Chapter 25

With my elbows braced on a metal railing, I watched the first rays of sunlight hit the Manhattan skyline. Golden hues lit the east-facing windows, turning the dark wall of skyscrapers into a vivid reflection of the emerging dawn. The calm waters of the East River glimmered under the Brooklyn Bridge stretching across to the far bank.

Taking in the view, I let my spinning, planning, plotting mind settle. I felt like a celluloid superhero overlooking the early morning cityscape, finding a moment of peaceful contemplation in the aftermath of a climactic battle.

Come to think of it, I had all the prerequisites for superhero-dom: Orphan? Check. Crazy inhuman abilities? Check. Evil nemesis? A skillful and accomplished love interest? The untenable weight of responsibility burdening my unprepared shoulders? Check, check, and check.

All I was missing was a higher vantage point for my solo moment of self-reflection. I should've been perched on the edge of an urban tower, cape flapping in the breeze, but since I lacked the necessary supersonic flight and/or web-slinging acrobatics to ascend the Empire State Building, I was relegated to sea level with the regular folk.

I hadn't even chosen this spot for its breathtaking view. To my right, in the shadow of the towering bridge supports, was a ferry terminal where I would board a buoyant bus in—I checked my phone's clock—ten minutes.

Assuming the no doubt countless number of agents and bounty hunters searching for my fugitive self didn't catch up to me first.

I absently rubbed at the dried blood marring my black slacks—either from Vinny's horrific chest wound or from putting a dagger through Tyrian's ribs. The fate of both men sent a sickening roil through my gut. I had no idea if my favorite frosty frenemy was alive. He'd saved Lienna's life and, for all I knew, sacrificed his own in the process.

As for Tyrian, my strongest feeling about his death was numbness. I'd ended a handful of lives since becoming an MPD agent, but it'd always been in self-defense or in defense of someone else. Logically, I knew killing him had been necessary, and I'd have to deal with the moral fallout later.

My thumb slid across my phone, unlocking it to reveal the MPD notice I'd opened before pulling the SIM card out of my phone and throwing it in a sewer. The text was emblazoned in my brain, but I studied it again anyway, letting my new reality sink in.

Kit Morris was the most wanted criminal in the mythic world.

Yep. The most. King of the hill. Top of the heap. The shiny new bounty on my head was a shocking twenty million dollars. And no, I hadn't accidentally read that number with one or two extra zeros.

My bounty was bigger than the Crystal Druid's, Floris Visser's, and the leaders of the international rogue guild Red Rum combined. If you thought that seemed excessive for murdering a single man, you weren't wrong, because I was actually on the hook for two murders. Those Consilium bastards were blaming me for killing Ashbluff too.

The pool of anxiety in my stomach grew deeper and murkier. When I'd taken the dagger from Darius, I'd known it would be bad. The worst kind of bad. I'd expected to be captured or killed beneath that giant anti-Psychica array.

I would have been if not for Lienna. She'd saved my life by setting off her gravity bomb spell. I should've known that leaving her behind wasn't an option; she wouldn't allow it.

I was alone now, though, and all I could think was that I wished she was here at my side, backing me up and keeping me grounded.

Sighing, I scanned the river. A little boxy shape on the water was making its slow, chugging way toward the terminal. It was almost time to say goodbye to New York, New York.

I returned my attention to the bounty listing. Even more surprising than the number of zeros was the big, bold instruction following that juicy dollar figure: Kit Morris was to be captured alive.

Any other rogue would have had a dead or alive bounty, but the Consilium needed me still breathing. They had plans for me—plans related to the weapon they'd paid thirty million dollars to acquire. Together, we represented fifty million dollars of Consilium ambition.

My hand went to the pocket of my tailored black slacks. I slid out a piece of paper, unfolded it, and smoothed out the creases.

Filling the page was the levitating man surrounded by magical and elemental symbols. I'd taken it from the Crow and Hammer's boardroom days ago, not realizing I would carry it around the world before I could return it to our collection.

The sun symbol on the man's forehead seemed to blaze against the white paper, drawing my gaze before I dropped my eyes to the figure's feet, which hovered above the ground.

I concentrated on my own feet. Slowly, a feeling of weightlessness filtered through my body. The soles of my shoes parted company with the concrete.

With a thump, I dropped back to the earth and leaned on the railing again, still studying the drawing. Thank Hermes I'd figured that one out before merging my atoms with the bottom of an elevator shaft.

Levitation—the rare psychic brother to telekinesis, where instead of moving objects with your mind, you could move your own body.

I couldn't fly like Superman, but falls from any height were less of a concern for me.

Tucking my phone back into my pocket, I considered the symbols surrounding the levitating man. Brief memories flitted through my brain like slides on a projector, flashing past almost too fast to follow.

Reading Lienna's mind by accident. Figuring out telekinesis while Kade's prisoner. My increasing ability to sense psychic energy.

The scorch marks on the train. The smell of sulfur on my clothes.

Lienna theorizing that consciously tapping into my reality warping ability had "unlocked" something inside me.

And Druthers's remark about fortunate timing—about now having "the artifact and the psycho warper."

The Consilium had plans for me that somehow involved a Viking queen's ancient artifact. But what did a thousand-year-old weapon have to do with me?

I folded the paper with quick movements. If the Consilium wanted me, they could come and get me. Now that they'd turned me into a fugitive, I could play by my own rules. They'd made my life hell, and I was more than happy to return the favor tenfold.

Nestling the paper safely inside my pocket again, I turned around.

A dozen men in black combat gear paused their stealthy approach. They weren't marked with MPD badges or guild insignia, so I couldn't tell whether they were bounty hunters or Consilium goons. But they looked competent, split into two groups to block both ends of the wide walking path.

I wasn't sure about the Viking artifact, but I had a pretty good idea why the Consilium wanted to get their greasy paws on me, and I was going to use that knowledge to turn myself into their worst nightmare.

With their ambush spoiled, the combat team drew an array of weapons. The air sizzled with magic about to be unleashed. These guys could taste that twenty-mil payday ripe for the picking.

They were about to get a very rude awakening.

Grinning tightly, I lifted my hands, calling on my magic—magic I was only just beginning to understand.

The Consilium would rue the day they messed with this psycho warper.