The Sharpest Blade (5 page)

“Once,” she adds.

I stare a little longer.

“Three years ago,” she mutters. “Across my living room.”

I should so be dead right now.

“Traveling through the In-Between is dangerous,” I tell her. “There has to be a reason you risked it with me. So, what is it you want?”

“I don’t want anything,” she says, sinking back into her seat.

“Kynlee.”

“I don’t,” she says. “Look, I was just curious. My dad hardly ever talks about the Realm. I wanted to know what it was like. I’ve asked him to take me there; he won’t.”

“That’s it? Seriously?”

“That’s it,” she says.

Great. I’ve aided and abetted a teenage rebellion.

“Your dad lives in Vegas with you?” I ask.

“Yeah.” She stares out the passenger window.

I turn off the highway. “The city doesn’t bother you?”

“The city?”

“The tech,” I say. “The city’s tech doesn’t bother you?”

“Oh.” She rolls her eyes. “That’s why we live here. All the tech on the Strip makes the chance of a fae coming here and finding us practically zero. I get headaches sometimes, but I just pop a Tylenol.”

I guess she doesn’t have to worry about the tech damaging her magic. It’s already wrecked.

Kynlee gives me directions to her neighborhood. It’s close to the library, and it backs up to a newly renovated shopping center with a Walmart, a big electronics store, and several clothing chains. By the time I pull up to Kynlee’s house, it’s well after dark. Even though it’s still hot as hell outside, I pull on the light sweater I keep in my car in case the library is cold. My pants are crunchy from the dried blood, but they’re black, and it’s dark. Someone would have to take a really close look to notice the stains.

“You can go,” Kynlee says, when I get out of the car. “I’m fine.”

I follow her to the porch anyway.

“Seriously, I’m fine,” she tells me. “Thanks for bringing me home. See you later.”

“I want to talk to your dad,” I say, when she opens the door.

“That’s okay. Thanks. Bye.” Kynlee steps inside. I’m pretty sure she intends to shut the door in my face, but before she does, a man—a
human
man—steps into the entryway.

“You’re late,” he says, glaring at Kynlee. All I can do is stare. I’d assumed her dad was fae. More precisely, I’d assumed he was
tor’um
. I used to think fae didn’t live in my world—they just visited it and left after they got what they needed—but two months ago I met a group of
tor’um
who lived outside Vancouver. They were living fairly normal, human lives there. In the Realm,
tor’um
are looked down on and are all but shunned. At least they were when King Atroth was in charge. Lena accepts them, though. She and her brother were friends with the
tor’um
in Vancouver. In fact, Sethan died trying to protect them from Atroth’s fae.

Of course, the reason Atroth’s fae were there to begin with was because the
tor’um
were sheltering rebels.

I shake my head, dislodging thoughts of the Vancouver
tor’um
from my mind. This man can’t be Kynlee’s real dad—human and fae can’t have kids—so he has to have adopted her.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I had to get another ride home.”

“Who are you?” the man asks me.

“My name’s McKenzie,” I say. “I met Kynlee—”

“She works at the library,” Kynlee says quickly. “I had to wait for her shift to end.” She looks at me with wide, pleading eyes.

“Um.” He’s human, but he knows about the Realm. That means he has to have the Sight. He has to know what his daughter is. And if he’s her legal guardian, he has a right to know where she was, doesn’t he?

Her father stiffens. He looks at his daughter, then at me, then back at her again.

“Kynlee.” His voice is low. “Where are your gloves?”

She’s not wearing either of them. Her arms are bare, and the lightning striking across her skin is pale and erratic. Is it more frequent than usual?

It must be. He grabs her wrist as if that will help him inspect her
edarratae
more closely. “What have you been doing?”

Kynlee sighs in defeat. “I was just helping her, Dad.”

“Helping her with what?” He eyes me.

Ah, hell. This is going to go so badly.

I clear my throat. “She fissured me to the Realm. I shouldn’t have let her. I wasn’t in my right mind, and I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t immediately slam the door in my face. He peers up and down the street, searching for fae, I presume, then he shoves Kynlee inside, and says, “Stay the fuck away from my daughter.”

