Chapter 21

”I have a high level of confidence in the stability of my mRNA formula, to the extent I would assert a willingness to administer injections to persons of personal significance. However, such a scenario remains purely hypothetical, due to the ethical and legal ramifications…”

-Excerpt from the personal journal of Dr. Claude Foster, Director of Faeology at Mesmeric Labs

FANTASIA

“Gentlemen,” Archer says, the epitome of nonchalance.

I squint against the light, keeping my hands up in front of my face to block as much of the beam as I can.

Archer takes a casual step forward, and the Scouts swing the light onto him.

“Stay where you are!” one of them says.

“Put the light down,” Archer says in a commanding voice.

My mouth drops open. I’m tempted to yell at Archer, tell him to stop being a fucking idiot before he gets us both killed, but I’m too afraid to speak.

The Scouts obviously don’t relent. They step closer.

“On your knees, now!”

“Drop your weapon,” Archer says, his voice wavering slightly.

“By order of the High Chancellor, we are authorized to shoot on sight if you are uncooperative.”

At this, Archer gives me an indecipherable look. Putting his hands up, he slowly drops to his knees. “Stall them, Tasia.” His voice is calm, steady. “Don’t worry about me. They won’t shoot you. Stall them.”

“I said shut up.” One of the Scouts steps forward, hitting Archer in the head with his weapon.

The air catches in my throat, and I gasp as I watch him topple over and hit the cement with a thud. Every fiber of my being begs me to run to him, to check on him, but the persisting memory of the Scouts killing my parents keeps me rooted in place.

They can and they will end a life if they choose.

I stay frozen, careful not to even breathe too loudly, for fear of offending the Scouts. I’m already under arrest; there is absolutely nothing I can do to avoid being taken in. Archer can’t possibly know they won’t shoot me unless he believes they’re intent on bringing me in alive.

The light is finally lowered, and the Scouts make their way toward me with iron cuffs. I notice they both have prominent soul-shades—one a bright orange, the other a translucent blue-green.

It shocks me that their soul-shades aren’t black—the color of evil. Not for the first time, I wish my dad would’ve finished his research, so I would be able to understand the differences in color. The Scouts are inhumane, and I refuse to believe they’re anything less than evil.

“What am I under arrest for?” I ask in a high-pitched voice. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Shut it,” one of the Scouts spits.

“How much does the city pay you to turn on your own people, huh?” I glare at them. “Does it feel good? Working for the wealthy and shitting on your neighbors for a few silvers? Your friends and family proud of you? Fucking traitorous—”

“Don’t make me shoot you.”

“You won’t.” Then, playing with fire, I say, “You’re supposed to bring me in alive.”

“Don’t even bother reading her rights,” the Scout says to the other. “Just cuff her.”

“What about the guy?” He nudges Archer with his boot.

“Don’t fucking touch him!” I growl.

“He only wants the girl. Leave the—” A strangled cry rips from his throat.

The other Scout whips toward his companion. The lamp on his helmet spotlights a large, black beast that has its fangs buried deep in the first Scout’s leg.

In a flash, the beast releases its grip and lunges toward the other man. A bang echoes through the night as the Scout fires his weapon, but the animal sinks its teeth into his arm, unaffected.

As quickly as the commotion started, the alley grows silent again. Both the Scouts are slumped over on the ground. Their chests still rise and fall, but they’re out cold.

I carefully step back, not wanting to instigate the beast.

Too late.

It pounces, and I scream, closing my eyes.

I wait for the pain to come—the savage puncture of teeth.

Giant paws land on my chest, and something wet swipes my cheek. I flick open my eyes to face the beast, only to find that it’s—

“Scathe?” I whisper. “Holy shit.”

I drop to my knees, wrapping my arms around the Shepherd’s furry neck and inhaling his sweaty canine scent. After a brief thanks, given in the form of good boys and pets, I take the Scouts’ weapons and slide them under Godric’s SUV, out of reach, and crawl over to Archer.

Placing two fingers on his wrist, I check his pulse.

It’s strong and steady.

Thank Sirius.

Tears stream down my cheeks as I pull his head into my lap and brush his bangs to the side. There’s a gnarly lump on his temple and a bloodied gash cutting across his forehead.

My stomach quivers with rage, but I swallow it down.

“Scathe,” I whisper. “Where’s Godric? Can you get Godric?”

His ear twitches, and for a second, I’m convinced he can understand me. But when he looses a low whine and steps up to us, nudging Archer’s hand with his snoot, I lose hope that he understood my request.

I glance at the Scouts. How long will they be out for?

