Chapter 11

"I don't like this idea," I muttered.

Aaron, Justin, Blake, and I stood shoulder to shoulder, staring up a wooden ladder. We'd found the hatch in the garage ceiling—not immediately noticeable since it was painted the same scarlet as everything else—that led to a shoddily constructed storage area made of plywood screwed to the ceiling beams.

It was the only hiding spot in the garage.

"Do you have a better idea of how to spy on whatever plans the cult has for today?" Aaron asked.

"No." I wrinkled my nose. "But whatever that circled date on the calendar means, it might not be happening here."

"Which is why only two of us will go up there, and the other two will watch the house."

My gaze flicked to Aaron, and he surreptitiously tilted his head toward Blake. He didn't need to explain the covert indication. I knew what it meant: he didn't trust Blake and wanted to be the one partnered with the terramage. And since it didn't make sense to shut two powerful mages in an attic, that meant Justin and I were getting ceiling-spy duty.

Yay.

"Justin and I can take the attic, then," I declared like it was entirely my idea. "Better that you and Blake stay mobile."

The terramage arched his eyebrows, then nodded.

It took only a few minutes to prepare, then I was climbing the ladder, a flashlight in one hand. The beam shone across dancing dust motes as my head rose into the storage area. Mr. Cultist had an excessive collection of cardboard boxes stacked all around the hatch, leaving a small square of empty space in the center.

I crawled through half an inch of dust, my nerves jumping with each creak of the ceiling under my weight. Lying on my stomach, I pressed my face to a crack between sheets of plywood. Surprisingly, I had an unobstructed view of the lectern and silver circle.

"Looks good," I said. "I can see the room pretty w—"

I broke off with a sneeze. Ugh, the dust.

The ceiling creaked as Justin climbed up after me. As he scooted along the plywood, I spied Aaron walking into the middle of the circle. He peered up at us.

"Dust is sifting down," he observed, "but I can't see anything. As long as you two don't move, no one will have any idea."

"Got it."

He tugged a black earpiece with a curly cord from his pocket and plugged it into his phone's headphone jack. "Mic check."

I got mine out—already plugged in—and hooked it over my ear. "Test."

"Test," he replied. "Seems good. We're heading for the trees now. I'll let you know when the homeowner returns or if anyone else shows up."

"We'll be here," I said unenthusiastically.

He grinned up at the ceiling, then walked out of view. His and Blake's footsteps clunked against the concrete floor, then the door shut, plunging the room below into darkness. A rattle as Aaron relocked the deadbolt. Silence.

I glanced at Justin, stretched out on his stomach beside me so our weight wouldn't bow the plywood, then flipped off my flashlight. Pitch blackness swamped us.

"Well, this is fun."

"It is, actually." Justin's voice floated out of the darkness. "Kind of. I've never done a stakeout before."

"Never?"

"It's more of a detective thing. I'm just a beat cop."

"Oh." I flipped the mic off on my earpiece so Aaron wouldn't have to listen to our chatter, then pillowed my chin on my folded arms. "I've experienced a lot of new things in the last eight months."

"Like spying on cults?"

"Not specifically. Lots of other stuff, though." I rolled my eyes up in thought. "Rescued Aaron when a guild with a vendetta took him hostage. Saved a teen girl from an evil sorceress. Stopped a rogue guild from enslaving a powerful fae. Hunted the demon that got loose in Vancouver. Battled mutant werewolves …" My nose scrunched. "Jeez. Now that I'm listing it off, that's a lot of crazy shit."

"That's what I was thinking," Justin muttered. "Except ‘dangerous' as well as ‘crazy.' Also … mutant werewolves? Are you serious?"

"Yeah, unfortunately." I twitched my shoulders in a shrug he couldn't see. "I guess it was all pretty dangerous, but I was with Aaron, Kai, and Ezra for most of it, and they're top-notch mages and experienced bounty hunters."

