28. Imogen

28

IMOGEN

" I 'm not a gun person, but I have to admit this is awesome, Sal."

"Can I see?" Josie tries to peek over my shoulder, but I shove her away.

"Nope. Not allowed."

The old man chuckles as he closes the small wooden boxes holding Nora and Josie's presents.

"Thank you, that's kind to say," Sal says. "Let me get your paperwork from the back, and we can get you on your way."

Sal shuffles through to the back room, leaving Josie and me alone. Wes is stationed out front like last time, keeping watch.

"You're in a good mood today," Josie observes, leaning back against a glass display case.

I play with the ends of my scarf. "I don't know. Life is looking up lately."

"I'm glad, Mo."

"Now, if only Nora would hurry up and come home…"

"I'm sure she'll be back soon."

"She hasn't sent any word yet?"

"No, not a peep," Josie says. "But she promised she'd tell us if it was going to be longer than?—"

Josie's head whips to the front of the store, only a second before the glass explodes.

"Get down!"

Josie throws herself at me, but not before bullets and glass rain down on us. Pain erupts in my side as Josie tackles me to the ground, covering my body with hers.

"Shit," she growls. "We need to get out of here."

When the bullets stop whizzing above our heads, she pulls me up, dragging me through the emergency exit at the side of the store by my arm. She's already got her gun drawn. I stumble into the alley after her, clutching my side.

"Josie." Her name is shaky on my tongue.

Adrenaline rushes through me, numbing out my limbs and drawing the world into pin-point focus. There's a whooshing in my ears, an all-consuming ringing.

"Where the fuck is Wes?" Josie growls before pulling me further down the alley in the opposite direction of the shop's main entrance.

Gunshots sound from behind us and Josie's pace increases as we turn down different back streets, all of them somehow empty.

"Josie," I say again, fear striking through me. My fingers tremble as they clasp my side, coming away slick. Pain courses through my middle with every jolting step. "Josie, I can't run."

She whips around, giving me a once over and her eyes widen at whatever she sees. I can't look down—don't want to. I close my eyes, fighting the lightheadedness falling over me.

"Shit," she says. "Okay, we're going to?—"

But she doesn't finish her sentence as she's ripped away from me and thrown to the ground. I yelp as I'm pulled into a strong set of arms. Josie rolls, quickly recovering from whatever strike the attacker dealt. She's on one knee, gun poised and directed at us.

Freezing metal digs into my temple and my captor's arm bands across my chest. His hand grips the base of my neck.

A furious scowl is set across Josie's face. Her eyes dissect the situation with speed, calculating the chances of success if she were to pull the trigger.

"Ah, ah, ah," a cold voice scolds from behind me, addressing Josie's murderous glare. "Don't think I won't kill Miss Lust here as quick as you can pull that trigger."

My body stills.

He's fae . He's Seelie.

"Josie," I whisper.

"Let her go," Josie growls. "Or I will kill you."

My breathing catches on itself, my lungs hyperventilating as gray tints the edge of my vision. I close my eyes, tight, pushing away my panic and trying to channel calm.

Enough calm to at least connect to my magic.

I have to focus. I can do this. I've done it a thousand times.

Pain digs into my skull as the Seelie pushes the gun into my temple with more force.

Shit .

"Put the gun down," he says.

I flick my eyes open, locking gazes with Josie. I give her an imperceptible nod.

It's okay , I try to tell her with my mind.

She lowers her gun, tentatively, though she doesn't put it on the ground.

"On the ground," the man snarls.

Josie's jaw grinds as she places the gun at her feet and lifts her hands up in a placating gesture.

"Smart girl," the Seelie man coos, and my throat tightens with disgust. Then his mouth is next to my ear, hot breath making me gag. "Now, you're not going to give me trouble, are you, sugar? Let's move. Someone important wants to meet you."

Josie's warm brown eyes are still locked on mine, searching for a way out of the situation we've found ourselves in. But I close my eyes again, focusing on my magic, trying to pull it to the surface, past the fear and the pain and the lightheadedness.

