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The shop was silent, but I didn’t see any blood anywhere.
Maybe she got out?
The computer repair shop was a little farther up the street—it was nearly out of the blast zone, so Jaqleon was probably fine and just needed help slipping out of the area. Unless maybe he and Oleander had left together?
I skulked away from the boutique store and hurried down the street.
I’ll check the computer repair shop first. Then come back—woah.
Across the street, I saw a woman with long blond hair that hung past the waistband of her black slacks. A black beanie was pulled low over her forehead and covered her ears, and she was wearing a giant pair of sunglasses. Ignoring the beanie and sunglasses, she was dressed closer to fae fashion with her knee-high black boots that had metal reinforcing the toe and heel, and the tunic-like cut of her golden shirt with its flowy sleeves, but there was no mistaking that hair.
She was crouched in front of something heaped on the ground next to her, her movements quick and anxious.
I checked both ways before crossing the street. “Oleander?” I called as I reached the sidewalk—I didn’t want to startle her.
She swung around, her lips pushed so tightly together they were white, but after a moment she gasped in relief. “Ama.”
I paused, surprised she recognized me.
She held up her cellphone. “Rodaric called—he said you were coming.”
Bless the elves and their adoption of human technology.
“Good. Rodaric mentioned there was someone—”
The heap on the ground groaned.
I joined her as she turned back to it, my eyes tracing over the pile of what looked like rags, until I realized there were legs under the ripped jeans and a face shadowed by a hoodie that glittered with shards of glass.
“Jaqleon?” I asked.
“Yes.” Oleander crouched at his side, pushing back the hood just enough to reveal Jaqleon’s face. He had some scratches, and his eyes were clenched shut with pain, but he opened them long enough for me to see the glassy look in his spiraled eyes.
“It’s Ama,” Oleander said.
“Our king’s Ama?” Jaqleon asked, his eyes pinched shut once again.
Our king’s Ama?
I thought Rodaric’s reference was a onetime thing, apparently not. I filed the title away, but I wasn’t going to ponder it now. I nervously looked around, watching for Pat—still no sign of him.
“Yes. Chloe Anderson.”
Jaqleon nodded, and I saw sweat was dotting his forehead.
“How is he so injured?” I glanced back at the street; no one else looked even half as injured as the elf.
“He was standing inside Lost Garden with me—by the door,” Oleander said. “He was flipping the sign for me since I’d forgotten to. When the front window blew out, it ripped him to shreds.”
I ran a hand through my hair. “Can he make it to the clocktower?”
“He’ll have to,” Oleander said.
I exhaled. “Okay. I need to be touching both of you for my magic to work and make us less noticeable. But we’ll want to get off main street at thefirstturnoff,” I said. “With him injured this badly, my magic probably isn’t going to work as well as usual.”
“If we both support him with our arms, I’ll make sure I’m touching you,” Oleander said.
“Got it.”
