Chapter 17

17

S leep evades her still, drowsiness threatening to overwhelm her but never taking her fully under, stranding her in the half-awake state of discomfort. She’s not alert, very few people would be after laying on a bed staring at nothing for hours, but she’s stubbornly…not asleep.

It’s awful.

She could reach out to Alette, see how long the sleeplessness kept around. Maison didn’t complain about anything, but then again, she’s not sure she’s ever complained, even with all the shit he’s had in his life, but something stops her from texting to ask. That there is some reason to not reveal to them about the weakness, about the side effect she’s experiencing.

Which is pretty ridiculous.

But the silence and the emptiness of the room stretches on, blurring the hours into boredom, until the faintest click of the door pulls her back to awareness.

She blinks her eyes back open into slits but remains still on the bed. There’s a pebble and a battery in her pocket, she can do a lot with that, resting her hand over her clothes.

The light doesn’t change.

Inhaling, she sits up as quietly as she can, the blankets pooling around her, before the door clicks again, and Killian steps inside, not even bothering to open the door.

He pauses, as if she caught him doing something he shouldn’t, and they stare at each other for a long second, before Chloe rubs her eyes to clear them.

“You weren’t actually sleeping,” he says, guarded.

“Nope,” Chloe says, then clears her throat, feeling about as disoriented as if she did take a nap.

Some people can nap without issue, and Chloe isn’t one of them on a good day.

“You should,” he says, still cautious.

“Probably,” Chloe agrees, then stretches, popping her back.

He skirts his way inside, like she’s about to attack him, as if the power balance wasn’t massively tilted in his favor by his very existence.

It’s moments like this that Chloe hates. Where the insecurity of if she should apologize, if she should demand an answer to her question, all roils up underneath her thoughts.

And he’s silent, checking on the runes. They’re the exact same strength as they were, even the weakest of runes don’t degrade that fast, but still, he’s obsessive, pausing by each one and checking, laying a finger on it and getting some feedback she could only dream of.

The quiet stretches, enveloping her just as much as any flex of power would.

“What I should do is eat,” Chloe says finally, and he quirks an eyebrow at her words, not fully looking at her. “Is room service safe? Does this place even have room service?”

“Doubt it,” he says, just as wary, as if he’s not trusting the brief peace among them. “I saw the kitchens, they didn’t look up to food safety standards.”

“You know food safety standards?” Chloe asks, honestly curious, and gets the barest glimpses in return. “You don’t eat human food, why would you look at that?”

He mumbles something, too quiet for her to catch.

“What?” Chloe asks, and this nonsense conversation has her more alert from the not-nap than anything probably ever has.

“It’s for…the child,” he says, begrudgingly. “Her father kept her in a horrid house with a horrid kitchen that wasn’t ever cleaned.”

“Ew,” Chloe says helpfully, before swinging her way up to standing.

“I made sure her school’s cafeteria was up to standards,” he says, almost defensive, which is strangely charming. “And her mother doesn’t have a kitchen, just a microwave.”

It’s painting a deeper picture of neglect than he probably wants, but she shrugs through it.

“Wanna find a place outside to grab a bite?” she asks, and he blinks owlishly at her. “I mean for me, so you can do the ward thing if needed.”

Still nothing.

“Or I can go by myself,” Chloe says, shoving her feet into her shoes and cursing her own awkwardness. After living a year with Gurlien, she had almost forgotten how utterly socially weird she can be if she’s not careful. “No pressure, I just thought for the sake of being under the radar, you’d prefer…”

He sighs, cutting her off. “You should be safe by yourself,” he says, but he steps away from the runes, following her out as she grabs her backpack and ventures into the hallway. “There is no way that car will start,” he says, as they stride down the hall, towards the rickety stairs. “But I saw three serviceable restaurants within a few blocks.”

So he went and walked around when he needed the space, because Chloe dove headfirst into something he’s sensitive about.

“Any Thai?” Chloe asks, but given that they’re in the middle of nowhere Minnesota, she’s not terribly crushed when he shakes his head. “Well, lead on.”

A man walking down the hall in the other direction gives her an odd look. Right. Speaking to someone that other people can’t see.

Killian’s lips quirk, ever so slightly, at that, and he pushes past her, the edge of his sleeve grazing her jacket.

The cold hits her like a slap, but she shrugs herself deeper into the warmth of her jacket, quick transforming the lining into something that keeps her body heat closer to her skin.

It helps a bit, but Killian glances back at her with a raised eyebrow.