The plywood creaked as he shifted. "I don't mean this in an offensive way, but if they're so good, why did they need you in those dangerous situations?"

"Well, they …" A cold, sinking feeling dragged at my gut. "They didn't need me …it was more that I was involved. But I was useful!" I added defensively. "I helped."

He was quiet, and I bit back another round of defensive explanations for why I'd been part of all those crazy/dangerous situations. Going into detail would mean revealing I'd gotten myself into most of that trouble.

"So …" he murmured after a moment, "compared to evil sorceresses, rogue guilds, and mutant werewolves, how dangerous is this?"

"Um. Well." I squinted at the impenetrable darkness. "Depends on what we're dealing with. If the cultist dude is just a regular mythic, then the danger is minimal. Aaron and Blake can stomp your average mythic into the ground. They could stomp a whole gang of average mythics, in fact."

"That's the best scenario," Justin observed. "What's the worst case?"

"Ah. That would be …the cultist turns out to be a demon mage."

"I'm not sure I want the answer to this question, but …what's a demon mage?"

I sighed unhappily. "It's a person who's got a demon possessing them. They're undisputed as the scariest, deadliest type of mythic—but it's super unlikely this cultist is one. Demon mages are extremely rare. Kai told me once that at any given time, you could count the number of demon mages in the whole world on both hands."

"But there were eleven in Enright, weren't there?"

"Yeah, and that's the reason the Enright extermination is infamous among mythics."

"I see. And if the suspect here is a demon mage, what's the plan?"

I pressed my lips together. "Don't get caught by him."

"And if we get caught?"

"We run like hell." And try not to get obliterated.

Justin was quiet for a moment. "You said you were involved in those other dangerous situations. Are you here because Aaron brought you along, or …"

"No." My tone hardened. "I dragged him along."

"Why?"

"I told you. To save my friend."

A longer pause. "Does your friend know how dangerous this is? Would he want you to risk your life for him?"

At the moment, Ezra didn't want me doing anything for him—but I tried not to think about that.

"Justin …" I turned my head and rested my cheek on my arms. "Remember that time Dad was shaking me for messing up dinner, and you hit him to make him stop?"

His sharp exhale was loud in the quiet space. "Yeah."

"Dad beat the shit out of you."

"Yeah."

"And afterward, I cried and yelled that I hated you. Remember?"

"Yeah, but I thought he was going to break your neck. I had to—"

"I know. My point is, you still did it, even though I was so mad at you for getting hurt because of me." I puffed out a breath. "Ezra is already mad at me. I'm doing this anyway."

"You care about this guy that much?"

I turned my face the other way, hiding from his gaze even though he couldn't see me, and admitted the truth for a second time. "I love him."

Justin's answering silence was full of surprise and disbelief. "Does he know how you feel?"

My brother knew me way too well.

"Not …no. I haven't told him. I just …it's hard to …"

"I know, Tori. I get it."

He did, didn't he? Every human being was supposed to have at least two people who loved them unconditionally, but Justin and I had gotten a mom who'd ditched us and a dad who'd almost killed us. The word "love" set my teeth on edge.

"Do you ever think about them?" I whispered. "And wonder what they're doing now?"

He didn't need to ask who I meant. "If you ever saw Dad again, what would you do?"

I turned my head again, frowning in the direction of his face. That wasn't the response I'd been expecting. "I moved across the country so I wouldn't have to see him."

"Me too." Justin cleared his throat. "I've been meaning to tell you …I know this is a stupid time, but since we weren't talking before …"

"Just spit it out already."

"Dad is in hospice care. Liver failure. He has two to four months left, they expect."

I stared at the darkness, a strange feeling buzzing in my chest. I couldn't define it. It was neither happiness nor grief, relief nor regret. It was like a weird sort of emptiness.

Maybe it was the feeling of not caring when you were probably supposed to care.

"Do you want to see him?" Justin asked softly.

"No. Do you?"

