Page 34 of Gray Dawn

“According to Clay, no.”

About five minutes later, Derry and Marita walked in with food…and Arden.

“You’re back.” I glanced past her shoulder. “Where’s Fergal?”

“He’s gone hunting.” Arden didn’t bat an eye. “He said we should go ahead. He’ll catch up in thirty.”

The blood, guts, and heartache of the last several days had worked wonders on what I originally worried might grow into an infatuation on Arden’s side. The hurt of losing Aedan, the wonder of this new world, and gaining a vampire mentor had left me concerned she might see Fergal as a Band-Aid for her broken heart.

Her quick dismissal of him hunting—a fellow human no less—stirred those worries again.

She was acclimating too quickly to her new reality. Maybe it was buried trauma from the Silver Stag copycat kidnapping her, scarring her. Maybe it was shock numbing her. Or determination fueling her.

Call it what you like, there was a therapist appointment with her name on it in the near future. With someone versed in counseling humans with paranormal affiliations, someone aware of the threats that came along with those relationships. To thrive in this world, she first had to be able to survive in it.

With Fergal absent, Asa climbed behind the wheel, and I claimed my seat beside him.

The Mayhews curled together in the cargo area, watching video clips on their phones.

Arden and Colby hung out on the bench, next to the Clay-shaped hole in our lives while Dad flew.

The trip was a short one, which did nothing to calm my nerves at the possibility of seeing Clay soon.

“A distillery.” I hummed low in my throat. “I wonder if Luca is shifting her focus.”

“We’re tracking Clay,” Asa reminded me, but he looked thoughtful. “Not Luca.”

The gentle rebuke pulled me up short, but it made so much sense for this to come back to her.

“She could add it to the mash,” Arden ventured then shrugged when I raised my eyebrows. “I have an aunt who dabbles.”

Plenty of folks in Samford tinkered with moonshine, but craft beer? “What goes in it?”

“Corn, sorghum, malted barley, rye, or wheat.” She scrunched up her face. “I think.”

“Luca would have better luck skipping the fermentation process and mixing the king killer into what’s already on tap,” Marita reasoned. “They could kill a lot more people with one batch of poison-laced beer than they could with their current method.”

“We’re here for Clay,” Asa warned again before we got too invested in the idea.

“You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have fanned the flames of speculation.”

The slight possibility we might be on to something nudged me to text Isiforos, just to be sure.

>Any indication Luca is heading to Dallas?

>>The Kellies haven’t isolated any footage that pings on facial recognition software.

>>If she’s on the move, we’re not seeing it.

That didn’t mean much when magic was involved, but he could only do so much.

>Let me know if that changes.

“Colby?” I mined the recesses of my memories. “You and Clay have a facial recognition program, right?”

“Yeah. Well. It’s the Bureau’s proprietary software.” She stopped what she was doing to award me her full attention. “We’ve been tweaking it case by case to suit our needs.”

“Can you grab the airport footage in Boston, Charlotte, and Dallas, and feed it through?”