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“I have allsortsof contingency plans,” Marcella assured me in a dangerous whisper, “including feedingyouto the proverbial lions. And Idobelieve I can turn you into Summer.Permanently.And I intend to do just that. You live the life I’ve created for you, answer to the name you’ve chosen, and wear the collar, little wolf, or I will strangle you to death with it.”
Unknown Number
Searle loomed while I checked my little bag for my wallet. Marcella had returned my IDs and cards to me for this. She had said she’d contacted Garrett to make arrangements so I could fly privately—and so AmberHowl didn’t have to foot the bill. I knew nothing else beyond when to be in the foyer waiting for whoever was going to drive me to the small, private airstrip forty minutes away.
Winter Mortcombe. The red-haired version of myself stared back at me. The handful of credit cards in various colors most people never saw. Black. Sapphire blue. Platinum gray. One that was a shiny green. And in my wallet were two of Sterling’s business cards, and on the back, in his handwriting, numbers for Mint, Hector, his two assistants, his father, and his mother.
I tucked everything back into my wallet.
“I do not like this,” Searle said. “I should be going with you.”
“You know you can’t come with me. You’d attract attention.”
“And you won’t? That’s exactly why I should come. I’ve been to Fairbanks. There are wolves everywhere.”
“I’m not going to run off, and I’m not going to get caught.”
Searle paced over to me and loomed, arms crossed. I stiffened and held my ground. He studied me intently, like he was looking for a lie. Or an opening to put his hands on me and practice physical contact between us.
I pushed him away. “I’m not stupid enough to linger. I got cut with silver last time. There’s no one I want to see, the take-out is lousy, and the donuts aren’t very good. The bank is six miles from the airport, and I’m flying private. This will be quick and tidy.”
He shifted back half a step, but his lips bent downward in a disapproving frown. “And very risky.”
“If you have an accusation to make, make it.”
“No accusation. I’m concerned. If you’re caught, the FrostFur have already been informed you’re dead.”
“I won’t get caught. And if I was going to sneak off, I’d think of somewhere a lot more interesting than Alaska in March.”
Marcella tookme to the small, private airport where we’d been the first time I’d come to AmberHowl. It was the ass of the early morning, just as the sun was peeking over the horizon. She had on her white lab coat and badges, and her work bag sat tucked against my ankles. She sipped coffee and listened to the news on public radio as she drove through the misty gloom, and did not say a word to me. She didn’t smell angry, simply focused on her day.
The quiet time suited me fine. Didn’t want to accidentally say something that got me busted back to the house and my trip cancelled. The exquisite power of silence was my ally that morning.
On the tarmac was a sleek private jet. Marcella slowed down just enough for me to roll out and hurry across the tarmac to the waiting stairs. She said nothing, turned her car around, and disappeared into the dawn. It’s why she’d taken me at all: Apprentices flew economy. No. Apprentices took the bus. Or walked. So an Apprentice with a private jet was far too many questions.
It was like stepping into another life, a quiet, wood-paneled, crystal-glinting, soft-music life. There was even Patrick, the air attendant that was on most of the flights out of the private jetshare company Sterling used.
“Hamid!” I exclaimed.
Hamid straightened his suit jacket. “Mrs. Mortcombe. I apologize for waiting on the plane. I was instructed to not be in plain sight.”
As if I cared if he’d hung out with the luggage or under the floor.
“What are you doing here?” My plan had been to move as quickly as possible and take advantage of the element of surprise.
“I have made all the necessary arrangements,” he said, his gaze tracking Patrick as he spoke. “Given we have already been to Fairbanks once, I am now far more familiar with the various security concerns and unique challenges of the area.”
Unique challenges. That’s what he calledmy client is persona non grata with a deranged cult that believes in televised torture and ceremonial duels to the death.
Not that Hamid knew Sterling had killed Jerron. Or maybe he had figured it out.
Hamid gestured for me to take my seat. “We will review the plan. It is in five minute increments.”
“What were you told?” I asked, because Hamid hadn’t been in Clare, and Sterling and I had just... disappeared.
“The truth, I imagine.”
“I doubt that.”