I need to get Archer out of here. We’re stuck in a dead-end alley. I don’t have the keys to Godric’s SUV. Maybe if Archer has his phone on him, I can find Godric’s number and call him.

Patting down Archer’s leather jacket and jeans, I locate his phone. Using his thumb to unlock the screen, I open the contacts and scroll down to Godric’s name. I press the dial icon and let the phone ring.

No answer.

I call twice more.

Nothing.

I shoot him a quick text, letting him know it’s an emergency and Archer’s been hurt.

Scathe whines again, nuzzling Archer’s cheek.

“I know, buddy,” I say. “I know.”

“Tasia?” Archer’s croaky voice says.

“Oh shit! Thank Gods.”

Coughing, he struggles to sit up. “Language.”

When he meets my eyes, humor twinkling in his expression, I don’t hesitate; I launch myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“Thank the Gods,” I repeat, burrowing my face into his neck. We’re both sweaty messes, but I couldn’t care less. “Your dog saved me.”

“I told you you’re safe with me… With us.” His hands splay out against my back, holding me in place. “We got you.”

We pull apart, and he stands, reaching down to pet Scathe. “Thanks, bud.”

“He b-bit them,” I stammer, pointing at the Scouts with a shaky hand. “They just…dropped.”

“Good.”

“How?”

“He’s not a Belgian Shepherd.” Archer clears his throat, sharing a glance with his dog. “He’s a…rare breed with a toxic venom.”

Scathe lets out a happy bark in response.

A thousand questions run through my mind. I swallow down that information for now. We can come back to it later. After all, I’ve seen weirder things in this city. “Archer…this is my fault. Stace and Alisha—they warned me there’s a bounty on my head.”

“I know.” He grimaces.

“Someone knows we’re here. We led them to your mother’s. I’m so sorry.”

“The building is warded,” he says. “You’re safe…inside.”

“Warded?”

“It’s a—type of magic. Like glamour for objects instead of people.”

“Yeah I figured it— The hell is a glamour?” I mutter. “No wonder your gang goes undetected through the city. You guys use magic. Do you work with the fae?”

“Not exactly.” Archer hovers over the Scouts, checking their pulses. Then he pulls back, stroking his chin repetitively. “My glamour didn’t work,” he mutters. “It should’ve. I’ve recharged.”

So that’s how he’s been getting everyone to do what he says. Holy shit. My eyes widen. Except…if he can force people to do what he wants…

“Archer Acciai, have you ever glamoured me?”

He turns to me, blinking a few times as if processing my question. “I tried once—the night we met.”

My shoulders relax. “You felt wrong, couldn’t go through with it?”

“No—you were immune.”

I snort a laugh at the unexpected answer. The Scouts’ prone bodies sober me up real quick though, a grimness taking over again. “Like them?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Different. Unless they have magic—which I doubt—these guys must’ve already been glamoured…by someone else.”

“Uh, who else can do that? Kinda rare, right? In a city full of humans?” I take in the rich golden aura around him, reminding myself that he is human, after all. Fae don’t have soul-shades. At least not ones we can see. My dad was certain.

“You’d be surprised,” he mutters.

“Can Godric glamour?” I ask. Archer gives me a look of surprise. I take that as a yes. “Speaking of, I tried to call him.”

Archer reaches for his phone, glancing at the screen with a scowl.

A brick drops into the pit of my stomach. “Would Godric—would he turn me in?” I ask, unsure.

“Never.” But Archer’s features tighten in contemplation, which does little to settle my nerves.

“He said he loved Sofia…” If he knows who I am, who my father is, he likely blames my father for Sofia’s death. “What if he wants retribution? What if he takes it out on me?”

“I trust Godric with my life, Tasia.”

“He knew we were here. He can glamour. He likely hates me. Archer, I’m no detective, but that sounds like means, motive, and opportunity to me.”

“Never…” Archer runs a hand through his hair, sharing a look with Scathe. The two engage in some sort of unsettling, silent conversation. After a few seconds, Archer breaks into a run, beckoning for me to follow.

We enter the building and head straight for the elevator. Archer pushes an unlabeled button. It turns black, then lights up with a green glow.

Well shit, that would explain why I couldn’t get the damn thing to work earlier.

When we get to the tenth floor, we sprint down the hallway to find Archer’s old apartment door wide open. Books lay scattered around chaotically, and pages flitter across the ground, as if someone has just strewn things about.

The small table is broken, the two chairs on their sides.

“Godric?” Archer calls out.

I notice a pair of shoes peeking out from behind the kitchen counter. “Over here!”

