“David.”
Laurel’s mom sighed in half amusement as she tossed a clean grey T-shirt to Tamani. “I have to say, I don’t know what that boy tells his mother.”
Tamani gritted his teeth as he gingerly pulled the new – and rather too big – shirt over the binding strips Laurel had spent the last ten minutes applying. David had arrived and Laurel was sitting with him on the couch, filling him in on the morning attack. Tamani blocked out her voice; he was already replaying the events in his mind, looking for some way he could have been more prepared, more effective.
Especially against Klea.
He hadn’t lost a round of hand-to-hand combat to anyone but Shar in years. To lose to a human-trained Mixer hurt almost as badly as the wounds she had left on him – and those stung plenty.
Laurel’s parents had offered to stay home from work, but Tamani insisted it was better for everyone if they went to their stores and pretended it was a regular day. Before Laurel could even suggest it, Tamani had ordered half a dozen sentries to tail each parent, just in case. The grateful look in her eyes had been a welcome bonus.
“So what now?”
Tamani looked over and realised David was talking to him.
“We’re waiting to hear from Shar,” Tamani grumbled. “Silve took a whole company of sentries back to the apartment to help with the trolls. They should sound the all-clear any time.”
“And . . .” David hesitated. “If they don’t?”
That was what Tamani had been fretting about for an hour. “I don’t know.” What he wanted to say was that he’d take Laurel somewhere no one could find her – not even David – and stay there until he knew she was safe. Last resort for any Fear-gleidhidh. But Laurel had already decided she wasn’t going to run and Tamani probably shouldn’t warn her that they might be running whether she liked it or not.
“I don’t like the sound of that,” said David.
“Yeah, well, neither do I,” Tamani said, frustration heavy in his voice. “We’re not exactly safe here, either, it’s just safer than anywhere else at the moment.” But for how long? He crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at David. “Would you like to leave?”
David just gave him a dark look.
Tamani’s phone began vibrating in his hand. He looked down at the screen to see a blue box heralding the arrival of a text message.
From . . . Shar?
klea took yuki and ran. i followed.
Then the phone buzzed again – a picture this time. He’d been expecting to hear from Shar – perhaps hoping was a better word – but even though he’d been clinging to his phone since they’d arrived at Laurel’s house, the person he’d assumed would call was Aaron. Maybe Silve. Shar had never managed to use the phone before; generally he refused to even try. Tamani slid a finger across the screen once, twice, three times before it recognised his touch and unlocked. He squinted at the minuscule picture for a second before tapping it to make it bigger.
Not that it helped.
He was looking at a log cabin with a white, tentlike structure sprawling out the back. There were two slightly grainy figures near the front door.
“What is it?” Laurel asked.
He beckoned her forwards. “It’s from Shar.”
“Shar?” The disbelief in Laurel’s voice was as heavy as it was in Tamani’s mind. “He texted you?”
Tamani nodded, studying the picture. “He said Klea got away with Yuki. He followed them here.” He slid his fingers over the screen, zooming in on the two figures, wanting to be sure before voicing his suspicions. “Those two guards,” he said slowly, “I don’t think they’re human.”
“Trolls?” David asked, still sitting on the couch.
“Fae,” Tamani said, not looking up from the screen. “They don’t seem to be trying to hide it either. This must be . . . I don’t know. Klea’s headquarters?”
“Should you call him?” Laurel suggested, but Tamani was already shaking his head.
“No way. If that’s where he is, I can’t risk giving him away.”
“Can’t your phone, like, find his with GPS or something?”
“Yeah, but I don’t know that it matters. There’s no text with this picture and for now I have to assume that means I should do nothing.” He shoved his hands back into his pockets – one still clenched around his phone – and began pacing again.
The phone buzzed almost immediately. Another picture.
“What are they?” Laurel asked, squeezing in beside him to squint at the tall, green stalks.
Tamani’s stomach twisted with a sick churning. It had taken the Gardener’s son in him less than a second to recognise the distinct plant specimen. “They’re sprouts,” he said hoarsely.
“Sprou – Oh!” Laurel said, sucking in a breath.
“The plants faeries are born out of?” David asked, rising from the couch to look over Tamani’s shoulder.
Tamani nodded numbly.
“But there are dozens of them!” Laurel said. Then, after a pause, “Why are so many of them chopped down?”
But Tamani could only shake his head as he glared at the picture, trying to understand Shar’s message. Everything about this was wrong. He was no Gardener, but the condition of the growing sprouts was appalling even to the untrained eye. The plants were too close together, and most of the stalks were too short in comparison to the size of the bulb. They were malnourished at best and probably permanently damaged.
But it was the cut-off stalks that bothered him the most. The only reason to cut a stalk was to harvest it early. Tamani’s mom had done so once in her career, to save a dying baby fae, but Tamani couldn’t imagine Klea’s motives were so maternal. And he had no idea why she would do it to so many. She had to be using them. And not for companionship.
His gruesome speculation was cut off by another picture, this one of a metal rack filled with green vials. There was no spark of recognition this time and Tamani tilted the screen toward Laurel. “Do you recognise this serum?”
Laurel shook her head. “About half of all serums are green. It could be anything.”
“Maybe it—” His question was cut off by the phone buzzing again. Not a text this time; a call. Tamani sucked in a breath and held the phone up to his ear. “Shar?” he said, wondering if he sounded as desperate as he felt.
Laurel looked up at him, worry, concern, and hope twining together in her gaze.
“Shar?”
