I dialed the number for HQ, prepared to begin the directional sequence, but the line click-clacked.
“Hello?”
“Hello?” I parroted, dumfounded. “Bish, is that you?”
“Are you serious right now?” he demanded. “Who else would be answering this line?”
“Good question.” I crushed the box in one hand. “You never do. How do I know this is really you?”
As much as I wanted reassurances the OPA could monitor the Active Oval, I had to verify him first.
“Where are you? I’ll come get you.” He swore under his breath. “I can’t be sure it’s really you either.”
We had more room to maneuver in an outdoor location if an imposter showed up, which suited me fine.
After giving him the address of the gas station, he ended the call, and we settled in to wait.
“Borrow your phone?” Midas took a sip from his water bottle. “I need to update Mom.”
“Technically, you bought it.” I handed it to him. “It’s your phone.”
Midas snorted, as if to say what was his was mine, then settled in to let his mom know her only son had made it back in one piece.
Normal parent/children relationships were so weird. All the caring and sharing, the worrying and waiting by the phone, the fear and pride mingling. It was nice, what little I had experienced, but strange. Like living one of those black-and-white movies. Except not a science fiction one where the parents are robots or Martians.
Ping. Ping. Ping.
The unfamiliar chime of the new phone startled me as it spewed replies as fast as he could text.
“You can read over my shoulder,” he said without pausing. “I don’t mind.”
Taking him up on the offer, mostly to be closer to him, I asked, “Any word on Ford and Hank?”
“They tracked my phone to the supplies. Bishop told them what likely happened, that I had gone to join you, and they followed my trail to the wards. They couldn’t get past the second ring, so they fell back to the tree line. They’re on standby in Buckhead. With the archive unplugged from Faerie and the other faegates, they’re ready to return to the action. As soon as we have a rendezvous point, they’ll meet us there.”
“Good.” I sent a prayer of thanks to Hecate for protecting them. “We can use all the help we can get.”
“Mom wants to know if it’s okay to send reinforcements to the portal.” He let me think. “It’s your call.”
“Natisha is a gwyllgi, therefore she’s a gwyllgi problem. That gives us an excuse, outside the agreed-upon forces allotted to each faction, to request a stronger gwyllgi presence in the city.”
A teasing light entered his eyes that made my heart beat faster. “You’re getting better at politicking.”
“Hazards of the job.”
I was finishing my candy bar, which, okay, doesn’t take long, when Bishop walked into the parking lot.
“Hey.” Jerking away from Midas, I shot to my feet. “You don’t know how good it is to see you.”
“Test first.” He pulled out one of Abbott’s kits. “Update later.”
Used to the procedure by now, I let him test me and then Midas. We were both negative. I then took the kit and tested Bishop. He was also negative, which meant positive news for us all.
“Now that we’ve established we’re all who we say we are—” I flung my arms around him and squeezed hard, “—I’m glad you’re safe. How are the others? The pack? The city?”
“Come with me.” He waved us into the dark. “We need to do this in private. The coven has ears everywhere out in the open.”
I’m not proud of how my feet stuck to the asphalt a second too long, or how the hesitation made Bishop jerk as if I had stuck a knife in him.
“I borrowed Ford’s truck.” He stepped back, giving me space, then pointed to it in an adjacent lot. “We’re going to HQ.”
“I’m sorry.” I ducked my chin. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“Weirdly enough,” he mused, “it’s comforting to discover you have a vague grasp on self-preservation.”
Mature as always, I made a face at him then walked with him and Midas to Ford’s truck.
The silence on the streets was eerie. Thick fog swirled and blinded us, making it worse. There were no people out and about, no lights on in any stores, no movement aside from the piercing beams of the headlights.
“Who put the city to bed early?” I wondered, pressing my nose to the window. “How did they do this?”
“The coven sheltering at the Faraday.” Bishop winked at me. “The humans won’t wake until dawn.”
“I bet Linus paid through the nose for that.” I pictured endless zeroes. “I never want to see that bill.”
“The cashier at the gas station must have been paranormal.” A line bisected Midas’s forehead. “He said I was his first customer all night. I took it to mean his shift just started, but maybe not.”
“We’ve spread the word to batten down the hatches,” Bishop continued, “but we can’t reach everyone, and not everyone is willing to risk their jobs for their lives.”
Humans had it worse on that front, but paras got fired just as easily if they dared put their health above their paycheck.
Linking and unlinking my fingers, I worked up the courage to ask, “How is the Faraday?”
Terrified he would say it was a smoking crater, a pockmark on the face of the city, I had let fear gut me.
“We’re holding on by our fingertips,” he reported. “The battle isn’t lost yet.”
Once Bishop cut the final turn into a familiar parking deck, I knew where HQ resided for the night.
Buttoning his lips, Bishop exited the truck, and we trailed him up three flights of stairs into HQ.
After the door shut behind him, his shoulders unkinked for the first time since coming to get us. His relief at returning operations to our mutual home away from home was evident as he dropped into his task chair, and it squeaked as its wonky caster spun him under his desk.
Inside, Reece’s screen shone with occupation, but he was hunched over his desk, deep in concentration. He glanced up, noticed we had returned, then went back to his tap-tap-tapping on the keyboard.
“There’s movement on the lowest level of the parking garage, coming in from the same direction as your entry,” he reported to Bishop. “I can’t tell who or what yet, but they’re closing in fast and sticking to the shadows.”
“We were followed?” I wrapped my arms around myself. “That never happens.”
“There are close to two hundred practitioners in the city, as far as we can tell. That’s a lot of people with a lot of magic to perform tracking spells.”
Queasiness spread through my gut in cramping waves. “I led them to HQ.”
“They followed you, or Midas, or me. They didn’t find the OPA.” He palmed his mouse. “Big difference.”
As long as they were tracking me, not HQ, the other locations remained secure.
“There are parking decks all over the city,” Midas added. “They won’t bat an eye at you entering one.”