" Imogen ," Josie warns, sensing what I am about to do.

I may not be a sharpshooter and my touch may not kill—I cannot walk between the shadows, nor mold them into weapons—but I have something else others don't.

Trust me .

I hope Josie can hear me as I push the words her way.

"Did you hear me? Let's go," the Seelie barks behind me.

He tries to back us up, but I squirm enough to get one arm free from his grasp. I slap my palm against the hand gripping the gun at my temple, calling my magic to my fingertips, pushing one word, one feeling into the Seelie— compliance .

" Let go ," I command.

His body jerks, fighting the magic for all but a second before his arms drop to his sides. The gun falls from his grip, clattering on the ground.

I launch myself forward, my hands and knees scraping against the rough pavement. Just as quick, the gun is back in Josie's hand and she's releasing a round into the Seelie's gut.

He jolts with each bullet's impact, knees buckling and upper body twisting to face up as he hits the ground.

Surprisingly, he groans, not completely dead.

Josie and I watch as the wounds on his chest begin to heal. One bullet at a time, they pop out of their bloodied wounds, revealing freshly healed scars.

But then the adrenaline in me crashes, and I fall face-first onto the cobblestone.

I hear Josie curse as she pulls me up, setting me against the side of a building. My vision blurs in and out, and I groan when her hands come to my side, pressing against my wound.

" Shit ." Josie repeats the curse over and over, and I let out a lackluster snort. "You're going to be fine. I've got you."

"I don't know if I've ever heard you curse so many times in a row."

She lets out a huff of terrified laughter. It's no time to laugh, but I guess that's just how we're both dealing with this.

Fuck. Am I going to die?

My side has gone slick and warm, and I tilt my head to the sky to avoid seeing all the red I know is pooling underneath me.

The sky is clear and blue.

How peaceful.

"Now's a good time to tell me I told you so," I groan as Josie rips part of her blouse and ties it around my middle.

"Not the time, Mo," Josie says. "Not the time."

"Isn't it though?" I squeak as Josie secures a too-tight knot over my wound.

"Nope," she says, suddenly sounding resolute. "You're going to be fine."

Footsteps sound at my left, rounding the corner of the alley.

"Get her back to Anwynn." Josie's voice has never sounded so powerful, so commanding. A shiver runs through me, whether from her voice or how cold it's gotten. "We have an emergency tonic in the drawer of my office. Get her there and make her drink it."

I crack an eye to see Wes standing, mouth agape at Josie's wrath.

" Now !" she yells, which gets him to move.

"Yes, Boss," he says, running to my side and lifting me into his arms.

As I'm whisked away into shadow—the last thing I see is Josie standing above our attacker, emptying another round into his stomach.

My lashes flutter open, and I wince, the already dim lighting in the room too much for my pounding head. I scan the dark wood frame and silk sheets, realizing that I'm in Nora's bedroom.

Someone shifts at my side, a rustling of cotton as they lean forward in the chair that's been pulled close to the bed.

My muscles ache, chills skitter over my skin, and my head throbs with every beat of my pulse.

"You're awake," Josie says, almost shocked. "How are you feeling?"

I turn my head, my cheek resting against the pillow. Josie's sporting a nasty bruise under one eye and a split lip, but otherwise she is unscathed.

"Like I could use a fucking drink," I huff.

Josie's head tilts to the ceiling. She rubs her weary eyes with an exasperated smile.

"I will get you a million drinks. But only after the doc clears you."

I try to sit up, but wince at a sharp ache in my side. Josie helps me into a sitting position with careful hands, and I realize I'm in a set of oversized button-up pajamas. Running my hand across my stomach, my fingers don't brush over any bandages, though there are some wrapped around my palms and one on my forehead. I tug up the shirt, revealing the pale expanse of my stomach, completely devoid of any wound or scar.

"What the hell happened?" I ask, pulling my shirt back down. "And please tell me you were the one to dress me."

