“Remember all those bodyguarding jobs we used to run?” Jim asked.
“I remember. Are you trying to tell me I’m being a difficult body to guard?”
“Something like that.”
Christopher reached us. His blue eyes were opened wide. Some days they were like a clear summer sky, not a thought in sight, but right now they were focused with a single-mindedness bordering on obsession. Some idea had grabbed hold of him and driven him off a cliff. He probably didn’t even know he was carrying books.
“Mistress!”
I had given up on telling him to call me Kate. He always ignored it. “Yes?”
“You can’t go!”
Jim’s eyebrows came together.
“Go where, Christopher?” I asked.
“To that place.” Words came tumbling out of him. “I’ve been trying to be in my right mind.”
“Aha.” When in doubt, stick to simple words.
“I know what I used to be, but I cannot be that anymore. I try. I try so hard. But my mind is unraveled and the threads, they’re too tangled. There are pieces of me floating. I’m shattered. He broke me.”
“Who broke you?” Jim asked.
Christopher looked at him. His voice was a mere whisper. “The Builder.”
My father. The Builder of Towers. Anger spiked inside me. I wished I could reach across time and space and punch Roland in the face.
Christopher turned to me. “If I had known what it was like to be shattered, I would’ve rather died.”
Oy. “Don’t say that,” I said.
“It’s the truth.”
“Christopher, you matter to me. Shattered or not. You are my friend.”
Christopher opened his arms. The books fell to the floor. He clutched at me, long fingers gripping my shoulders. “Don’t go. Don’t go to that terrible place, or he will shatter you and then you’ll be alone. You will be like me. Don’t go, Mistress.”
Jim moved, but I shook my head.
“What terrible place?” I asked, keeping my voice soothing.
He shook his head and whispered, “Don’t go . . . Don’t leave.”
“I won’t,” I promised him. “I won’t go, but you have to tell me the name of the place.”
“You don’t understand.” Christopher looked at me, and in his blue eyes I saw pure panic. “You don’t understand. I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth, but not there. I cannot go there again.”
I wouldn’t go there either, if I knew where “there” was. “It’s okay. Just tell me . . .”
He shook his head. “No. No. It’s not.”
“It will be okay.”
He reached out, touched the strand of my hair that had slipped out of my braid, and yanked it, ripping some hair out.
Ow.
Jim lunged at Christopher, knocking him back. The thin man fell on the floor. I rammed Jim with my shoulder. “No!”
Christopher scrambled to his feet, wild-eyed, a few strands of my hair in his hand. “Don’t trust the wolf!”
He turned and fled down the hallway.
“What the hell?” Jim growled. “I’m going to have him sedated.”
“He knows something,” I told him. “I don’t know if he had a vision or someone told him something, but it freaked him out and he can’t explain it. Let’s see what he does with the hair. I might be able to figure it out from there.”
Hair, like body fluids, retained the magic of its owner once removed from the body. A year ago I would’ve killed Christopher to retrieve the hair, because studying it would reveal all my secrets. But my secrets were about to burst into the open anyway. Hugh knew the truth, Roland probably knew as well, and sooner or later everyone would know. I had come to terms with it.
“If someone told him something, it has to be either someone in the Pack or divination magic,” I thought out loud.
Even now the Keep held at least two hundred shapeshifters, and strangers weren’t welcome. Christopher never left the Keep and the grounds.
Jim growled. “I’ll put a guard on him. Someone discreet. If he’s getting his information from some apparition that manifests in his bedroom at night, I don’t want him sharing your hair with it.”
I looked at him. “What wolf do you think Christopher was talking about?”
“Beats me.”
There were more than six hundred of them and I didn’t have many fans among them.
“And you say I’m paranoid.” Jim pointed in the direction of Christopher’s escape. “What about him?”
“He’s shattered. What’s your excuse?”
“I have to work with your ass. You’ve driven me crazy.”
I sighed. I could overrule Jim and go to the Conclave on my terms. But Jim and I had to work together. I could tell by the line of his jaw that he would die on this bridge if he had to. Going along with him cost me nothing, except a small chunk of pride, and pride was one of the things I didn’t mind sacrificing.
“What if we compromise?” I asked.
Jim looked at me for a long second. “They’re going to need sweaters in hell.”
Because me trying to be the voice of reason froze hell over. “Har har. You said they had vampires for backup. Let’s split our people in two. One group comes with us, the other waits as a backup. Put someone solid in charge of it, whoever you want, and have them wait nearby. Within running distance.”
Jim pondered that. “I pick both crews.”
I spread my arms. “Fine.”
“I can live with that. I’ll prepare a couple of exit strategies for you in case shit hits the fan. If I’m wrong, we lose nothing. If I’m right . . .”
“I hope you’re wrong.”
“I hope I’m wrong, too,” he said.
“Good. Then we’re done here.” I walked away from him, conquered the hallway, and started up the stairs. That was enough excitement for the day. If nobody did anything crazy, I could hide in our rooms and read . . .
Hannah, one of my and Curran’s guards, ran down the stairs.
Please don’t be for me, please don’t be for me . . .
“Consort!”
Damn it. “Yes.”
“There is a knight of the Order here to see you.”
What now? The Order of Merciful Aid served as a semiofficial law enforcement agency. Competent and efficient, but rigid in their thinking, they helped private citizens deal with their magic hazmat problems. Unfortunately, once you asked them for help they did it their way and not everyone liked it. I used to work for the Order. They decided shapeshifters weren’t people, I decided they were, and we went our separate ways. Ted Moynohan, the knight in charge, was still pissy about it.
“He has Ascanio and Julie with him. He says no charges will be filed.”
Why me?
? ? ?
I WALKED INTO the conference room ready to do battle. Ascanio sat in one chair, looking suitably guilty and regretful, and if I hadn’t worked with him for the last few months, I would even believe it. Julie sat across from him, slender, blond, and defiant. She had mostly passed through her Goth phase, but black was still her favorite color and I was treated to a lovely ensemble of black jeans, charcoal turtleneck, and piercing stare.
A huge man took up the only other occupied chair. Massive, slabbed with muscle and covered in elaborate tattoos, he had the bold handsome features, dark skin, and dark eyes of a Pacific Islander.
“Mauro!” Of all the knights of the Order I liked him the most.