The Shadows

SEVENTY-SIX

There were plans to be made.

As iAm took form in the back parking lot of Sal’s Restaurant, he was all about the parachute. Checking his watch, he took note of the time—he had about twelve hours to get everything arranged before he and Trez could leave. Tickets he would get online. The SUV was already gassed up. Banks and lawyers opened at nine—although he’d been keeping things in good order on those fronts so he was going to be able to get seriously liquid very fast.

Xhex could take over shAdoWs and The Iron Mask if she wanted. If she didn’t, they could leave those to Big Rob and Silent Tom. God knew those two bastards were co-owners by virtue of sweat equity alone. And Sal’s?

Well, that was going to go to his head chef, Antonio diSenza. The guy was on the ball, good with the front of the house and the back. And he would treat the rest of the staff well.

All those transfers were what the lawyers were going to be for. At least he’d been smart enough to get Trez’s power of attorney years ago, so he was going to be able to sign over everything without having to bother the guy.

And as for Trez himself?

The male was sound asleep; the text from Fritz had come through about ten minutes ago. The plan was to let the poor bastard rest for as long as possible. Then tell him they were going on a trip around the world.

If the way Trez had been in that bedroom of his was any indication? He wasn’t going to put up much fight. He’d been so out-of-it, iAm could have done open-heart surgery on him without putting him on a bypass machine.

Sooner or later that bubble of exhaustion and shock was going to wear off, and there was going to be some hard-core shit on the other side for sure. But they could cross that divide when they got there: First order of business was to secure the path out of Caldwell. Second was to get Trez moving. Third was to stay ghost.

As for the Brothers and the King? He was going to sign off to them all via text and leave his phone behind.

The Shadows could read minds if the situation called for it. If he left no trace and no way of being contacted? Then when Wrath told s’Ex or AnsLai or whomever from the s’Hisbe that he didn’t know where they were and didn’t help them escape? The truth was going to be verifiable and obvious.

That way the Brotherhood and the vampires would be safe.

Walking forward, he passed by the cars of the people he’d been working with for the last two years. Even though they were human, he was going to miss them—although not because he necessarily had deep personal relationships with them. It was more because he had enjoyed this stretch of his life. The cooking, the pretend stress, the demands.

Compared to what was really on his shoulders, it had been a nice relief, like going to see a movie when you needed a break.

Besides, here at Sal’s? If there was shit wrong, he could always manage to fix it.

Opening up the rear door, he stopped. The urgent voices, the clattering, the heat, the smells . . . for a moment, he had to blink quickly.

“Chef!” someone said. “You’re back!”

Instantly, people were coming at him, clapping his palms, talking at him, asking him questions.

God, I want to stay here, he thought.

As with so many nights, he changed train tracks in his head, stepping away from the Trez stuff to the things he wished he were free to think about all the time. The place was hopping during the after-hours cleanup, reports that their dining rooms had been full, and that a critic from Food & Wine had come in for a four-top, being told to him over and over.

He wasn’t going to inform them all about the change in ownership. He was just going to set it up and mail the papers in. And he was going to take care of the tax implications, too, so the title was free and clear.

Going over to the stove, he popped the top of the marinara pot and sniffed. Then he picked up the oregano container and added some. “I told you last week,” he said to the sous-chef. “You need to watch the balance here.”

“Yes, chef.”

As he replaced the lid, he thought about how he’d imagined bringing maichen here. How in a rose-colored moment, when he’d pictured her settling in Caldwell and being with him, he’d seen them sitting in this kitchen on a Monday night, when the restaurant was closed, at a two-top over there where the mise en place stations were.

He’d gone so far as to plan the menu.

In a way, he and Trez were walking similar paths. He hadn’t literally had his beloved die . . . but the female he’d fallen in love with wasn’t on the planet anymore.

God, that really hurt.

And actually, maybe he needed to add one more thing to his pre-departure to-do list. After he checked on the two clubs, maybe it’d be a good idea to have a drink.

Yup. When it was time to go back to the mansion, what better way to spend what remained of the night than cozied up to a bottle of bourbon. It was probably the last time for a while that he was going to be able to unplug.