Josie scoots the chair closer. "Wes got you the tonic fast enough, but you had already lost a lot of blood. It didn't heal everything, only the worst of it. You've been asleep for a couple of hours."

"Shit."

"Yeah," she says. "And yes, I was the one to change you. I gave you a spare set from my closet. I hope you don't mind."

My lips twist as I finger the soft striped cotton. "You wear men's pajamas?"

"They're more comfortable."

"I prefer silk to cotton," I say, pulling pink to Josie's cheeks.

"I can go to your apartment and pack you some of your clothes if you want," she offers. "Doc said you should stay on bed rest for a few days. Even if you look healed, your body needs time to recover."

I nod, looking down at my lap. Worrying my lip, I twist the extra fabric of the pajama sleeves around my fisted hand.

I don't know what it is about the texture of the cotton on my palm, but it makes me all too cognizant of the way it rubs against my body. I'm suddenly acutely aware of how heavy the sheets are and how clammy they are making my feet—of how my heart is beating too fast in my chest and how each one of my breaths doesn't fill my lungs as they should.

"Um, Josie?" I say.

"Yeah?"

"Why did this happen?" I ask. My throat constricts, emotion welling at the underside of my jaw as I try, with all my might, to hold back the impending spiral creeping on. "Why would someone attack us like that? I know the Seelie don't like us, and I know House Pride is having issues with the exiles but?—"

"This isn't the exiles, Imogen," Josie says, a serious expression shuttering her expression. "This is Patience. He is why. He's tormenting Nora."

"But why?" I ask. "Because he killed her parents and she got away? She was a child ." A frantic need to understand rolls over me. "Because she tried to buy tonics off the exiles? It doesn't make sense to me."

"Sometimes life doesn't make sense," Josie murmurs and I scoff.

Anger bubbles in my stomach, a churning boil at the unanswered questions.

I am Lust of the Unseelie; I'm the holder of people's secrets. I'm the one who should know all the answers. But right now, I feel like I've been given a test without having been taught the material. I'm trying to reason out my responses with only context clues.

My shoulders sag, that anger in my stomach overcome with self-doubt.

No, I'm barely a House leader, struggling like I am. I've known as much for a long while.

I never should have been Lust. Isn't that why I'm already half-way out the door? Handing over more responsibility to Leo with each day that passes?

I'm out of my depth here.

"First, this Virtue kills a family from your House, then burns one of your warehouses and leaves your supplier for dead. Then , they try to kill us?" I list, ticking off a finger with each event. "This feels bigger than retaliation for some petty revenge plot."

"That's because it is bigger than us, Imogen. It's because she's—" Josie cuts herself off with a frustrated groan—she sounds more irritated than I've ever heard her before. She scrubs both hands over her face. When she pulls them away, she levels me with a pained expression. "Because Nora's a threat ."

My own anger fades in an instant, regret filling its place in my gut.

"Because she's a soul-stealer?" I ask.

Josie glances at the bedroom door, which stands open a crack, a small sliver of light filtering in from the living room.

"You should ask her yourself," Josie whispers.

A commotion sounds beyond the door, footsteps and shouts collide in the hall outside the bedroom, cutting off that sliver of light from the cracked door.

"Let me see her."

"She's in stable condition, but she will need rest, Pride. You should let her sleep and come back when?—"

The door bursts open and there, with light haloed around her like an avenging god, Nora stands.

Her chest rises and falls with heavy breaths.

In a few frantic steps, she's at my side. Reaching out with a shaking hand, she pauses. She pulls her hand back. Her eyes are wide and wild as they scan over me; her searing gaze is tangible as it lands on my face. It burns a trail over my lips, cresting over my cheeks and up my nose until, finally, it meets mine.

"Hi," she says.

"Hi," I whisper.

Nora's hands flex at her sides. I reach out, my hand waiting for hers.

It's the sign she needs to move. Nora falls to her knees at my side and squeezes my hand. She lifts it to her mouth, turning it over and placing a gentle kiss to my pulse point.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

My throat is tight again, and I can't find it in me to speak, so I nod.