“I got cold,” she responds before he can say anything. “Clothing is easy.”

“Sure,” he says, before gently guiding her towards the sidewalk, some sort of strange chivalry in his actions.

She glances up at him as they walk, shrugging deeper into her jacket. His face is calm as he surveys the sidewalk, his glowing gaze dropping onto each person they encounter before dismissing them, a sort of brutal self-confidence, even underneath the fear.

Even the shadow self underneath his face is still, like the walk calms him down.

“Do you feel contact on your human skin or your demon self?” Chloe whispers, just quiet and just casual enough that the passing man pays her no attention.

His eyes flicker over to her, and there’s almost a smile in the gaze. “Depends.”

“Not helpful,” she mutters, scuffing her feet against the cracked pavement past the chop shop.

“Most things I encounter through the human skin,” he answers, shrugging his shoulders, completely unimpacted by the cold. “Human nerve endings, human touch, human impact. A filter to observe the solid world.”

They pass a broken and blacked out window, with a faded “Going out of business” sign hanging crooked from the door.

“Anything magic touched,” he starts, tapping her on the shoulder, gentling her out of her thoughts. “Through my real self. When you were pulled back from death, something inside of you changed. I feel this—” his hand falls to cup at her elbow “—it’s as if you’re made of the living spirit of the world itself.”

It’s a nice bit of poetry, as they pass an empty homeless encampment. Tarps still drape over a chair, a sleeping bag still crumpled underneath it with a dusty backpack and a small plastic bag of paper, but nobody sleeps within.

It doesn’t take longer than a three-minute walk to get to the center of the small town, made up of only a few apartment buildings with shops on the bottom floor, the ramshackle hotel, and the chop shop. The sidewalks are chipped and dirty, like it’s been years since they’ve been power washed, and dead weeds lay wilted in the cracks, between chunks of dirty ice and slush.

Just enough people mill around, going between the shops, that Chloe can’t easily chatter at Killian, and the awkwardness stretches even more now that they’re in open air.

Before he shivers, a full-body shudder, and grips her shoulder, almost yanking her backwards.

She twists, staring up at him, stopping stock still in the middle of the sidewalk, and his eyes reflect the light back at her, some sort of warning.

Before the very street floods with the same power as before, warping along the trees and swirling around the cracked pavement.

Nobody else notices, puttering along their way, their jackets pulled up against the chill. The breeze flutters the dead leaves on the road, stirring the gravel.

Killian’s fingers tighten ever so slightly, until the magic drains away, seeping into the drains and filling the stores down the boulevard.

“Eight hours apart,” he says grimly, and he’s still holding her shoulder, like she’s the one grounding him. “To the second.”

Chloe blinks up at him, and she knows she must look odd, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, but nobody pays her attention. Slowly, she digs her phone out of her pocket, holding it against her ear. “That’s useful to know. That’s plannable.” Numbly, she punches in an alarm for her phone for seven hours and fifty-eight minutes. “Let's get a bit of a warning next time.”

His eyebrows briefly, ever so briefly, flash upwards.

“That way we don’t have to rely on internal clocks?” Chloe supplies. “Get out ahead, in case either of us are sleeping?”

“You think of the most human solution to our problems,” he comments, and she’s not quite sure if that’s an insult or not. “My internal clock is impeccable.”

Chloe’s heard Lyra tease Melekai about something similar with timing, that he could keep track of things down to the seconds.

Chloe cradles the phone against her chin. “Though that can’t be a good use of power when compared to the reward,” she says, still watching him. “That’s a lot to do just for the off chance.”

“There’s a reason they ward their bases,” Killian says grimly, and there are lines around the eyes of the human face, matched by the stress of the demon one.

“And we’re sure there’s not a better path to follow?” Chloe murmurs into her phone, and with the simple prop nobody pays her any attention. “Another way to find my friend?”

This gets his attention. “You’re the one with the research.”

The answer to that is, if there had been another way to track it, Chloe would’ve found it in the last five years. Would have already done this entire thing without needing to wait for her research to be broken out of prison.

“Fuck,” she mutters, and the lines around his eyes relax, ever so slightly, before he gestures for her to continue ahead.

Everything’s a bad idea.

“If there had been a way to track this easily, I would have found it a month and a half ago,” Killian says, and it’s almost a glimpse into his process that she throws him a glance as she walks. “They have made this deliberately difficult.”

“Wonder why,” Chloe says dryly, then cradles the phone against her shoulder as she pushes her way into the first restaurant, a homey little diner with plastic chairs and scratched linoleum. A few families sit along one side, so Chloe skirts to the other edge of the room, tucking herself into a booth.

