Chapter 14

Maeve, please—don"t do anything rash. You have other options.

Like what, Alistair?

Conspicuous silence.

Exactly.

We need a bit more time to come up with a plan. I understand your fear, and it's not without merit. But giving yourself up to the IRRC research lab has to be the very last option. Because I know Caspian, and I know Sterling and Fin…and Maeve, if you turn yourself in, they"ll just break you out. And if three vampires—or should I say four, because I wouldn't be able to let them go alone—assault a Tribunal Prison or an IRRC research lab? It would trigger an intra-immortal war, which would certainly and swiftly spill over into the mortal world. I"m not exaggerating. It would trigger a global event. Especially because of who and what you are, and what you represent. You CANNOT turn yourself in, Maeve.

So what, then? Keep running? Keep slaughtering fae who are just doing their jobs and following orders? For how long?

More silence.

I don"t know, Maeve. I don"t have all the answers. I just know surrendering yourself right now isn"t one of them.

I have so much blood on my hands, Alistair. At heart, I think part of me is still a teenage girl. My body may be an immortal, a vaer, as Mom called me. But my spirit is still a teenage mortal girl…who has slaughtered dozens of fae. My own kind. Fae are my kind. Vampires are my kind. I can"t keep doing this, Alistair.

In answer, I feel his mind curl around mine, wrapping me up in his familiar psychic embrace, the soothing warmth of his presence.

I know. I know. We"ll find a solution, soon, I promise.

I blink, and return to the bathroom, mentally. When I speak to the others in the coven via our mental connection—idly, I wonder if there"s a word for that—I tend to blank out the world around me, seeing nothing, hearing nothing.

Caspian is watching me patiently. "Alistair?"

I nod. "Yeah. He thinks turning myself in is a catastrophically bad idea. He says it would lead to war."

Caspian blinks in surprise. "I know he can be a bit dramatic sometimes—we vampires tend to have a flair for drama. But that seems…like an extreme amount of doomsaying."

"I thought so at first," I admit, "but, unfortunately, the more I think about it, the more I think he has a point."

"Oh? how so?"

"If I was captured, or turned myself in, how long do you think you"d last before you came to get me out?"

I see the wheels start turning. "Oh. I…yeah. I see."

"And Fin and Stirling? You think they"d let me stay prisoner for long? And Alistair? You think he"d let the three of you assault a Tribunal prison or IRRC lab alone, without him?"

He blows out a frustrated breath. "I get it."

"How long, Cas?"

"A week, at the outside."

"Right, exactly. And then…what? You think they"d just be like, okay, cool, whatever?"

"No. Vampires attacking a fae facility, especially an official facility…he"s right. It"d be war. And immortal wars have a nasty tendency to spill over into mortal affairs."

"Exactly what Alistair said." I take his hands, standing between his thighs. "I just don"t know where that leaves me—leaves us. We've both almost died several times. I"ve killed I don"t even know how many fae, destroyed property…it"s an untenable situation, Cas. I just…"

A thought percolates at the back of my brain—ticklish, faint.

"Maeve?"

I hold up a hand, and he falls silent. I stand still, trying to empty my mind and let the thought form on its own. I turn my mental gaze inward at the roiling sea of magic within me—I don"t reach for it, but merely watch it, meditatively.

My grandfather. Elias Sparrow: A good father. Loving. Kind. Gentle—Mom"s words from the video echo through my head.

I freeze in place, stop breathing, focusing on letting the idea form.

And then, it clicks into place.

Loose, vague, probably stupid and certainly destined to fail, but…better than what we"ve been doing.

"I need to find my grandfather."

"What?" Caspian hops down and comes around to face me. "You need to find who?"

I repeat it out loud, and across the coven bond. "I need to see my grandfather." A pause. "What"s the word for how we speak to each other across the coven bond?"

Bloodlink,Alistair answers. And…why? What does your grandfather have to do with anything?

I realize I never shared with my coven the things about my past I learned from Andreas and the video.

Speaking aloud to Caspian while broadcasting across the bloodlink to the others—which is trickier than it sounds, being akin to trying to talk to one person on the phone while texting someone else—I relate the things I learned about my mother, her past, how I was conceived, all of it.

When I"m done, there"s stunned silence.

Eventually, Alistair breaks it. And you want to find your grandfather and do…what?

"I don"t know!" I snap, to him and across the bloodlink. "I don"t fucking know. Get him to help me. Make him do…something. He"s a high-ranking official in the Immortal Tribunal, Andreas said. He has to have sway. It was his own daughter who conceived the first hybrid, after all. Plus, he"s my grandfather, and I look just like her. Maybe he"ll…I don"t know. Have a soft spot for me."

"Or maybe he"ll turn you in and finish the job—make you a science experiment," Caspian growls. "Turn you into a broodmare, like he did his own goddamn daughter."

"That"s a distinct possibility," I admit. "Which is why I"m not proposing I just pop by his house and be like, ‘Hey grandpa." I"m suggesting we…well…kidnap him."

Silence.

You want to kidnap your grandfather?Fin says across the bloodlink, sounding both shocked and amused. And then what?

"Again, I don"t fucking know, Fin. I guess I'm just hoping he"ll have some kind of a solution. Or ideas, or something. If you have a better idea, I"d love to hear it. I just…I have to do something besides run. They"re not going to stop. And it"s a numbers game anyway—except the numbers are against us. Eventually, they"ll win. Caspian will die. You"ll all die because of me. And I can"t have that." I don the fluffy robe again, tying it in place. I can feel them all, their individual minds surrounding me, enveloping me with their unique psychic identity. "So…I have to try something else. I know it"s a vague, shitty plan, but it"s all I"ve got."

The silence following my little speech is tense, thick, and deep.

It"s broken abruptly by a shrill ringing—an alarm. I glance at Caspian, who frowns and then vanishes. My eyes adjust, following him as he tugs on a pair of shorts and darts into the main living area. There"s a digital screen in the wall beside the door, which he taps on a few times, bringing up a view of the main floor of the haven.

A figure is stumbling across the dim, empty dance floor, shambling, lurching. The movements are not that of a drunk, but rather of someone in extreme pain.

When did the haven empty out? An idle question whose answer doesn't matter; I recognize the figure.

Andreas.

Caspian taps the screen again, bringing up a different view—this one is closer, with better lighting, putting Andreas into clarity.

He"s been beaten almost unrecognizable.

His face is battered, dripping blood. Ripped, cut, bruised. Hair matted. Drooling blood.

I cry out, and before Caspian can stop me, I"m bolting for the door. He somehow reaches it before me, stops me. Unlocks the door and races down the stairs, and the next, until we burst out onto the balcony overlooking the main dance floor.

He must sense me because he looks up. His eyes meet mine. "Maeve."

And he collapses.