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I couldn’t lose my nerve.
Fresh, morning mountain air blew into my face from the open window, and I closed my eyes, thinking how easy it might be to just let the wheel go. Let the Rover drift…
The tires jerked, bumping onto the shoulder, and my eyes flew open, hands working to pull me back onto the road, my pulse thudding in my ears.
Fuck.
I jammed the radio button, twisting the volume dial to crank it. Needing to distract myself.
The host of The Edge came on, and I almost changed the station to something that was actually playing music when his next words made me pause.
“If you were lucky enough to catch their show in Lodi, then you might already know what all the fuss is about. Not only did The Bone Man feature a whole new song, but also a whole new voice. The mystery surrounding the man himself has doubled as we all try to figure out who she is.”
“That’s right, Randy,” the other host, a woman, added. “It’s such a unique voice, but one that complemented Primal Ethos so perfectly. A tall order if you ask me.”
Something in my chest tightened.
“And for him not to have even credited whoever it was…” Randy trailed off.
“Do you think we have another mystery singer?”
A laugh. “Definitely possible.”
“All right folks, here it is from Primal Ethos, the live version of his brand new song, Sparrow!”
The opening notes of the song flowed into the Rover, and I was thrust back in time. To that night in Lodi, and as his voice came over the air, that thing that’d been tight in my chest only a moment ago shriveled to dust.
Corvus’ brusque voice flowed through the speakers in surround sound, echoing inside of my skull. “This one’s called Sparrow.”
I jammed the off button before he could begin to sing, feeling sick and hot and freezing cold all at once.
He’d just stood there. Mute while Grey and Rook at least had the decency to speak. To try to work through what had happened, but Corvus became statuesque. A lump of useless muscle and flesh with a brooding aura. He just stood aside and told them to let me leave. I didn’t know what to think about that. The unfeeling, unflinching monster in his stare had shaken me to my core.
But Rook…
He’d wanted to come with me.
The weight of the hard black stone against my clavicle felt almost too much to bear, but still I couldn’t seem to make myself take it off. I would later. When I was alone. And I would find a way to get it back to him. I wanted Diesel to suffer. On some level, I wanted the Crows to as well, but I wouldn’t become the Ghost Rook named me for before returning this last memento of his mother to him.
The Docks came into view as I rounded a corner in the bending road, and I flinched as warm orange-hued light blinded me. The sun cleared the horizon, and its reflection glimmered off the rippling waters of Spirit Lake, practically burning out my fucking retinas.
My mouth went dry as I pulled into the lot, searching for another vehicle. A police vehicle. But there was nothing. Not even the standard issue undercover sedan I’d thought he might arrive in. He was smarter than I gave him credit for then, not parking anywhere near here.
I cursed myself for not having that same foresight. This was Saint property, after all. I assured myself they wouldn’t be coming anywhere near here with weeks still until the next full moon party, and put the Rover in park, sitting there while it idled for a minute, letting the calm lake and the warmth of the sun on my itchy, blood-spattered skin bring me a measure of peace.
For a second, I could almost pretend the last twenty-four hours hadn’t happened at all. My best friend hadn’t been plotting behind my back. Diesel hadn’t tried to kill her and me. My guys…
No, not mine.
They were never mine.
Sighing, I stepped out of the Rover, realizing I was barefoot and trying to remember when I’d lost my shoes. Back in the warehouse, no doubt. The sharp gravel bit into the soft soles of my feet as I made my way to the dock, until it was replaced by the sharp prick of splinters instead.
I couldn’t bring myself to care about either. At least the sting with each step reminded me that I was still alive. And living girls could have their vengeance before they became dead girls.
The weathered barn-like door creaked and groaned as I pushed it to one side, old green paint flaking off the wood. Inside it smelled of stale liquor and regret. Across the floor stood the low stage. Atop it, discolored leather sofas languished in the shadows. Desolate. Thrones without their kings.
I could picture them there so clearly. I had been standing just over there when I noticed them watching me that night. How their dark eyes had glittered with malice and a hunger so deep it roiled in the pit of my own stomach.