Her lips form a hard line, taking a deep breath through her nose.

"Good," she says, clearing her throat. "Good." Nora doesn't let go of my hand as she tilts her head to address Josie. Her voice spreads, as slow and cold as frost, through the room. "What were you thinking, taking her out there?"

"Nora, I?—"

"I don't want to hear excuses," she snaps. "We talked about this before I left. You were supposed to watch her. Protect her. You, of all people, know better."

Josie doesn't respond. She turns her head to the wall, jaw feathering, and accepts the verbal lashing.

But what happened isn't Josie's fault. She doesn't deserve to be reprimanded for doing what I asked. We were lucky that she and Wes were unharmed, and it sounds like a miracle that I survived.

Nora should be focusing on the good. She should be thanking Josie for her quick action, not scolding her.

"How did they even know where you guys were? Hattie says you were at some shop in?—"

"Nora," I cut her off. "Stop it."

The silence in the room is deafening. Nora's green eyes are a dark, churning sea when they slide back to me.

"It was my idea," I say.

"It doesn't matter if it was your idea?—"

"Yes, it does." My voice is firm, my grip on Nora's hand firmer. "I pulled rank and made her take me." It wasn't the full truth, but I hoped that it convinced Nora to go easy on her best friend. "She took proper precautions, tried to talk me out of it too. But you know I can be as stubborn as you when I want to be."

I run my thumb over Nora's knuckles, realizing her fingers are bare. Pulses of anger bounce off her skin; it's one of few times in the past ten years that her inner turmoil has broken through her fortified mental shields.

"Your anger is misplaced," I say, easing my tone. "She saved me."

Nora heaves a great sigh, head falling back. Her eyes are screwed shut with crow's feet deep along the outer edges.

"You're right," she says, eyes still closed. She clears her throat. "I'm sorry, Josie."

"It's okay," Josie says, quiet.

Then, as quickly as she entered the room, Nora's standing and storming away.

"He's a dead man walking," she growls before she slams the bedroom door shut.

It takes a moment for me to register what happened. I'm stunned, silent and still, left staring at the closed door.

"She'll be back," Josie whispers.

"She better come back," I say, shaking my head. "I almost died, and she's storming off?"

"She needs to cool down. She has a right to be angry."

A war of emotions clash in my stomach. I could be angry too, but my body is tired.

My mind is tired too.

Josie sighs, crumbling against the armchair. "You really scared me, Mo."

"I know."

Her brown eyes are dark, like soaked soil after the rain. "Please don't try to convince me to take you across the Veil ever again."

I snort, though it lacks all humor. "I have no desire to go back there now."

"Also, before I forget," Josie says, reaching behind the armchair. She pulls out a solid wooden box and holds it out to me. "I hope it's not too soon. But I wanted you to know I grabbed it after I swept the building."

I take it, gently placing it on the covers of the bed. I tip the lip open, only enough to reveal a peak of the guns I bought for Nora and Josie.

An uncomfortable itch comes over me as I stare at the weapons. I ignore the feeling and close the box, putting it to the side.

A sad smile twitches my lips.

"Thank you," I whisper.

Tears well in my eyes, and my hands start to shake. Breathing becomes hard, my lungs taking staggered gulps of air that catch in my throat. I think the adrenaline in my blood has finally cleared, because my limbs ache, exhaustion clawing at them in tandem with the emotions swelling in my gut.

My cheeks are wet, and I swipe at them, but it doesn't help.

"Thank you, Josie," I repeat.

"Do you need a?—"

I nod my head frantically. "Please."

The empath who can read minds silently reads mine; she lowers herself into the bed next to me, pulling me into a warm hug. I curl into her side, burrowing into her body heat as sobs rack my body.

"Did all that really happen?" I ask.

"Unfortunately."

My laugh is a sardonic bark between my sobs. "That's fucking crazy."

"Yeah, it is," she says. "But you're okay." Josie whispers platitudes and rubs soothing circles on my back until, finally, exhaustion succeeds in pulling me back into sleep. "We're okay."