Page 101 of Storm Caller

I text Trinity to tell her we’re in, and then Rook and I arrive at the Grotto later that night, decked out in club attire.

By that I mean I’m in a sparkly crop top and miniskirt, and Rook is in his usual black T-shirt and pants. He still puts every overdressed peacock here to shame.

The underground club is accessed through a staircase at the end of a busy plaza lined with restaurants and bars. If I weren’t already hesitant about this entire scheme, heading underground would be enough to put me on edge.

I pause at the top of the stairs, and Rook takes my hand.

“C’mon, it’ll be fine. I’ve got you.”

I give him a grateful smile, and then we make our way down to a wide circular doorway flanked by two burly men.

They say nothing as we pass, though they eye up Rook, recognizing him for the potential threat he is. But they don’t stop us. Maybe they sense they’d be on the losing end in a fight.

We head down another staircase and emerge into a large cavern that’s been converted from an old train tunnel. Music echoes off the low stone ceiling, vibrating through my feet.

The most surprising sight is a crystal-clear pool carved into the center, lit from within. People sit along the edge, dangling their feet in the water, drinks suspended in their hands. Low couches and tables line the perimeter, and it doesn’t take me long to spot Trinity in the far corner.

“This way,” I say, taking Rook’s hand and leading him across the club.

“Poe!” Trinity says, hopping up from where she’s sitting beside Dire to throw her arms around my neck. “I’m so glad you came.”

I do my best to return her hug with the appropriate level of enthusiasm as I feel Rook’s hand on my hip, reminding me he’s here.

“Hi,” I say. “Sounded like fun, so how could we resist?” I gesture to Rook. “Plus, I don’t think you two have officially met.”

He holds out his hand, and Trinity takes it.

“That’s right,” she says. “I guess we haven’t. Poet has only told me a little about you.”

Rook doesn’t smile. He simply nods. “I’ve heard plenty about you.”

His tone is light, so I’m not sure whether he means to make it sound like an accusation, but Trinity’s face flushes.

“Well, we’ve been best friends forever,” she says, trying to cover up for the awkwardness that squats between us.

“Right,” Rook says. Part of me wants to remind him we’re trying to get on her good side, but the other part is touched by his anger.

“So, you two are . . .” Trinity says, tipping her head. “Together?”

I swallow an irritated knot in my throat. The reason she hasn’t heard much about Rook is that she never asks. While I’ve listened to her prattle about her Extinguisher friends for the last month, she’s largely ignored everything going on in my life. Part of me is fine with it, because I don’t really want to tell her anything about Rook, but it’s also hard not to think she’s a little self-absorbed. I’ve been trying to recall if it was always like that between us, and I’ve realized that it was.

“We are,” I say, hoping my tone suggests she better not make a big deal about it.

She hesitates, several clear and judgmental thoughts passing over her expression.

“That’s nice,” she answers after a moment, though it sounds clumsily insincere. “You also haven’t officially met Garret!”

She bats her lashes and falls into the seat next to him, clinging to his arm.

“Garret! This is my friend Poet!” Trinity declares, as if he doesn’t know exactly who I am.

As if he didn’t drag a crying Trinity into a room full of people and squeeze her throat while she accused me of being the most dangerous thing in New Manhattan.

As if he wasn’t the one who escorted me to a trial that would decide whether I lived or died.

He disentangles himself from Trinity’s hold, assessing me. “I remember,” he says, so at least he isn’t pretending. Then his gaze swings to Rook. “And your Solitude friend.”

“Rook,” I say.