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“Because it’s well past time for the councils to be broken up. They’re power-hungry, and if we succeed, it will shift the balance. People can be with who they want regardless of faction; our world will be better. Safer.”
“And if you don’t succeed, they get to continue doing whatever the hell they want, unchecked. Perfect plan.” He’s pissed. I get that—I’d expected it.
“I’m not asking you to do anything but keep the cleaners running. Keep this bar up, give people a safe place to go, to mingle.”
“If they kill you, they won’t stop there. You do realize they’re going to come for all of us who are associated with you.”
“I know that.”
“And when they discover we’re loyal to you?”
“They won’t.”
Brad shakes his head angrily, lips flattened. “This is a damned suicide mission.”
Since I don’t see the point in pretending to believe it’s anything but exactly that, I don’t respond. Just pour steaming coffee into two mugs and place one in front of him. “I need you to keep the cleaners and this pub up,” I repeat. “We need to make sure the supernaturals are taken care of. At least until the next band of heroes steps up to bat against the councils.” I try to add the joke, but it falls flat.
“Seeing as how your little band is the first one in history to do so, I won’t hold my breath.” He takes a drink of his coffee then sets the mug back down and meets my gaze. “You do realize that if they get away with killing you, they will push for more radical laws.”
“Possibly. Which is why we need to make sure there’s a plan B.”
“Which is?”
“A revolution.”
“A revolution,” he repeats.
“Yes.” Reaching forward, I slide the summons closer to where he stands. “They are charging me with the things on that list and everyone else with a hell of a lot more. Rainey’s list is even longer since they’re charging her with everything Heather did while in control of her body.”
He glares down at the paper, eyes moving left and right as he reads the words printed in elegant penmanship for the second time. “This is outrageous.”
“It is.”
“If you guys hadn’t stopped Heather and Lucy, the councils would have been killed.”
“I know that. You know that. It’s time to make everyone else believe it.”
“You want me to use your death as a motivator,” he says as he sets the paper down. “That’s what this is about. Not the cleaners or this damned pub.”
“I know it’s asking a lot. But if you keep my places open, you get access to supernaturals in a way that keeps the councils looking the other direction.”
“You believe your death is going to start a war.”
“I know it will. I’ve had more contact with supernaturals who despise the councils than those who support them.”
“Then why the hell don’t you put together an army first; then go marching to war? Why go in when you’re likely going to never come out?”
“We don’t have time to put anything together. As you saw, they only gave us twenty-four hours.”
“Then run until you can put enough support together.”
“We do that, and there will be no operating under the radar. The councils have too many eyes amongst us.”
He growls, but his defeated expression lets me know he’s starting to understand our dilemma. Either we fight and die on our own terms, or we run and risk dying on our knees—just as Bronywyn refused to do.
“I’ll fucking do it,” he finally says.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. I don’t condone this dumbass plan of yours.”
“I know you don’t, but thank you anyway.”
We fall into a companionable silence for a few moments as we finish off our coffee. I offer him a refill, so he holds up his mug.
As soon as it’s full once more, he takes a drink then looks at me with a grin. “If you’re planning on some romantic, heart-felt goodbye, shove it up your ass.”