"No. I only know because Aunt Leila called me."

"Did she ask for money while she had you on the phone?"

He sighed. "Yes."

"Did you give her any?"

"No."

"Good. She extorted enough from me when I lived with her." I fiddled with the curly cord of my earpiece. "Justin …why do you think Mom never came back?"

When he said nothing, I squinted toward his unseen face. When he still said nothing, I untucked an arm and reached out. My searching hand found his shoulder.

"Justin?"

He exhaled harshly. "We should be quiet in case the homeowner returns—"

"Justin."

His shoulder twitched in a rigid sort of quiver. He exhaled again, the breath even rougher than his last. "Mom …she did come back. Just before Christmas. You'd already left town for your holiday trip."

The plywood heaved under me—or was it my understanding of the world that was heaving?

"Why—" My voice cracked, and I swallowed. "Why didn't you say anything?"

His shoulder moved and he caught my hand. When he wrapped his fingers tightly around mine, the world rocked again. Suddenly, I didn't want to hear what he was about to tell me.

"Mom didn't come back for us. She came for her own closure. All she wanted was to make sure we were all good so she could let us go."

Now I felt like I was falling instead of quaking. "I don't understand."

"She didn't want to worry about us or feel guilty anymore. She wanted to …to get on with her new life."

"Her …new life?"

His hand tightened around mine. "She moved on, Tori. Remarried …started a new family." A tremor shook his voice. "She left a card for you. I have it …if you want it. I wasn't sure you'd want it."

"But doesn't she want to see me?"

"She asked …but you don't want to see her, Tori. Please trust me on this. Seeing her …it was …it was worse than the night she left." The tremor was back in his voice, his hoarse whisper deepened by pain. "She could hardly look at me, and tearfully telling me how happy she was to see me while inching toward the door—"

He broke off with a curse. His hand crushed mine, but I didn't complain that it hurt.

"You don't need that," he said huskily. "We don't both need to suffer that."

I closed my eyes tightly, fighting back the sting of tears. The news of my father's impending death had triggered an unpleasant emptiness, but my mother's rejection was straight-up agony. How much harder for Justin had it been to face her and see that rejection firsthand?

"Keep her card for me," I whispered. "I'll read it …someday."

Exhaling slowly, Justin loosened his grip on my hand. "After her visit, I realized I had to do better for you. For us. I spent my whole Netherlands trip thinking about how to fix things between us, and as soon as I got back, I arranged to go on leave so I could—"

My eyes popped open. "You're on leave? For how long?"

"For however long it takes. You're my family, Tor. You and me. I'll do anything to be a family again."

Two tears spilled down my cheeks. I drew in a deep, steadying breath—and got a lungful of dust. Violent coughing overtook me, which just stirred up more dust. Justin awkwardly patted my back as I hacked.

"Ugh," I gasped as the fit abated. "Right. Okay. So I guess I'll start with the basics."

"Basics? What basics?"

"Mythics 101. Are you ready?"

"Oh. Yes, absolutely. Hit me with everything."

I grinned into the darkness. "‘Everything' is a lot. Let's see how you do with the mythic ABCs first." I pillowed my head on my arms again, getting as comfortable as possible. "There are five classes of magic, and the acronym is SPADE, so remember that. S is for Spiritalis, which includes …"

As my whispered crash course filled the musty attic, afternoon trickled into evening. How strange to be lying in a dark room beside my brother, explaining magic while we waited for a mythic cult to convene in the room below so we could spy on them together. I just hoped Justin's crash course didn't turn into a practical exam before the night was over.

The worst-case scenario I'd described to Justin lurked in my thoughts. The summoner who'd turned Ezra into a demon mage was dead, but there was still a chance, however slim, that if we continued this investigation, we might encounter the deadliest of all mythics.

And Ezra, who was both our friend and—under normal circumstances—well in control of his demon, was frightening enough when he let his demonic side come out to play.