Page 61 of Hybrid Heroics

Palmer tipped his head. “Yes.”

As I drew a ball of fire into my palm, voices filled the porch once more. The mage held his finger up for me to wait a minute.

Amelia and Company were saying their goodbyes to Talia and Latharian. And Palmer looked like he had something to say to Sloane’s parents.

They drew closer to us, giving York’s parents time for their own parting words. Amelia stared up at Palmer, nodding before he spoke.

“We’re going back to the palace to check the guards for the curse,” she informed us. “Novak showed Nate his part, and I talked to Murphy this morning.”

Palmer nodded. “When she wakes—”

“Just call,” Sam interrupted. “I’m a flicker away. We can be where we’re needed in a matter of minutes.”

“She’ll be impatient,” York warned.

Charlie grunted. “Of course she will. But we know the drill, guys.”

“Alric will have dozens of plans in place,” Nate acknowledged, then sighed. “But Sloane is adaptable. Neither of them can account for what the other will do. And he won’t know how to respond when she changes her course on a whim.”

“Jin taught her that,” Sam told me, squeezing my shoulder as they disappeared into the void.

She had shown me that memory. At the time, I’d thought she had taken my father’s words too literally, but now I didn’t believe that. He knew what he was saying and how she would interpret it.

The generation before us had tried to teach us everything we needed to know without telling us what was to come. It sucked that they weren’t admitting the truth until lately, but really… How could they have explained something this complicated to children? And still ensured we understood the magnitude of what was expected of us?

There wasn’t a right answer to that situation.

The more I understood, the harder it was to be mad at them.

York’s parents followed the Kings after giving him a quick hug and making him promise to bring us all back next week for a proper visit.

“After you kill the sick bastard,” were Hiram’s exact words before Delilah smacked his chest.

Sterling was murmuring something to Talia when her attention snapped to the right. Her brows furrowed as she stared. At first, I didn’t see anything… Then a lone man came careening across the grassy plain, eating up the distance in enormous strides.

“Something is wrong,” she commented, cutting her eyes at York. “Flint wasn’t supposed to be back until tomorrow.”

“Back from where?” the druid inquired.

“Who is Flint?” I asked.

“Our friend,” he mentioned as Sterling said, “My mate.”

York blinked at her, astounded by what she had confessed. “What?”

“Later,” she snapped, as the guy got close enough to hear.

“Godsdammit,” he snarled, his voice deeper than Briggs. “They’re here already?”

“Who?” Sterling shouted.

“The cursed—”

York held his hands up as Flint slid to a stop a few feet from us. “We’re not cursed.”

He looked Sterling up and down before glancing at Murphy and Thatcher, doing an odd double-take like he thought he knew them.

“I got into town about an hour ago,” he rushed out. “And I was going to pick up a few things before I headed home. The man in the market had those milky eyes, so I left. But as I was walking down the street, I realized there were too many milky eyes watching everyone that wasn’t cursed. Some were asking questions, like the mer that works at the docks?”