Page 10 of A Token of Blood and Betrayal (Kennedy Rain #4)

The family cemetery came into view ahead, and with it, Garion. He sat on a cracked stone bench facing my parents’ graves, although I wasn’t sure he was looking at them. I wasn’t sure he was looking at anything except his regrets.

I sat beside him and stared at the two new, too-white tombstones.

They disrupted the cemetery’s layout because they didn’t match the image in my mind of what it should look like—what it had looked like for my entire life.

I’d run past the gravestones hundreds of times in my youth.

I’d even hidden the unsanctioned in the small crypt my senior year.

I’d never avoided coming here, never felt uncomfortable.

It had just been a place of buried bodies and entombed bones.

Now it was a place of bones and memories.

“It’s not over,” Garion said.

The cool mountain air raised chill bumps on my skin. “What isn’t?”

“They wanted you to be free from The Rain.” His deep voice was quiet, somber. “You aren’t free yet.”

“You said your magic is tainted. What does that mean?”

He let out a weary sigh. “A djinn’s magic must be balanced. We can’t break the sciences of the world. We can’t manifest something from nothing. We… nudge decisions.”

He finally looked at me. I wasn’t sure what he was searching for, what he was thinking, but he seemed to come to a conclusion. Or maybe a resignation.

“Think of a man or woman sitting in front of a slot machine,” he continued.

“There are infinite possibilities of what they could do. They could walk away. They could delay pressing the button. Someone with a tray of drinks might trip nearby, distracting them. Or maybe there’s a phone call or a sudden craving for a smoke break.

I don’t have a good way to describe it except that I feel every one of those possibilities at once.

They flash like lightning in my mind. A djinn’s magic charges the options that benefit the token holder the most.”

“Your magic is different,” I said.

He nodded once. “There are no harmless tweaks when I’m manipulating luck. The balance should be spread out over hundreds of small decisions made by people known and unknown to the token holder. Instead, the token holder pays the cost. All of it. Your parents paid the cost.”

His voice cracked. My heart did as well. He’d been carrying this guilt for a long time. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“They are dead because of my magic.” His gaze locked on their graves again.

“They’re dead because a witch wanted power.”

He shook his head. “After all these years, why did Astrid contact your parents when she did?”

“You can’t take the blame—”

“Why did she call them then?”

“She was tired of running.”

“It was the day after your father made the wish.” Garion’s voice was harder than coal under pressure. His expression was too, and self-condemning. If I claimed the timing was a coincidence, he wouldn’t listen. I didn’t want to argue about blame; I wanted to work on solutions.

“Let’s focus on the token and your magic,” I said. “You’re saying your magic is cursed. Maybe we can use that. If I tell Canyon—”

“No.” He cut me off. “The curse deters no one. No matter how often I explain it, the token holders think they can wish carefully enough that the consequences won’t be too bad or that they will be worth it to get what they want.”

“We have to try something, Garion.” My patience was slipping. Why was he giving up?

He shook his head. “You have to give my token to the fey.”

My jaw clenched, and something made me look to my left where a soft breeze weaved through the sparse grass.

That’s where the Null ended, and that’s where I’d followed Nora, Blake, and Officer Tanner.

It felt like I should see someone standing there now, but it was all empty space, and the feeling—just a ripple in the air, or maybe in me—passed before it fully formed.

I gripped the front edge of the bench. We had options. We just had to identify the ones most likely to work. “What happens if I give Canyon the token, but you remain in the Null? Or we give him a fake? We could—”

“You can’t fix everything!” The words burst out of him, loud and sharp and startling, before he reined himself back in.

Garion was a good half foot taller and almost twice as broad as me, and with his square jaw and muscular shoulders, he should have been intimidating.

But this was the man who’d made me virgin cocktails when I was younger.

He’d left the Null to find me the moment he’d learned my parents were dead.

He was more like an older, protective brother than a paranorm to be feared.

“You can’t fix this,” he repeated, softer this time. “I won’t let this happen to you. You’ll give my token to the fey king.”

He wouldn’t let go of his guilt. Just like Christian, he couldn’t accept the fact that sometimes bad things happened and there was no one to blame.

No single place to direct our fury. I felt the frustration too, the rage.

I could wrap myself in that anger and lash out.

I could hate and blame, but what would that solve?

I’d be using all my energy to rage over the past when I could use it to focus on the future. On Garion’s future.

“It will kill me if we don’t try,” I said.

He clasped his hands between his knees and stared at the ground. “What were the exact words of the bargain?”

It wasn’t agreement, but it was something, a small step toward not giving up. I closed my eyes and thought back.