If I had been standing one inch closer, the slamming door would have bloodied my nose.

I
T’S JUST AFTER
10:00
P.M
. when I pull into my apartment complex and turn off the engine. Physically and emotionally exhausted, I climb the steps to my second-story apartment and unlock the door. My place is tiny—a six-hundred-square-foot, one-bedroom apartment in a bad part of town—but it was renovated just before I rented it, and I can actually afford the rent without help from the fae. It’s mine—so is the used car I parked outside—and there’s something satisfying in knowing that I can make it on my own.

“Sosch,” I call after closing and locking the front door. The
kimki
has been living with me these last three weeks. I’m not sure if that’s by choice. He showed up in the hotel suite I was staying in a few days before I moved out, and since a fae hasn’t been in my new apartment, Sosch has been stuck with me. The only way he can get back to the Realm is by piggybacking through a fae’s fissure.

I expect to find him curled up on my couch. He’s not. He’s on the kitchen counter—a place where I’ve explicitly told him not to be half a hundred times—and he’s glaring at me like I haven’t fed him in a week.

“I fed you this morning,” I tell him, grabbing a box of Goldfish out of the cabinet. I pour the crackers into a bowl on the floor. Sosch still doesn’t look pleased. He holds grudges worse than any person I know.

Whatever. I’m too tired to cheer him up. I leave my keys on the counter, then walk to my bedroom door.

My
closed
bedroom door, I realize only after I’ve already started to push it open. I never shut it.

Instinctively, my muscles tighten, bracing for someone to come barreling out at me. The someone doesn’t. He doesn’t because he’s tied spread-eagle to my bed.

What the hell?

The man is awake, his mouth is duct-taped shut, and he’s glaring at me with murder in his left eye. His right eye is swollen shut. His lower lip is split, and I’m pretty damn sure I see blood on my sheets. He’s had the crap beaten out of him, and I don’t know whether I should cut him free, take the rag out of his mouth, or just leave him completely alone.

Something clatters to the floor in the bathroom on the other side of the wall. I curse under my breath, quickly pull the bedroom door shut, then dart to my couch, where I’ve hidden the sword that Lena insisted I keep. I get it unsheathed and spin toward the bathroom just as the door opens.

Lee, a human who quickly ended up on my shit list when I met him a month ago, steps out. He stops when the point of my sword touches the middle of his bloodstained shirt. His dark brown eyes look at the long blade, then his gaze meets mine.

“How did you find me?” I demand. “And who the hell have you tied to my bed?”

His eyes narrow. I have no idea why. If he thought he was going to just show up and tie a man to my bed without me asking questions or taking precautions to protect myself, he was wrong. He’s lucky I didn’t skewer him on sight.

“There’s no need for that,” he says, indicating my sword with a duck of his chin. When he makes a move to swat it out of the way, I turn the blade so that its edge, not its flat end, meets Lee’s hand. Fae keep their swords sharp. It cuts into his fingers even though his touch was light.

He pulls his hand back, cursing and clenching it into a fist.

“I think there is,” I tell him, pressing the blade’s point forward. Lee’s a quick learner. He takes a step back to prevent me from drawing blood again; and then, he sways. That’s when I notice he’s keeping his right arm pinned against his side.

“I’m hurt,” he says, moving his arm just enough to make me look closer. It’s the perfect distraction. In my peripheral vision, I see his other hand reaching behind his back.

I could shove my sword forward, aiming between his ribs. A two-handed thrust with my body weight behind it would slide the blade all the way through. The thing is, I hate hurting people, and I am not, by nature, a killer. Lee must be gambling on that because he doesn’t look worried when he pulls out a gun and levels it at my chest.

Alarm spikes through me. It’s so sudden and potent I’m disoriented for a moment. Having a gun pointed at me makes my heart rate go into overdrive. It takes no effort, no skill to pull the trigger and end a life, but logic tells me Lee doesn’t intend to kill me. He’s here because he wants something, so I don’t have a reason to be
this
worried. The fear moving through me isn’t entirely my own.

