“Only a handful of people can find HQ,” I countered, “let alone access it.”
Midas said nothing, and I got the sense he was letting me work it out on my own.
“Break in? Steal from it?” I saw the dots, all right, but they didn’t connect. “There’s no way.”
“Unless someone with access was responsible.”
“There’s only…” I hesitated. “No one would…”
“What about Remy?”
“Remy?” I jerked back and hit my skull on stone. “No.”
A Clydesdale kicked me square in the chest. The potential betrayal made that kind of impact.
Bruising.
Painful.
Shocking.
Break the bargain, and we forfeited Ford’s life. She might not care about him one way or another, she was indifferent to most people, but it would gut me to lose him. She wouldn’t do that to me. I was her friend. That meant something to her. I could see the difference in her. It couldn’t have all been a lie.
Like with Ares?
Worse than that doubt was a second, fainter whisper that questioned why Bishop chose tonight to finally share his secret winter wonderland with us, why he introduced new people to HQ, why he brought the frakking hearts there in the first place.
“I hate this.” I thumped my head, on purpose this time. “I hate it so hard.”
Trust was hard enough to establish without the added pressures of the witchborn fae assuming the guise of friends and allies to work their evil through them. The coven had taken a wrecking ball to my life, and I owed them for that.
Big time.
“The hearts are in her backpack.” I traced that logic trail back to its start. “That’s what took her so long to gather supplies from the storage room. That’s why she called dibs on that particular pack.” I couldn’t stop myself from adding, “If she did it.”
Without meaning to, I had given her the perfect opening to grab them, and the perfect excuse for walking out wearing a pack big enough to hide the box where the hearts were kept.
How had she known where to find them? How had she taken them without alerting Bishop?
Duh.
The urge to smack myself in the forehead itched in my palm.
Remy was an accomplished spy. I just hadn’t expected her to use her tricks on us.
The chanting swelled as the coven marched closer, their voices echoing through the creepy chamber, and I took comfort from Midas’s steady presence.
As the notes hit a crescendo, a spasm twitched and itched in my chest, and I grimaced at the sensation. I tilted my head back to convey the problem to Midas, only to find him wearing the same expression.
Oh.
So, that really had been his problem earlier.
Whatever the chant’s purpose, Ambrose wasn’t a fan. He fought against it, and that hurt, a lot, but I had no choice but to endure. I wasn’t sure if my bond to Ambrose was enough to protect me in and of itself, or if he had to physically occupy the same space as me in order to keep out spirits.
Midas was managing without Ambrose in residence, but he wasn’t directly bonded to him either. Given the circumstances, I wasn’t willing to take it on faith that I could kick Ambrose to the curb and not be swarmed by spirits in search of a vessel.
Footsteps crunched on loose stone, and I jerked my head up as the sound translated to intent.
The coven had left the staircase.
They were coming our way.
Twelve
Midas wedged his back against the door as best he could to prevent it from being opened through mundane means. Magical ones were out of his wheelhouse, but he trusted Hadley to handle those.
A wringing sensation tightened his chest, giving him some idea of what Hadley must be experiencing.
Ambrose was not happy to be confined, and whatever purpose the coven had for their chant left him thrashing to free himself. Hadley’s will alone contained him, but her grip was slipping. He could feel it. Midas wished he could help, but he was a third wheel in their partnership.
The scrabble of feet across shale brought his inner beast to the forefront of his mind with a silent growl, and his fingertips burned where claws threatened to burst through his skin.
Remy’s loyalties were about to be tested. Midas hoped for Hadley’s sake she passed with flying colors.
A known associate of Hadley’s, Remy wouldn’t have to out Hadley. If the coven found Remy, they would pick these tombs apart until they located Hadley and anyone else she might have drafted for this mission.
A thready exhale passed Hadley’s lips, and she mashed them into a white line to hold in her pain.
Ambrose’s thrashing eased within Midas, as if sensing the hurt he inflicted, but he was unable to stop.
Midas rested his forehead against hers, willing her his strength, and she relaxed into him the tiniest fraction, as though she had received a trickle of his intent. He doubted that was how their bond worked, but he hoped she took some relief from him, even if only through him holding her.
“Sisters.” A warbling voice cut the chant short. “Do you smell that?”
How they scented anything beyond their own potent stench amazed him when he was all but nose-blind thanks to their presence. Even knowing Remy must have the hearts, he couldn’t scent them, and he’d been trying.
“Blood of our own,” the rest answered in unison. “Hearts’ blood.”
Confirmation the hearts were in the archive crumpled Hadley’s expression, and he held her tighter.
“The spell…” another dared. “It grows.”
Midas drew in short breaths in an attempt to identify what she meant, but the overwhelming stink of so many practicing coven members together made his nostrils tingle.
“Weakling,” the older woman spat. “Can you not ignore the summons for a moment longer?”
“Summons?” Hadley mouthed to him. “Do you hear anything?”
Straining his senses, he detected nothing beyond the nervous shifting of feet and rustle of murmurs from the gathering. He shook his head, and Hadley cradled his cheek in her palm to show him it was okay.
“I cannot,” the girl confessed. “Nor can my sisters.”
A soft murmur of agreement circulated through them. The others had been too afraid to admit their frailty, but the speaker had made herself the target of the elder’s wrath to spare them. It was more empathy than he expected the coven to show, even to its own, but she sounded young. Painfully young for that grim life. Perhaps not all the witchborn fae were beyond saving.
“The pull toward the surface…” she whispered, “…it is too strong.”
The summons must be a means of guiding their novices through an archive they couldn’t traverse alone.
“I must guide the others to the surface,” she continued, “before they attempt the stairs alone.”
A frown gathered across Hadley’s brow as she listened in, and he bet she was thinking along the same lines. They could spread the word once they returned to Atlanta that any coven member who wished to surrender could do so. That was the biggest concession they could afford to make. He doubted they would have any takers, the witchborn fae were too devout in their hatred, but they could try.
“Go.” The elder hissed in a rattling snarl. “Flee.” She spat. “I shall remain here.”