We rush toward the kitchen. Godric’s on his back. Blood gushes from his abdomen.

“Shit,” I say. Instinct takes over, and I grab a hand towel from the counter, pressing it to his wound. “I thought you said the building was safe!” I snap at Archer.

“It should’ve been,” he growls. He whips out his phone, calling someone and barking out instructions.

When he hangs up, I give him an apologetic look. “Guess he wasn’t the one who turned me in?”

Archer sighs, rubbing his brow. “I need to let the guys up. The elevator is only supposed to work for us.” He gestures at himself and Godric, confirming my earlier suspicion. “Stay here. Scathe will stay with you.”

He pauses long enough to give his dog a serious look, then jogs out of sight. Scathe whimpers, licking my hands as I hold the towel against Godric’s wound.

“For such a vicious creature, you’re a softie,” I whisper. “Just like your daddy, huh?”

Scathe’s blue eyes twinkle with mischief as he lays down beside Godric. With Godric’s wide frame taking up most of the floor, the three of us barely fit in the narrow kitchen.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood, my friend.” My eyes wander to the fridge, finding the photos of Archer and his family. There’s no father figure to be found in any of the photos. Nor are there any girlfriends. It’s only Archer, Godric, Sofia, and their mother. “I hope for Archer’s sake, you’re okay, you big brute.” I sniffle, trying to hold back the tears. “You’re all he’s got.” My voice cracks.

Scathe whines, lifting his head to nuzzle my hands again.

“In here!” Archer yells from the hallway. I turn my head, using my shoulder to dry my face while keeping my hands on Godric’s wound.

A flurry of boots pound into the apartment, and everything moves in a blur. Archer pulls me off Godric and into his arms, hugging me tight to his chest. We break apart to watch a couple of Nightcrawlers put Godric on a stretcher, stabilizing him and toting him out of the apartment.

A guy with a lime-green mohawk, which somehow almost perfectly matches his soul-shade, and a half-dozen jingling bracelets turns and salutes us, saying, “We’ll bring him to Doc’s. He’ll be fine. Strong pulse. Superficial wound. Looks worse than it is, boss.”

I notice this man doesn’t have the gang logo on his hand, like the two carrying Godric’s stretcher.

Archer gives him a responding nod and says, “Call me the moment he’s awake, Zeke.”

I stare at the spot in the kitchen where Godric was lying. The off-white tile is stained bright red. The pool of blood is so large that I don’t know how Godric could possibly be okay.

“Someone’s coming to clean it,” Archer murmurs in my ear. “He’ll be okay.”

I vaguely register myself nodding. He takes my hand, even though his friend’s blood stains my hands, and he leads me to the bathroom.

“I dropped the journal,” I mumble. When Archer doesn’t reply, I repeat myself, staring at the toilet. “I dropped the journal.”

“It’s okay.” He squeezes my hand.

Letting go, he reaches over to turn on the water. He checks it every few seconds, and when it’s a temperature he approves of, he turns to me and askes, “Clothes on or off?”

“What?” I frown.

“You’re in shock, Tasia. I’m not letting you leave like this.” He glances at my hands. “Let me get you cleaned up. Clothes on or off?”

“Off,” I murmur.

He nods, working efficiently to pull my shirt over my head. He fiddles with my bra, struggling to unclasp it, but I don’t help him. I don’t want to touch it and stain it. It’s stupid, but it’s all I can think about.

After he successfully removes my bra, he works the button of my jeans. But there’s nothing sexy about it. Nothing in Archer’s expression tells me he’s enjoying this. He’s careful not to touch my exposed skin, and he keeps his head down, staring intently at the floor.

“I need you to lift,” he says.

“What?”

He gives my pants a tug, and I realize he means I need to lift my foot. I oblige, one foot at a time. I repeat the movement as he slides off my panties.

When I’m fully naked, I step into the shower. Archer sheds his leather jacket, shirt, and pants, joining me a moment later wearing only his boxers.

Once I’m standing beneath the spray of water, staring at the spiral of red twisting down the drain, the tears fall.

I stand there and cry as Archer washes me. Once he’s done, he slides down into the tub and pulls me into his lap. The water sprays over us as he hugs my naked body tight to him. The skin-on-skin contact is amazing, comforting. It’s an intimacy I’ve never experienced before, and it makes me sob harder.

I cry because I’m fucking exhausted and overwhelmed.

Because I thought my dad was the good guy, but I didn’t know him at all.

Because I wanted there to be meaning to the magic he injected me with…but I’m nothing more than a subject for his studies.

Most of all, I cry for Archer and all he’s lost—and for Godric and what he almost lost.