Plus he never got hangovers. So he’d be fresh as a daisy in the a.m.

It was the only benefit to being a Shadow that he’d ever found.

A quarter mile.

s’Ex had told her to go a quarter mile. Catra had no idea what that meant, but it had to be a long way. Or . . . not?

As she proceeded along, she went from tree to tree, taking cover behind trunks—which, she supposed, was rather stupid, and testament to s’Ex’s point that she couldn’t really take care of herself: An attack could very well come from the back, and even as she listened as hard as she could, the pounding of her heart was a loud snare drum that dulled her senses.

It would have been far better to spirit along the ground, assuming a Shadow state, but she was too scattered for that—and she didn’t want to stop and waste time trying to concentrate—

Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-oooooooooooooooooooh.

Freezing at the high-pitched sound, she looked in a panic to the direction it had come from. A moment later, a figure stepped out into a shallow clearing.

It was a male servant.

A male servant who . . . happened to be as extraordinarily tall and broad as s’Ex was.

Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-ooooooooooooooooooooooh.

As he made the sound again, she proceeded forward, lifting her skirts up. Breaking free of the thickest branches of pine, she prayed he was still on her side.

“Pardon the outfit,” he muttered from under the gray hood of his farshi dress. “But I figured it’s worked for you for how long?”

She was out of breath even though she had not run any distance at all. “Whate’er is happening?”

“It’s not safe for you. There are guards everywhere, searching. Your mother knows you’ve left not just the palace, but the Territory, and she’s ordered a public cleansing for you.”

Catra closed her eyes. She had seen that horrific torture, a special acid introduced into the blood such that the “treated” writhed in pain and vomited for nights until they had rid themselves of whate’er impurities they had supposedly been contaminated with.

“You will not survive it,” s’Ex said grimly. “Your only hope is to go back to Caldwell. We can find a place for you to stay—”

“No,” she barked.

“Do not try to be a hero here. You’re only going to lose.”

“If I run, they’re just going to make Trez mate someone else. The Queen will try for more young, and eventually she will have one. It doesn’t save him.”

s’Ex shook his head. “You don’t need to worry about that male right now. Your life is over if you go anywhere near that palace. At least if you run, you’ve got a shot.”

“But they’ll find me. They’ll never stop looking for me, you know that.” She squared her shoulders. “There has to be another solution.”

“No, there doesn’t. Look, I’ll help you. I’ll do what I can—”

“Do not be a fool. You told those guards that the Queen sent you out looking for me. That was a lie. Sooner or later she finds out everything in the palace—she’ll know that you were away from the Territory on the very night I disappeared. Even if you try to lie and say you weren’t involved with my escape, she’ll know. She’ll have you tortured and killed for the treason of aiding and abetting me, and she’ll dishonor your name.”

s’Ex started talking, but Catra didn’t hear anything of it.

Her mind was churning, churning . . . churning.

Without warning, like something surfacing from the depths of dark waters, she remembered something the Queen had said:

I can have another of you if I wish. You are as replaceable as anything else in this world of mine. Never forget that I am the sun around which this galaxy spins, and I can alter your destiny with the blink of an eye.

Alter. Destiny.

A sudden horror grabbed her around the throat. “s’Ex . . . you must take me to the astrology room.”

“What? Are you out of your mind? The idea is to stay away from AnsLai and the Chief Astrologer, not head directly for them.”

She shook her head slowly. “No, they’ll be in mourning with her. It’s the last night. They’ve got to be with her to complete the rituals.” She looked up at him. “I would go alone, but I might need to defend myself—I need your help to do that.”

“What the hell do you think you’re going to find in there?”

“Just take me there. Please.”

He cursed under his breath. “The palace is full of guards.”

“Yes.”

“It’s not like we can just wander right into the most sacred part of your mother’s compound.”

“If it takes a minute or an hour or the rest of the night, it does not matter—so long as you get me there.”

An eternity passed as he stared down at her. “You’re going to get us killed.”

She met his eyes through the mesh that covered her face. Shaking her head, she said, “We’re already dead. And you know it.”