It was strange having the hole in my memory filled. It felt half stitched and distant, like it belonged to some other Kennedy Rain, and aside from the image of the token—and a moment of something ancient and immutable—only Canyon’s voice and the weight of the bargain remained clear.

“You will bring it directly to me. No one else is to know what you’re looking for.

It is coveted. Whoever possesses the medallion controls the djinn.

This is the bargain: You, Kennedy Rain, will bring me the djinn’s token, whole and unbroken.

In exchange, I will give you the key to the letter your parents left you. ”

The moment he said the word djinn, I should have said no. I should have walked away and accepted that I’d never learn what the letter contained, but I couldn’t remember my thoughts from that moment. I only remembered my next words. “I accept.”

Frustrated with my past self, I repeated Canyon’s words to Garion, who continued to stare at the ground. When he didn’t respond or react in any other way, I pointed out the possible loophole. “The bargain didn’t specifically say I have to give him you.”

“Whole and unbroken,” he said. “The king of the night court included those words for a reason. The token isn’t whole without me.”

“I don’t equate a person with an object. He can’t hold me to it.”

“Let me see the token.”

I took it out of my pocket… and hesitated.

I trusted Garion. I wasn’t sure if he trusted me.

Whether I’d been enchanted or just plain stupid, I was responsible for this mess.

The edge of the Null was at the edge of the cemetery, and if he gave up the fight, he could take his token and leave.

I’d already broken something in him the moment I agreed to Canyon's bargain, and now I was about to ask him to risk even more. An idea flickered at the edge of my mind. It wasn’t a plan—not yet—but a path was forming. A direction. A sliver of possibility.

I dropped the token into his hand. He clenched it tight, as if he wanted to break it or throw it or somehow unmake it, but eventually his grip loosened.

“It’s not whole,” he said. “It’s too thin. Too light. Outside the Null, my presence will infuse it with a layer of magic. It will glow with an inverse of light.”

“That makes no sense,” I said bluntly.

His mouth curved in the smallest smile. “I know. You’ll understand when you step outside the Null.”

“I don’t have to leave the Null.”

“You do.”

“I don’t. Listen. Just give me some time. A few days. Let me do some research.”

His expression turned stony again. “There are no accurate books or records on djinn.”

“I don’t need records.” I wet my lips. I didn’t know if he’d agree to this next part. “Jared is old.”

He met my gaze suddenly. Aggressively. “Jared is preoccupied with securing his position.”

“It’s a conversation. He will make time.”

“By demanding and using my token.”

“I won’t allow that.”

Garion snorted. “Jared may not be an Heir, but he’s still one of the Aged. He’ll do what he wants.”

I shifted on the slightly damp bench. “He signed a magic-backed contract in exchange for my help with Arcuro. He’ll do what I say. He has to.” Although I didn’t want to give him orders. I didn’t like having that kind of power over someone.

Garion’s expression changed, his eyebrows rising as his face softened. “You have an ancient, Aged vampire at your disposal?”

“At my disposal makes him sound like an object, but yeah. I guess.” I shrugged. “If I need to invoke the contract, I will.”

“You have no contract with Nora,” he pointed out. “She won’t agree just because Jared must.”

“I think… I think I can trust her.” In her own way, she’d been trying to earn my trust for months now.

No matter how much she pretended otherwise, being cut off from the pack wasn’t easy.

She needed connection. She had Jared as her lover, Blake as her brother, but she needed someone as a friend. So did I.

“My employment period is ending soon. It’s—”

“You know I’m not enforcing that.” It wasn’t written into the treaty. Astrid and I had both researched that specific tradition. “Please, Garion. We’ll find a loophole either in my bargain or your magic.”

He turned his gaze back to my parents’ graves.

“We have to try at least,” I said.

Seconds ticked by. Why was it so hard for him to hope? He risked nothing by waiting.

He rubbed his hands over his face. “This is a bad idea. Just… be selective in who you tell.”

He was agreeing? “Thank you. I will. I promise.”

His tight smile said he was appeasing me. “I’ll give you until dawn on Saturday. No longer. And if the night king learns you have your memory and my token before then, this comes to an end. I won’t allow you to put your life and freedom at risk. Do you understand?”

I noted the tightness around his eyes, the hard set of his jaw, and the pinch to his mouth.

“I understand,” I said. Understanding wasn’t the same as complying. I was appeasing him too.

Quiet fell between us. He still looked so solemn. So defeated. I hated that darkness, so I bumped my shoulder into his. “I was almost certain you were a bunny shifter.”

Some of his melancholy faded. He chuckled. “Feel free to add that to my employment record.”