Page 7 of A Blade of Blood and Shadow (The Ravaged Kingdom #1)
Chapter
Five
I stared at the spot where Kaden had disappeared, the muggy air settling over my skin and causing my leathers to stick uncomfortably. Now that the immediate threat of the demons was gone, a very real problem surfaced.
Julian had betrayed me, or he’d gone looking for the stone and stumbled upon a pack of demons instead. Either way, I didn’t have it. And without being able to conceal my magic, I’d be a supernatural beacon the moment I left the Quarter.
I’d been with Silas for five years, and in that time, I’d only known one other hunter who tried to leave him.
She’d only been gone two and a half days before Vince and Bruno dragged her back, so beaten and bloody I’d barely recognized her.
Silas had taken one look at the huntress and ordered Vince to lock her in the basement.
I couldn’t sleep for days after they brought her back — not with the screams that bled from the basement. I never saw the huntress again, but the mortar between the bricks along the far wall was still stained black with her blood.
I couldn’t risk leaving the Quarter — not without any way to conceal my magic. And I couldn’t return to Silas empty-handed.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped over Julian’s prone body and peered into the shop. Smoke and ash filled my lungs, and I broke into a fit of coughs.
It was nearly a full minute before I was able to catch my breath. Once I did, I barreled into the smoke-blackened shop, where the burnt skeletons of tables and chairs loomed in the dark.
I staggered through the gloom to Julian’s office, which reeked of burned plastic. Only the metal filing cabinets had survived the fire unscathed. The wingback chairs lay in tatters, and the desk had been reduced to ash.
In the middle of the blackened debris was a hunk of melted plastic — all that remained of Silas’s duffel and the blood bags inside.
Staggering back into the alley, I turned and retched onto the pavement. Dread curdled in my gut, and the taste of ash on my tongue made me think of Silas.
I couldn’t go back —not without payment for the drop. I couldn’t tell Silas what had happened, because I wasn’t supposed to be seeing Julian at all tonight. I was supposed to take the blood to another buyer, and Silas would know I’d double-crossed him.
What would happen when Gorm realized that I wasn’t coming? How long did I have before he confronted Silas about the blood he’d promised and failed to deliver?
My panic mounted. Dawn was only a few hours away. By the time the sun rose, the streets would be empty, save for a few witches and fae. I would be easy pickings for Silas’s hunters. Vince would be more than happy to hunt me down and drag me back to that basement.
Where would I go? I had no living relatives — no real friends. My old foster families lived in the human districts, and I knew none of them would welcome me back.
Closing my eyes, I drew in breaths of humid air until my racing heart settled.
I didn’t have a choice. I needed to get off the streets before morning, and there was only one person left in the Quarter who might offer me shelter without waiting to bury a knife in my back.
Hunters didn’t have friends. We had contacts. Any alliances we formed were temporary, forged only for mutual benefit. Imogen was the closest thing I had to an actual friend, but I hadn’t seen her in the five years I’d worked for Silas.
I told myself I’d stayed away to protect her. Silas occasionally trafficked witches, though he hadn’t in the time I’d lived with him. But, if I was being honest, it was because I couldn’t look her in the eye — not with the things I’d done.
Retrieving my bag from the SUV, I walked the twelve blocks to Imogen’s place. I couldn’t risk taking Silas’s vehicle. It was too easy to track.
I stuck to side streets as much as I could, glancing over my shoulder every half a block to ensure I wasn’t being followed. Every time a car blazed by, I instinctively reached for my dagger, but no hunters jumped out to drag me back to Silas’s, and I didn’t encounter another soul.
My stomach twisted as I approached the peeling teal door that led up to Imogen’s apartment. Did she even still live here? The names written beside the unit numbers on the buzzer were so sun-faded they might as well never have been there at all.
My hand shook as I lifted it to press the button that buzzed her apartment. A long minute passed as I waited, but then I remembered it was four o’clock in the morning. Normal people were asleep. Finally, though, there was a crackle of static, and an achingly familiar voice answered. “Hello?”
“Imogen?”
“ Yeah ?” There was an edge of irritation to her voice that made me grin. She sounded exactly the same. But when I opened my mouth to speak, the words got stuck in my throat.
