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‘What did… what did Rowan say, Valentin? What’s the poison doing to you?’ The questions tear out of me rougher than I intend. ‘How bad is it? How are you feeling?’
He stills in a completely different way. ‘Don’t you know?’ he growls.
I say nothing. And in that silence, he reads the true answer. And he recalculates because he hears what mattered in the question. Beneath the concern and the panic I failed to bury quickly enough, he learns my ignorance.
The bald truth that I don’t know nearly enough.
Whatever Selphine did, however deeply she has her claws in this, I don’t know the full shape of it.
Which means I’m not holding the weapon with both hands. And I may be standing in the blast radius too.
But I haven’t come all this way simply to lie down and die. So I lift one shoulder in a shrug I do not feel. ‘Should I?’
Valentin’s stare could strip bark from trees. ‘My patience is nearing its end.’
‘That’s awkward for both of us.’
He ignores that. ‘You are driving me towards methods neither of us will enjoy.’
I laugh once. ‘You keep saying things like that, but from where I’m standing you seem to be having a wonderful time throwing your threats about. Then not acting on them.’
His nostrils flare and I tell myself I welcome it. Angry is easier to face than whatever that look was when I caught him swaying.
I drag in a breath and choose a sliver of truth. Not enough to save me. Enough to move the board. ‘I’ve used Selphine before.’
His expression does not shift, but the room seems to lean closer.
‘For work,’ I add. ‘Hunter work.’
‘Be specific.’
‘She’s sold me a salve that seals claw tears without leaving magical residue. A powder that disrupts low-grade glamour for a few seconds. A tincture that blunts scent recognition in crowded supernatural zones. Once, something bitter enough to dampen blood-triggered dreams after a retrieval went bad.’ I pause. ‘Useful things. Field things.’
His silence says he knows that isn’t the whole answer. I keep my face neutral as he takes another step and then, again, that tiny betrayal of the body. The minute drift of balance. The almost imperceptible sway.
My stomach knots. ‘For God’s sake,’ I snap, ‘go and get help.’
His eyes flash. ‘I do not take orders from you.’
‘No, apparently you just collapse theatrically in front of me instead.’
I turn sharply towards the doorway, fury now threaded through with something much less convenient. ‘Iskander!’ I shout. ‘Luca! Anyone?’
Nothing. Only silence and ward-hum and the sound of my own pulse misbehaving.
I look back at Valentin. ‘Where the hell are your people?’
‘Occupied elsewhere.’
The answer is too brief, too clipped.
‘What about your precious witch?’
The words are barely out before a cool voice answers from the shadows. ‘I was wondering how long it would take you to ask for me.’
I whirl.
Rowan steps into the low light with all the smooth poise of a woman who has been there long enough to hear far too much and isn’t remotely embarrassed by it. My jealousy returns so fast it feels rehearsed, which is offensive on multiple levels.
