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I was far from optimistic, but when had terrible odds ever stopped me?
31
GENEVIÈVE
“The last place he was that I know of was with the so-calledSisters of Purity and Redemption,” I told the assembled group. “You know, a fewdays agowhen Marcus was okay with my torture…?”
The king ofElphamewinced at my pointed barb. He did not apologize or express remorse, even now, and I made a mental note to kidnap Allie back if I survived if for no other reasons than to make sure she was safe and make Marcus suffer.
Beatrice tapped her fingernails on the wall like she was counting down the ways she’d like to murder the older faery.
The hillbilly mafia made a series of remarks that boiled down to “daaaaaamn.”
And Eli smiled coldly. “I have not forgotten. The fae do not forget.” After a long pause, he motioned to Beatrice. “The maps?”
She said nothing as she went somewhere and retrieved a pile of papers, blueprints, and notes. I couldn’t say much. Part of me thought needling Marcus was wrong, but a larger part of me was well aware that I still had a wound from electrical burns while I was being tortured.
“We were researching where to find you,” Eli explained to me as Beatrice began unrolling the documents. “Can you see if anything strikes you?”
I tried to clear my memory, to recall what was happening when I fled Chester. I was drunk on his blood, memories, and power. I shook my head. Honestly, torture, stun guns, and being blood-drunk made for spotty recall.
“What about the princess tracker?” Ike asked, drawing every gaze to him.
“Thewhat?” I asked.
“The people who see you out and stuff use hashtags for spottings, and then this one site collected your whereabouts into a map.” Ike had a phone in hand, as did Harlow now.
They both pulled up different social media sites with hashtags about me. There were over four thousand pictures of me.
“Cousin Al said she uses it to see if there are any ‘issues’”—Ike made quotes in the air with his free hand—“that need squashed.”
I gaped at the pictures.
“That’s drone footage there,” Harlow said. “Long range witch spotting is a growing thing in the city. It lets people get close without whatever magic thing keeps destroying phones.”
My stomach turned at the realization that my notoriety since marrying the fae prince was so . . . ubiquitous. I could meltdown into a puddle of self-conscious rage later, assuming I survived. For now, I flicked through the information on Harlow’s phone.
Cemetery.
Kissing Eli.
Arriving at the bar.
Getting coffee.
Staring at the river.
“This is terrifying,” I whispered.
“Emotion later. Hunting Chester now,” Beatrice said lightly, and it was very obvious by her tone and Eli’s expression that I wasn’t the only one completely dumbstruck by the massive invasion of privacy.
“Hexes to correct this later,” Iggy added, from my side. “Keep turning the page to reach the date.”
“Scrolling,” Beatrice corrected with a prideful tone. “She’sscrolling,Iggy, not ‘turning a page.’”
I kept looking—a nice shot with light on my dagger, obviously edited because moonlight wasn’t that bright; a few more stopping for coffee shots; one where I was unaware Eli was gazing at me adoringly.
Then at the bookstore.