“What do you want?” I ask, trying to shut my emotions off from Kyol.

“Is this the way you want to have this conversation?” Lee counters. “Or would you rather put away the weapons and have a seat?”

His forehead is covered in a sheen of sweat. I look at his side again, to the arm he has pressed against it. There’s more blood on him than on the man in my bed. Lee wasn’t lying about being hurt.

“Fine,” I say, lowering my sword. “Let’s talk.”

I almost choke on that last sentence. Kyol’s here. Well, not
here
, but he’s in my world, in Vegas. Back in the hotel room I used to stay in, I think. I never told him I moved.

I’m fine,
I try to project. Kyol should be resting and recovering from his injuries; he shouldn’t be here in a city filled with tech.
Go back to Corrist.

My emotions must not be speaking clearly. He doesn’t fissure out. He’s on his way to find me, using the bond like I used it in the Realm to find him.

I let out an exasperated breath, making sure he feels every ounce of my annoyance. We’ve been apart for, what? Less than two hours? How much trouble does he think I could get into in that time?

I think calm, safe thoughts as I make my way to my couch and sit, hoping he’ll figure out I don’t need him.

Aside from a cheap coffee table and the even cheaper breakfast table with chairs, the couch is the only piece of furniture in the main living area of my apartment. Lee puts his gun away and makes a move to sit on the couch’s other end. Sosch beats him to it.

Lee rethinks sitting.

“What is that?” he asks. He’s breathing hard. I think he’s trying to act like he isn’t as hurt as he is. I refuse to acknowledge the sympathy that wants to bubble up in me. If Lee wants to pretend he’s not seriously injured, I’ll let him.

“My guard dog,” I tell him. “Who’s in my bedroom?”

Lee raises an eyebrow in my direction, maybe to see if I’m joking. I’m not really. Sosch has, in a roundabout way, saved my ass a couple of times, and it’s clear he doesn’t like Lee. He has good taste.

Realizing I’m not going to elaborate, Lee finally grabs a chair from the breakfast table and all but collapses into it.

“He’s a vigilante,” Lee says. My grip tightens reflexively on the hilt of my sword. Lee’s father is—or rather, was—the leader of the vigilantes. Nakano’s other son, Naito, who’s a human shadow-reader like me, killed him in Boulder a month ago. It was revenge for killing Kelia, his fae lover and the first rebel I considered a friend, but Nakano was a cruel man bent on eradicating the fae. He’d gone so far as to create a serum that gives humans the Sight so he could build his own personal army. He didn’t give a damn that the serum kills anyone who takes it six months later.

Lee has less than three months before the serum kills him. And my friend, Paige, has only a little more than that. Lee injected her with the serum because she was my friend. He knew I was involved with the fae, that I could lead him to his brother, and he didn’t care who he had to use to get what he wanted. He was determined to kill Naito so that he could finally gain his father’s approval.

“Why have you tied a vigilante to my bed?” I ask, sounding relatively patient instead of extremely pissed off. The only reason I’m able to manage that tone is because Lee couldn’t bring himself to kill his brother when he had the chance.

“His name is Mikhail Glazunov. He was my dad’s friend, his second-in-command. He’s in charge of the vigilantes now.”

And he’s in my apartment. The way he looked at me when I opened the door . . . The vigilantes are all filled with hate. I don’t want Glazunov here. I especially don’t want him in my bedroom.

“Start explaining,” I say in a voice so cold, Lee looks like he might be rethinking his decision to come here. Even Kyol feels the chill. He sends assurance through the bond, telling me without words that he’ll be here soon and will take care of this.

I don’t need him to take care of this. I need Lee to grab the vigilante and get the hell out of my apartment.

Lee clears his throat. “Glazunov . . .” He takes in a shaky breath. “Let me start this differently. I know that what I did to Paige was wrong. I didn’t think the serum would hurt her because it didn’t hurt me. I wasn’t thinking about the future. I made a mistake, and I am sorry.”