Killian follows her in, sitting next to her instead of across, forcing her deeper against the wall.

If Chloe hadn’t seen a month of Ambra almost unconsciously corralling Gurlien in how they sit, she’d think it’s a lot weirder, but it’s amusing how much of the body language and mannerisms translate across the different demons.

“They horde power,” Killian says, as if it’s not the most obvious answer, the same time a waitress approaches.

“Hey, honey, just you?” she says, before Killian continues.

“—and anything that could cause someone else to gain more power must be controlled, even if they can’t do anything with it,” he says, ignoring as the waitress slips a menu past him to Chloe’s hands.

“Yeah,” Chloe answers the waitress.

“And they realized ages ago that demons could use this, that humans could use, this, and that Wights—”

“Can I get you anything to drink?” the waitress says, their voices overlapping. “We have milkshakes and a soda fountain and a coffee bar.”

“And Wights would be dangerous, actually dangerous, if they chose to, with this,” Killian continues, too fast, and Chloe presses her knee against his, something, to shut him up.

His mouth clicks shut.

“Just water, please,” Chloe says with a smile, and the waitress returns it before stepping away, allowing Chloe to pick the phone back up. “Oh my god, when you talk when I’m being talked to I can’t keep track.”

He scowls at her. “I don’t have to obsess myself with human niceties,” he says loftily, and Chloe’s heard the same thing from Ambra several times.

“I do,” Chloe says, then flips open the menu, scanning it, but her entire body is aware of the demon sitting right next to her, practically thrumming with power. “I need to get a headset for this phone.”

“You mean you can’t just alchemy it together?”

She shoots him a glance, but it’s curiosity, not derision, in his tone.

“They’re a bit complicated to make,” she answers, deliberately slowing her tone. “Electronics aren’t my strong suite.”

He settles back again, but they’re still touching at the knee, and he’s making no movement to shift away from it. “And yet you bespelled your phone so much already.”

“I got taught that,” Chloe replies. “By someone who might as well be an electronics master.”

He hmms in the back of his throat. “I’ve not seen many alchemists who were able to do that at all.”

She’s not sure what he’s getting at, so she returns her attention to the menu. It’s a standard diner fare, with little creativity in it, the menu old and the plastic edges fraying.

“For being so close to a college base, they sure don’t put any economic infrastructure here,” Chloe mutters.

Around many other bases, the college spends enough money that the area at least appears affluent, with quality restaurants and stores for luxury goods, because they are nothing if not snobs.

Part of the reason why Chloe never meshed with a lot of them. People who grew up around wealth can generally tell when one didn’t.

“There’s a town twenty minutes away from it that made itself through its mysterious ability to grow wine grapes despite the overall climate,” Killian responds, wrinkling his nose. “It’s mediocre wine at best.”

“That’ll do it,” Chloe replies, scanning the menu, then flashing her best smile at the waitress dropping off her water. “Just the regular burger with fries, no cheese.”

Thankfully, the waitress takes the order without any additional chatter, and Chloe falls back into silence, idly poking at her phone, and the demon next to her lets his attention flit meticulously across the room, checking every window and visible crack in the wall.

She knows that Ambra does something similar when she’s in a new place, but has never been so viciously aware of it. With every surge of power used, all of it goes directly towards the room, testing it.

“What would happen if you found a weak point with that?” Chloe mutters, and he startles. “Would you push open the wall? Slip up and get something exploded?”

“I have more control than that,” he replies, affronted, which was half the goal. “I notice it and then move along.”

This time Chloe just shrugs, poking in her phone over to her text messages.

CHLOE (5:02 PM): Where did Ambra take you?

No response, though it ticks over to read, and Killian’s obviously reading over her shoulder.

“One of the abominations,” Chloe whispers, almost sarcastically. “She got spooked when their home was attacked.”

Killian’s eyes narrow.

“What?” Chloe asks, almost exasperated.

“I’m trying to figure out which one you’re referring to,” he says, leaning against the table, propping his head up on his hand. “I know only one is in a male body, so it’s unlikely Ambra is that one.”

“You all really don’t exchange names,” Chloe mumbles. “I’m not going to betray a friend.”

“Intellectual exercise,” he drawls. “I’m not interested in sabotaging your social group, especially if you have access to a Necromancer who has killed people like me.”

“I like that demons are scared of them,” Chloe replies, and he surprises her by giving her a grin. “Less likely they’ll die by them.”

