a bad deal. It was her choice to put you in that position.” He paused. “But I’m not in love with her.”

“I am not in love with her.” Shea bristled. She didn’t knowwhatshe felt about Ciara of Bri Leith and the desperate choices she’d made, but Shea wasn’t going to discuss it with Daniil of all people. “Jesus. I don’t need to put up with you right now. My sister is gone.”

“So is mine,” he retorted hotly. “You’re not the only one who lost something. You’re just the only one moping around like a pathetic loser.”

Loser.His insult hit its mark, and it smarted far worse than she expected. She sucked in a breath through her teeth.

“You don’t have to talk,” he said, more gently this time, which for Daniil was still gruff and vaguely irritated. “Just listen.”

“Okay,” she said quietly. “Fine.”

Silence crackled on the line.

“Get up.” Something like concern had crept into his tone. “Drink some coffee or something.”

Shea couldn’t even find it in herself to argue. Like she wasbeing piloted by an outside force, she dragged herself through the shapeless dark of her hallways and into the kitchen. She flipped the switch and squinted into the flood of light. From somewhere above herself, she watched as her hands picked through the wreckage, shoving aside dishes and trash until she found a mug that was passably clean. When she turned on the coffee machine, it sighed and hissed into the quiet.

“It’s brewing,” she said. “I’m listening.”

“When’s the last time you ate?”

“What are you, my mom?”

“I need you baseline functioning.”

“Iam.”

He did not dignify that with a response. He only said, “Lily doesn’t exist. Shedoes, in that she is really an international master with an apartment in London. But it’s a fake identity. Her government identification. Her birth certificate. Her school records. All of it is forged.”

Shea absently pressed her fingers to the warm glass of the coffeepot. The heat, right on the edge of pain, was almost a comfort. So he’d begun to put things together. She wished she could’ve spared him the trouble and told him what she knew, but even the thought of it made her tongue burn and the knot of faerie magic in her chest pull taut. She dreaded to think of what would happen if she actually tried to speak. “Oh, yeah?”

“I see I’m boring you,” he said flatly. “Maybe you’ll find this more stimulating. After some digging, my team unearthed a few photos of her. The most recent one is from 1953. The earliest is from the 1840s. She’s left a long trail of fake identities in her wake. Lily is the most recent. She’s a fae who’s been living in the mortal realm for centuries.”

The machine whirred. Coffee trickled almost musically into the pot.