Page 57 of The Shade of Things
I tensed, convinced that the cries would cut out right as the golem struck the glass, just like every time a comment meant for only one person landed in dead silence for all to hear at a party. It had rarely happened to me because I’d been so concerned with blending in that I’d never said anything that could be misconstrued.
Tatiana, surprise, surprise, did it constantly, cackling in glee every time.
While it felt like Emmett took ages, he’d broken and cleared the glass in less than a minute and we carefully scrambled inside the lobby. Our enemies would have heard the glass breaking despite all the noise, but if they didn’t see anyone inside and couldn’t smell us, hopefully they’d think someone had smashed the glass and run off.
Eli helped Teresa over the threshold. While it wouldn’t matter if the bad guys saw her break in, we didn’t want them to know she was injured.
I was a puddle of nerves as we crept forward, my eyes darting to find the tiniest hole in the cloak because we were totally exposed on the way to the elevator. Sure, we had a theory that interiors were safe spaces for Sapiens, but even if we were correct, that didn’t mean they wouldn’t rush the intruders.
The mob out there had sharp eyesight so one pinkie finger sticking out would be as obvious as if we’d set off a flare.
The front half of my magic held strong, but the back half felt like it was crumpling. I ground my teeth together in my efforts to keep my magic intact, but the pressure kept building and building. Any second now, it would get away from me, but unlike an explosive shit, there’d be no relief afterward.
A joyous tear or two slid down my cheek when the elevator doors closed and I dropped the mesh.
Teresa looked at me with wide shining eyes. “What else can you do?”
I flipped my hair off my shoulders. “I have a few more tricks up my sleeves. Just wait.” Ha. Now who was her favorite, Detective Chu?
Eli snorted, knowing exactly what I was thinking.
We found the other Sapiens on the dimly lit sixth floor. Three people provided backup to the woman in her late fifties or early sixties with a no-nonsense expression who barred our way. She was tanned, with pronounced crow’s feet, her silver hair scraped back into a short ponytail. A smear of dirt on her gray T-shirt almost covered the number ten she sported. Her elbow was bruised, but she held her switchblade in a confident grip.
“Who are—” The knife fell to the ground, the woman clapping her hand over her mouth with a gasp.
I glanced over, thinking she was overcome by seeing Teresa, but I was wrong.
Laurent stood there wide-eyed, his face drained of all color. “Isla?”
She rushed him, scooping him into a hug and speaking quickly in French.
Eli raised an eyebrow at the two of them and then gave me a look promising we’d discuss this later. He pushed past the reunion to the three others, his notebook and pencil out.
Teresa hobbled behind him, still using Emmett’s cane.
Was Isla another family member? Had she been pack? I’d detected a Scottish accent when she spoke English, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t lived abroad. Would I finally learn more about Laurent’s past?
Given how insistently he spoke to her, his dark head bent close to hers, I doubted it.
My desire to make this woman my new best friend warred with a single thought: What are the odds?