“Some of my kind forget how powerful they can be, especially as adults,” he says, and there’s some strange relaxation in him, in this tiny little diner with cracks in the walls, that she hasn’t quite seen elsewhere. “They focus too much on the temptation of the power, not enough on the risks involved.” Another half-smile. “Is Ambra the one in love with her handler?”

And that’s a complicated question, near as Chloe can tell, because if you squint at it, the answer could probably be considered yes, but only in a very reductive sense, and he’s definitely not a handler anymore.

“Or is she the one tied by the leashes?” he continues, and again, could also be considered yes, especially if Killian had known of her before. “I don’t think she’s the one imprisoned in Bolivia, I don’t believe that one has been released yet.”

Which somewhat suggests that he’s not including Terese the human in his numbers, which means at least two more that her group doesn’t know about.

Which has startling connotations, and with that information she knows, just knows, that some of her group will want to track them down. Give them the freedom needed.

“She keeps her secrets,” Chloe says finally, and gets another little hint of relaxation. Like her unwillingness to tell him is good, despite his curiosity. “But you know of more than I do, obviously.”

He smiles at her, all teeth. “Good.”

“Are you protective of them?” Chloe asks, almost impulsively, and his brows flash up. “Look, I know d…people like you get protective, all of the ones I met do, and you’re already trending in that direction because of the kid.”

He crosses his arms, still smiling, and she gets a quick idea that this is him amused. “I’m not used to humans understanding our psychology, just after our power.”

“I have friends, remember?” Chloe takes an obnoxious drink from the water to gather her thoughts. “I meant friends. Someone I hang out with, someone I like to spend time with. People I go to for gossip, to get a drink with. Not someone to exploit for whatever gains or politics.”

Unbidden by her, the words come out with bitterness.

“Rare,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “But no. Not in the sense of protecting…the child.”

“So that’s more of a bond,” Chloe supplies, trying to shake off the very real and very familiar surge of anger at the college, for how they train people.

“Oh, you really know things,” he says, and pauses as the waitress drops off a perfectly serviceable burger and fries, his eyes skittering off of her. “Not like that.”

Chloe shrugs, scowling at the burger.

“I’m surprised they would tell you that, most demons won’t.” He watches, expectantly, until she begins to eat. “I’m surprised they’re not after the fox, to get a fraction of their old power back.”

Her neck prickles at the mention.

“Or that they would let someone they would choose to spend time with get killed,” he says, gesturing at her. “I would’ve heard if an abomination killed a massive amount of people in revenge, now that Boltiex is dead.”

Ah, there’s the best indicator that he knows who Ambra is, if he’s willing to drop that name around, and Chloe swallows.

“That was a month and a half ago, though,” he says, almost laconic, “and you died much more recently than that.”

Chloe just gives him a thumbs up and takes another bite to avoid saying anything.

The motion catches the eye of a woman across the restaurant, who then leans over and whispers something to her male companion. Chloe doesn’t recognize any of them, their faces don’t strike any little bit of wariness in her, but Chloe quickly averts her gaze, flipping her phone to the notes and tapping out:

COUPLE ACROSS THE RESTAURANT. THEY’RE LOOKING. ANY DANGER?

Killian’s head immediately swivels to them, and Chloe keeps her eyes down on her burger. He’s invisible, he can’t be seen, he can investigate for her.

“They’re certainly keeping an eye on you now,” he murmurs, voice so low she can feel it in the contact between them. “They aren’t doing any scans, they aren’t reaching out unconsciously, but they are looking.”

Great. Chloe takes a deep breath, then forces herself to exhale.

“We should leave,” he says, and all tension is back in his body, practically vibrating from it. “Get out of here before they realize you’re not supposed to be here.”

She taps out a note again.

I’M GONNA MOVE SLOWLY. GET A TAKE-OUT BOX AND PAY THE BILL. LIKE I DIDN’T SEE ANYTHING UNUSUAL.

“No,” he says, immediate, before she’s even finished tapping it out.

YES, she types. LEAVING FAST IS SUSPICIOUS.

He glances down at her, his eyes meeting hers in the reflection of the phone, as she takes another bite of the burger.

“The moment one of them tries something, I’m pulling you out,” he says, and it’s not quite a threat, not quite a reassurance.

And Chloe has her doubts, in this trap with no teleporting, but she nods, neutral, taking an obnoxious bite from her burger.

JUST KEEP AN EYE OUT ON THEM.

“Obviously,” he mutters, one long line of tension, and fingers drum against the table, some odd motion of anxiety. “One on the left is a spellweaver, I can’t tell what the woman is.”

