Page 14 of Crown of Ash

A photo came through a minute later: a stage lit red and gold, a mic stand catching the light, the crowd a dark wall of shoulders in the foreground. Andre found himself smiling at his phone alone in his kitchen. There was a slight blonde man adjusting the mic up front, an elecrtic guitar strapped to his front. He was dressed like one would expect a rocker; black leather pants laced up the side and a white shirt that said 'Rebell' in red that looked like spraypaint. Jude, the lead singer of the band Everbright, was well known in local circles, and had plenty of national attention to back him up. Andre respected that the young man refused larger fame to stay in town. Motown wasn't so long ago that there weren't recording opportunities right here.

SETH: [photo]

SETH: someone just sent this to me. unknown number. which shouldn't be possible, by the way. we all know ghost stalks the shit out of everyone and keeps our tech on lockdown.

Then a second one arrived, same angle, wider, more of the crowd visible.

JACK: ok why do i not like this photo?

TRIP: What am I looking at?

SETH: bottom left. by the pillar.

Andre pulled the photo up full screen before he'd finished reading the rest of the thread. Bottom left, by the pillar. A man in a gray jacket, unremarkable, except that he wasn't watching the stage like everyone else in the frame. He was looking directly at the camera. At whoever had taken the photo. Like he'd known exactly when the shutter would go.

ANDRE: who is that?

He knew, but needed someone else to say it. He would never, ever forget the dark hair, strong build, and cruel confidence of the man who had ruined so many lives. His blood went cold at the thought of him there with the boyfriends… watching one of Marcus' people like a shark in chum filled water. That wasn't a coincidence. That picture was a message.

JACK: that's Drakov. The bastard Marcus has been hunting since he started this thing. I've seen him in the case files.

Andre's hand tightened around the phone hard enough that the case creaked.

SETH: is that really him

JACK: wait we're checking

TRIP: Everyone stay where you are. I'm going toward the pillar.

SETH: not alone you're not

JACK: circling the other way. Keep eyes on Jude, he's a sitting duck up there on stage.

Long minutes where nothing came through. Andre sat with the phone gripped too hard in one hand, watching three dots appear and disappear, appear and disappear, none of them turning into words.

TRIP: Gone.

JACK: gone how? he was RIGHT there

TRIP: Checked both exits, the bar, outside on Lafayette. Nothing.

SETH: he probably left the second the photo sent. maybe before.

Jude never saw the messages. His set had started somewhere in the middle of it, up on a stage twelve feet from where a stranger had stood watching him. A stranger who knew them too well. Who wanted them to know he could move fourty people moments before they arrived. Who had been moving through their world, untouchable. Who knew where to find them.

Andre set the phone down on the table, face up, and didn't pick it back up again for a long time. His mind was a mess of warnings and wanting to jump into action. He knew that Marcus was going to lose his mind. He was a protective man who took care of the people he loved. Especially the ones who weren't warriors or law enforcement. Andre felt a burning need to go check on the young man who had worked so hard to rebuild his life from abuse and tragedy, if the pepers were to be believed, but knew he couldn't. Despite the text chain… he wasn't one of them. He wasn't anything to them. And they would have to handle their own.

Except… he wasn't sure he could still make himself believe that. Not after the kiss. Not while his world and Marcus were crashing back into one another. Not when all he wanted to do was pick that phone back up and tell Marcus… he was on his way.

Andre stared at the phone for another full minute before he made himself stop staring at it.

He didn't text. Texting meant he would be bound to the terrible choice he was about to make. He'd done that before, more than once, whole paragraphs written and deleted at two in the morning, sent to no one.

He grabbed his keys off the counter instead.

The drive took eighteen minutes, most of it spent not thinking about what he'd say, because if he thought about it he wasn't going to go. He'd gotten good at that kind of not-thinking over six years. Tonight it barely worked. His hands stayed steady on the wheel and his foot stayed even on the gas, and underneath all of it, the whole eighteen minutes, one thought ran on a loop he couldn't shut off: Drakov had been close enough to touch someone Marcus loved, and Marcus didn't know yet. Unless his people moved faster than Andre realized. Andre wasn't going to let him find out from anyone else, if he could help it.

That was the reason he let himself believe on the drive over. It wasn't the only one. He knew that too.