Page 108 of Break Out the Girl

Theodora is my half-sister.

And she’s also Taliesin’s.

There is no blood between us, but still. We are kin.

And Cosmo is fucking ‘our’ sister.

That is a thought for another time. Action needs to happen. Time is being wasted. “We should call Cosmo. He’ll have the contacts and resources to clear out the Director’s hunting lodge, save the girls, and bring the Grieves island to its knees.”

London immediately nods, his face looking slightly less haunted. “Yes please, Shane. I promised a little pixie in the woods that I’d go back for her but didn’t. I feel sicker than Sidney about it. Keep thinking how to get back there and help. I left her up a tree.”

Up a tree?

I guess I cannot criticize the maniac for his choices. There was not a lot of time for sound logistics during that battle.

Gareth opens a narrow drawer in the kitchen table and pulls out a piece of paper. “All their cell numbers. Aurora, Cosmo and their friends are here. The one called Alexis Feniks has his head on his shoulders.”

Feniks? The Validus Vale professor?

He passes the list to Taliesin, who pushes it in my direction. “You know these people?”

“I do. Students at Validus Vale, apart from Alexis Feniks, who is, or was, teaching there. I’ll call Cosmo. He knows me.”

Layla’s father clears his throat. “Gareth,” he whispers, his eyes worried. “Calling the Elites for help? When has that ever worked in our favor?”

“These kids are different, Jim,” Gareth rumbles. He looks up at me, his face an unyielding mask of stone. “You call him. Right now. You said there are other kids that need help. Kids those Grieves bastards have locked up?”

I nod, taking the paper.

“Do you still have a cell-phone, Dad? We can’t call him from the house line, too easily traceable.”

“What am I thinking? You’re right. The phone is in the hallway desk. Just hope it still has some minutes on it.”

I nod to Taliesin. “Fetch it. Then let’s see if Cosmo Drakeward wants to help us burn that fucked up empire to the ground.”

40: AURORA

I need to open my eyelids, but they’re so heavy.

Come on, Rory. You can do this.

OK, Finally. I blink against the light of a bedside lamp.

Where the fuck am I?

The ceiling above me is low, crisscrossed with dark timber beams and patches of old, water-stained plaster.

Not Quo.

A soft, rhythmic breath draws my attention.

Sky.

She’s curled up into a tight ball beside me, buried beneath a heavy patchwork quilt. One bandaged hand peeks from beneath the covers, dried blood crusting the white gauze.

Fuck.

It all comes back in a flash.