“You’re sorry,” I echo. “That makes everything okay. I’m just supposed to listen to you and—”

“I know my words don’t make it okay,” he cuts in. “But I’m trying to fix things. I need to talk to Paige. She has the serum research. Glazunov helped develop it. He might be able to find out what’s wrong with us.”

“He can find out what’s wrong with you somewhere else. Why tie him to my bed?”

“He doesn’t exactly want to be here.”

“So take him away!” I yell as I stand.

Sosch darts to the arm of the couch. I feel bad for startling him, but I can’t stand the fact that Glazunov is here. I can’t stand the fact that Lee is either.

“You want to help Paige, don’t you?” Lee asks, ignoring my outburst. “I was hoping you’d know a way to make him help us. I know fae have different magics. Can someone coerce him?”

I snort. “You hate the fae, and yet, you want to use their magic?”

“I was raised to hate them,” he says. “I don’t. Not anymore. But I don’t trust them either.”

“Funny. I don’t trust you.”

“Do you know a fae who can help or not?” he asks. He’s annoyed. Good. I am, too.

“Why don’t you ask the remnants for help?” That’s who he was with the last I heard. Caelar and the others were all camped out in the Corrist Mountains just before they attacked the palace a month ago.

“I can’t find them.” He uses the back of his hand to wipe a rivulet of sweat from his brow. “When they learned what I did to Paige, they were pissed. They fissured me to Houston and told me to stay away from her. That hasn’t been a problem because she’s staying away from me. I went to her house, talked to her landlord, called some of her friends. No one’s heard from her.”

I cross my arms, making sure my go-to-hell look doesn’t waver. It doesn’t stop him from asking his next question, though.

“You haven’t heard from her, have you?”

My expression doesn’t flicker, but inwardly, I cringe. I have heard from her. Three weeks ago, I left messages on her cell phone, her home phone, at the bar where she used to work, and with several of her friends. She finally got in touch with me after a few days, and we’ve been talking a few times every week since then. The conversations were awkward in the beginning. We’re on opposite sides of the war. Paige respects and trusts Caelar and the remnants, and since Lena’s been hunting them down these past couple of months, Paige has no desire to see her on the throne. She won’t tell me anything about the remnants except that she talks to Tylan, Caelar’s brother, almost every day.

Of course, it’s been almost a full week since I last heard from her. She’s working with a chemist to analyze and dissect the Sight serum research we took from the vigilantes’ compound. As far as I know, they haven’t made any progress on finding out why it’s fatal.

“You have, haven’t you?” Lee asks.

“No,” I tell him. It’s not technically a lie. I haven’t heard from her in almost a week now. Plus, I don’t owe Lee the truth.

“Really?” His shoulders slump.

I start to make a smart retort, but stop on the first syllable. His question wasn’t sarcastic. It didn’t even sound like a question. It sounded more like his hopes were being crushed. Suddenly, he looks twice as pale as he did before.

Damn it, I don’t want to feel one ounce of sympathy for him. I bite my lip to keep from asking him if he’s okay.

“You’ve been looking for her, though,” he says. “That’s how I found you. You called the bar where she works. Your number showed up on the caller ID.”

“They gave you my number?” It never occurred to me to conceal my identity or to use a public phone when I called. I’m used to hiding from fae, not from humans.

Lee nods, then winces as if the motion was too much for him. “They knew me. I showed up there a few times before to talk to Paige.”

He’s breathing even harder now. The conversation is wearing him out.

I stand. He does, too, and his hand goes behind his back to where his gun is.

“I was going to get you a glass of water,” I say.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine, Lee.”

“Are you close to finding her?” he asks, wiping his hand across his face again. “Will you let me know when you do?”

I’ll talk to Paige about it. She’s justifiably pissed at Lee, but if working together helps save both their lives, she might have to cave and speak to him.

Out loud, I say, “I’ll think about it if you get Glazunov out of here.”