It had been so long since I’d last seen her. She probably wanted nothing to do with me. But I couldn’t just stand out here on the sidewalk. It was only a matter of time before Silas’s hunters started looking for me, and once the sun came up —
“Lyra?” Imogen sounded unsure of herself and also kind of pissed.
It felt so good to talk to my friend that I nearly choked as I said, “It’s me.”
The crackling of the intercom stopped, as if Imogen had pulled back, releasing the button. I could almost see her hovering behind her apartment door, staring at the intercom as though she’d seen a ghost.
Then I heard a faint buzz as the door to the building unlocked.
Gripping the handle, I flung the door open and let myself into the small, dingy foyer.
Dirty shoe prints crisscrossed the peeling yellow tile, and the scent of stale cigarette smoke hit me like a wall.
A narrow set of stairs led up to the second floor, and a crushing familiarity settled over me as I climbed.
Imogen’s apartment had been shitty five years ago, and it was even shittier now. The brass number “nine” had been missing from her door from the time she’d moved in, but the outline was still visible from where someone had painted around it.
The door flew open before I could knock, and Imogen’s face appeared in the gap, framed by a mane of tight butterscotch curls. Her eyes flashed with a mixture of shock and irritation as she took in my haggard appearance.
“What the fuck happened to you?” she blurted, those quick brown eyes darting from the burned end of my braid to the holes in my leathers.
“Long story,” I rasped, my knees wobbling with relief that she’d actually answered the door.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she growled, glancing down the hall as if she expected her neighbors to poke their heads out at any moment.
“I know.”
Imogen’s lips puckered in disapproval, but her eyes gave away the fact that she was actually a little glad to see me. She drew in a breath and then stepped aside, ushering me in with a wave of her hand.
It was sweltering hot inside her apartment. A window AC unit was working overtime in the bedroom, but the main living space was oppressively stuffy. It smelled like cats, Thai chili, and Imogen’s floral perfume — an unappealing mix that was surprisingly homey.
Her apartment was exactly as I remembered it, apart from the brown leather couch that now took up half the living room. She’d only had a futon the last time I’d been here, which seemed more appropriate for the colorful hippie crash-pad vibe she had going on.
A mishmash of oriental rugs covered the sagging hardwood floors, and an assortment of sun catchers hung in the windows, which were draped in macrame curtains.
Her living room was a jungle of half-dead plants where her unhinged cat, Goose, liked to lie in wait to attack the feet of innocent passersby.
“What are you doing here?” Imogen asked, pulling her colorful silk robe more tightly around her.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “I know I shouldn’t be here. It’s just . . .” I trailed off.
It seemed pathetic to admit that I had nowhere else to go. Hell, it was pathetic. But Imogen and I had lived in the same group home as teenagers. She of all people knew what it was like to be truly alone in the world. “I need a safe space to lie low for a while.”
Imogen crossed her arms over her chest, her lips forming a thin, angry line. “Silas?” she asked, her voice simmering with rage.
A lump of panic rose in my throat, but I swallowed it down. “I can’t go back,” I whispered. “He . . . He would kill me.”
Imogen sucked in a breath and nodded, those big dark eyes flickering around the room in a way I knew meant she was thinking. She swallowed a few times and then nodded to herself, rubbing her arms as if warding off a chill.
“Okay,” she said, nodding again. “You want some tea?”
“You got anything stronger?”
A smile twitched at the corner of her mouth, and Imogen rolled her eyes. “Some things never change.”
I followed her into the tiny open kitchen, and she bent down to rummage under the sink. She retrieved a dusty bottle of gin, which she splashed into mismatched teacups.
I took the cup she offered me and downed the gin in one gulp, shuddering as the alcohol hit my throat, then set the cup back down. Imogen raised her eyebrows but filled my cup again, and I staggered into the living room and sank down onto the couch.
My whole body sagged against the plush cushions, and I let out an audible sigh. Somewhere underneath an end table choked with yellowing vines, Goose hissed.
“Fuck you, too,” I muttered, taking another sip of my gin.
Maybe it was a hunter thing, but cats had always hated me.
“So,” said Imogen, sinking down onto a crocheted beanbag and tucking her feet beneath her. “What’s new?”
I snorted at her attempt at a politely conversational tone. The Imogen I knew was always straight to the point and as mean as a snake when she felt like it. She must have been curious as hell as to why I was there. Not that I could blame her.