She swallows at that casual confirmation. They’re not anyone she recognizes, but she’s been out for long enough that people age, people change in appearances.

“He has a needle hidden in the case of his phone,” Killian continues, voice low. “It’s copper, not gold, but it’s well worn.”

Chloe nods as minutely as she can.

“The one on the right has a knife in her pocket, a real one,” he says. “It’s been bespelled to be not found by law enforcement.”

Chloe taps on her phone.

USEFUL INFORMATION.

“Is the gun in your bag?”

YES.

“Good.” He settles back, just a bit, deeper into the chair, as she flags down the waitress and requests the bill and a take-out box, avoiding looking over at the couple.

They need to wait until their information gets there, they need to make sure they have a map of the base, a way to what they need, they can’t just blow up the diner and then charge into the base, as much as she may want.

Even out of the corner of her eyes, she can tell the woman leaning over to the man, whispering something in his ear, their faces still turned towards her. It’s the worst sort of foreboding, that she is the topic of conversation, but she can’t tell how it’s progressing.

Killian pushes himself to stand, and Chloe squashes down a startle.

“Stay here,” he commands, and she shivers at his tone, before he strides in their direction, and she has to continue to look at her phone to not acknowledge what he’s doing.

She tilts the surface of her phone until it reflects the room as a whole, stretched out and imprecise, and she can’t see Killian in it at all. Can’t see his movement, can’t see how close he’s getting to the couple, just see the tilt in their bodies, the direction they’re glancing.

They’re still looking over at her. The man has dark hair closely cropped to his head, and the woman’s eye makeup almost hides the shape, leaving them still completely unknowable.

So she lays her phone flat on the table instead, concentrating on breathing normally. The burger is dry in her mouth, fully unpalatable now, and even the water can’t shock herself into feeling better.

“Here you go, hun!” the waitress says, a bit loud, plopping the Styrofoam box onto the table with a clatter, and Chloe jumps. “Pity you have to leave so soon, we have a killer brownie a la mode.”

“Thanks,” Chloe says weakly, and thankfully she pre-transformed some money, so she puts down a fifty on the bill.

Across the room, she hears the man scoff. Like he could tell.

Dread grows, as she methodically puts the burger into the to-go box, her hands very carefully not shaking. If she gets captured here, if she goes back into the prison, how could she go out? Is this base even equipped to hold humans? Would they just ship her to Atlanta? How—

Killian strides back into view. “You need to leave,” he says, fast, and Chloe stands, clutching the box to her. “They know something’s up, they know something’s off, we need to get you back to the room.”

She yanks up her backpack, and he’s practically blocking her from leaving the table, but she pushes past him, her hair falling free from the haphazard bun, shrugging on her coat as she walks and not letting her eyes turn back.

The previously tiny diner stretches on forever, her footsteps paced on the linoleum tile, and all time slows down as she tries to hold her breath even, holding her shoulders like nothing’s wrong.

It’s not helped by Killian a half step behind her, heat radiating off of him like rage. Rage at her, rage at them, she can’t know.

She can’t know, she can’t know anything, and to even let on that she might think something is wrong might doom her back into their prisons. Might doom her from ever finding her friend, from ever being free, from ever getting back—

Her hands hit the glass door, pushing it open into the chilled air, and her fingertips tremble with the control of not slamming it out of her way, letting it close normally behind her.

She catches a bare glimpse of the couple, still watching her, as she begins to stride away, before she turns the corner into the little alley way, gulping in air.

Killian immediately rounds on her.

“Don’t stop here, you need to get back to the protections, you get back and they can’t get to you,” he says.

“I’m…” Chloe manages out, then has to take another big mouthful of cold, dry air. “Give me a second, I’m…”

He scowls down at her as she sags against the brick wall.

“They said your name,” he says, and the vice closes around her chest again. “They didn’t know if it was you, but they said your name.”

“Fuck,” Chloe spits out, pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes. “Fuck, I need to leave, I need…”

His hand closes over her wrist, ever gentle, and she startles. “You need to get back to the room.”

She looks up to him, and there’s a moment of…something. Of some strange understanding, of some immediate kinship, his eyes reflecting the dim light of the winter afternoon sun. His face is serious, but not panicked like before, all of his attention focused down on her, every line in his body pointed towards her.

Her mouth dry, she nods. “Yeah. The room.”

He nods back, but keeps his hand closed over her wrist as she takes another gulp of air, then presses onwards down the street.