“I’m going.” Sabrina headed for the elevator. “Keep me updated and let me know if you need help. And make sure that list of witnesses for the authorities contains entirely fake names, aside from those of you who met the officials at the breach site.”
Gwen nodded. “There won’t be any record of your interference with the conspirators’ plans.”
When the authorities searched for the listed witnesses and came up empty, Max would no doubt feign shock that their compatriots supposedly hadn’t shared their real names—and claim they must have worn disguises that rendered them utterly unidentifiable.
Gwen added, “Also, please tell Starla that I’ll be visiting her as soon as possible and bringing a pan of her favorite brownies with me.”
“Will do.” Sabrina stepped into the elevator car. “Thanks, Gwennie.”
“Give Star my love,” Lorrie told her, echoed by Kip.
“Be careful, witch, and keep in close contact.” Max watched the elevator doors close, then surveyed his remaining visitors. “That goes for the rest of you too. You know where to find me.”
“Is that your subtle way of saying we should leave?” Kip blinked at him mournfully, his mouth full of candied pecans from the vampire’s pantry. “How rude.”
“Then I suppose I have nothing to lose by further impoliteness.” Max smiled coldly, revealing fangs sharp enough to puncture steel. “Once Gwen is done eating, get out.”
“I’m full,” Gwen said, and it wasn’t a total lie. “We should go.”
Hugh nodded in agreement, but Max had already dismissed them from his attention. Bending over Edie, he gently roused her and eased her upright. She leaned heavily against his side, eyes still closed, as he slowly guided her to his bedroom.
The vampire didn’t look back, clearly—and mistakenly—expecting his orders to be followed forthwith.
Lorrie levered herself upright and punched Hugh in the arm hard enough to make him stagger. “Fine, mini-demon-bro. We won’t stay in your apartment. But you’d better be good to her, or else I’ll twist your head from your tiny, hot body like a Ken doll.”
“He will,” Gwen answered, because she could see that words had failed him.
Kip tossed back another handful of sugar-crusted pecans. “Seconded. Let me know if you need me to murder him, Gwennie.”
“Uh…” Gwen hesitated. “Thank you?”
With a subtle sigh, Hugh rested a light hand at the small of her back, nudged her toward the elevator, and pushed its discreet call button.
“Hey, Lorrie.” Gwen glanced over her shoulder as the elevator car began its descent from ground level. “You promised to help my neighbor Horst change his smoke detector batteries. Can you do that while I’m packing?”
“So he doesn’t take a header off his ladder.” The troll nodded. “I’ll check on all your other elderly neighbors too while I’m there.”
Gwen smiled at her. “You’re the best.”
“Yep. Sure am.” Lorrie turned back to her cousin. “Hey, cuz, did you see the small-batch frozen custard in mini-vamp’s freezer?”
Kip grinned and leapt to his feet. “Saffron, rose water, and pistachio, bay-bee.”
“We’ll bring it with us,” Lorrie declared. “Kip, help me look for other flavors and pack up our leftovers. Gwennie, we’ll be there in a jiffy.”
The two trolls sauntered in the direction of the kitchen. Gwen and Hugh entered the elevator instead, rose to the earth’s surface, retraced their path to Max’s broken front door, emerged into a dazzlingly bright, bitterly cold day—and headed toward a very uncertain future.
—
Fifteen minutes later,as Lorrie crossed the still-open drawbridge leading to Zone C, Gwen snuck another glance at the demon in the SUV’s back seat.
Even though she’d gone to his apartment that very morning and pleaded for his help, she still couldn’t quite believe that she was sitting in the same vehicle asCouncilor Hugh Blacke, of all beings. Sure, whenever his name had appeared in the news or on a ballot, she’d indulged her urge to internet-stalk him for a few minutes. Otherwise, though, she hadn’t thought much about him or the entire humiliating incident at Delphi Academy for…the last decade, maybe?
With one notable exception.
Six weeks ago, she’d celebrated her thirty-eighth birthday. And something about the twenty-year anniversary of the worst moment of her life—at the time, anyway; last night’s battle had forever changed that particular designation—had screwed with her head.
For the first time in forever, she’d imagined the future she might’ve had if she’d been granted even a modicum of oracular power. Considered her frugal, unimportant life, full of endless piddling predictions, unhealed cuts on her palm, and a never-ending hustle for income.
