Chapter 49
Chapter
Forty-Nine
“Would you please sit down?” Donovan says, swiveling to look at me as I wear a path from the hearth to the windows that overlook the drop-off and back again. “I don’t know what you think you’ve figured out, but you’re not going to get any closer to learning what it means if we don’t actually sort through this data.”
Sitting is the last thing I want to do. My body feels so full of adrenaline and rage, pacing is the only way to burn any of it off. The red haze that signals the onset of one of my premonitions crowds the edge of my vision, and with a groan of frustration, I bury my face in my hands. I can’t afford this, not now.
I draw a deep breath, then another. The haze retreats, thank God, but when I lift my head, that damned scroll and dagger is emblazoned everywhere. It’s in the air, on the quilt of the bed, branded into the floorboards.
When I spare a glance for Donovan, though, it’s clear he hasn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. His eyes are still fixed on me, his expression expectant.
“Rune? Did you hear me?” he says.
I take a careful step toward him, avoiding the red-hot circle on the hardwood. “You don’t see that?” I say just to be sure, pointing at it.
Donovan follows the direction of my finger, leaning down to get a better look. “What? The scratch in the wood? I mean, sure, but what does that have to do with anything?” He sounds bewildered—who could blame him?—and I heave a sigh.
“Never mind,” I tell him, inspecting the seat of my chair for any indication of a brand before I sink down onto it. The day would not be improved by lighting my butt on fire. “Come on. Let’s dig into this, before something else goes wrong.”
There are thousands of names in that database.
Some of them I don’t recognize, but many of them I do. All of the Sinsters. Charlotte and Jess. Donovan. Cooper. Ethan, and every single Smashbox employee at this retreat. Jenny. D’Andre. Gracie Liu, who owns Brew Box. I scroll further, my eyes widening as I take in name after name: Mrs. Garcia, my third-grade teacher. Dave Cassady, the owner of The Bookaholic, who always saves the new Ilona Andrews books for me. Rosa, for God’s sake.
Many of them have ‘BBB’ listed next to their names. Others don’t. But I’d put money on the fact that Ethan and whoever’s in league with him got these people’s blood samples from somewhere else. Medical records, maybe.
A field next to some of the names is marked with ‘WDCC7.’ Others are marked with ‘BDCC8.’ And in some cases, the field is blank. There are other notes, links to family trees that I itch to dig into. Later, maybe, when our lives aren’t on the line. When I’m not afraid Ethan’s going to charge through the door at any moment, Cooper right behind him.
I make a small sound of distress, and Donovan takes the laptop from me. “What are you looking for, specifically?” he says.
“I’m not sure. Keep scrolling,” I tell him. My eyes scan the screen, taking in each new name as it’s revealed. And then I gasp.
“Oh my God. Stop,” I say, grabbing his wrist. That now-familiar electrical shock ripples through me, but I ignore it, my jaw dropping as I stare.
There on the screen is the monster’s name. And beneath it is Julia’s.
They don’t even live in Sapphire Springs anymore. What the actual fuck?
Why are they in here, with their names so close together? Why is Ethan tracking them?
Why can’t I get away from the monster, even in death?
Dizziness sweeps me. Spots dance in front of my eyes, and crimson tongues lick at the edges of my vision. My pulse pounds in my ears.
Donovan’s arm wraps around my shoulders, pulling me tight against him. “Rune. Hey.” He strokes my hair back from my forehead, his voice soft. “What’s wrong? What did you see?”
His touch steadies me, but I force myself to sit upright, away from him. Be strong, I tell myself, clearing my throat.
“You heard what Cooper said about me not knowing what it’s like to have a family. That’s because…well…my parents died when I was a baby.” There’s no way I’m getting into the details of what actually happened to them, not right now. “I got put into foster care. Julia Delgado”—I point a shaking finger at her name —“was my foster sister. The night you were driving by my house, when I passed out…Julia had just left. She was there to tell me something about…him.” I gesture at the monster’s name, my hand trembling even harder.
Donovan’s jaw clenches. “Who was he, Rune?”
“My foster father.” It’s all I manage to get out, but it must be enough, because Donovan’s eyes narrow, becoming slits of blue.
“What did he do to you?” The words emerge in a low, threatening rumble.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does. You matter, Rune, damn it. You matter to me.” He takes me by the shoulders, his narrowed eyes boring into mine. “What. Did. He. Do?”
I have to fight not to quail beneath the intensity of his gaze. “Bad things, all right? But I handled it. And it really doesn’t matter anymore, because that first night we were working together, alone at Smashbox…well…I found out that he’s dead.”
Donovan’s head tilts, the way it does when he’s thinking hard. I can practically see his mind whirring as he puts the pieces together. “That phone call.” His grip on my shoulders loosens. “Someone told you he died. And then…you kissed me?”
“One spontaneous kiss, to take place between the hours of 6:00 and 10:00 p.m.” I swallow hard. “Once again, sorry I didn’t schedule it on our shared calendar.”
His teeth sink into his lower lip. “And I told you about what Cooper did. But you—you really weren’t using me. You were…celebrating. God, I’m such a dick. I’m sorry, Rune.”
“Apology accepted,” I say, sitting back, away from him. I can’t afford to get all emotional, not now. “Anyway, that’s who he is. But it doesn’t explain why he’s in here. And see, there’s ‘WDCC7’ next to Julia’s name, but nothing next to his.”
“Hang on.” Donovan’s eyes flick to the screen again. “Maybe there’s a pattern to those codes. Let’s take a look at the people both of us know.”
His fingers fly over the keys again, and then I’m looking at Charlotte’s name. Ethan’s, Rosa’s, and all of Smashbox’s employees’. Donovan’s and Cooper’s. But not mine. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen mine at all.
Next to Charlotte’s is that familiar ‘WDCC7.’ The Smashbox employees are a mixed bag: Ethan is coded ‘BDCC8,’ as is everyone else on the retreat with us, including Rosa. Many of the rest, though, have blank fields next to their names. Cooper is marked ‘WDCC7,’ with a note that simply reads ‘special circumstances. Half-brother: Donovan Frost,’ with a link to their shared family tree. And next to Donovan’s name, most puzzling of all, are both codes.
“I don’t get it,” Donovan says. “What do those codes mean? Why would he be tracking us like this? And what the hell is he doing with this information, anyway?” His fingers drum the surface of the desk. “Whatever he’s after, we could sue the shit out of him, provided that we can prove this is linked to protected medical data. Of course, then I’d have to find a way of getting access to this that isn’t illegal as fuck…”
“Where’s my name?” I interrupt him.
Donovan shrugs. “I included you in the search parameters. You’re not in here, Rune.”
That makes no sense. Why everyone else, and not me? “I have to be. Try again.”
He does, typing my name in so I can see. Sure enough, the search yields nothing.
I lift my head, gaze fixed on the scroll-and-dagger that shimmers in the air above the kitchen counter, thinking hard. I must be missing something. The premonitions came to me. Ethan paired me with Donovan. The Blood Witches murdered my parents and stole me from them. Why would I possibly not be in this database, when everyone else is?
And then it comes to me. “Search for Iris Duval.”
“What? Who is that?”
I think of what Mrs. Hernandez told me. David and Lorelai Duval died when their house burned to the ground. They had a young daughter, Iris. “Me,” I say, my voice a whisper. “It’s my birth name.”
One of Donovan’s hands squeezes mine. With the other, he does as I asked. And a moment later, there it is. Iris Duval. WDCC7.
“Click on the family tree,” I tell Donovan, my mouth impossibly dry.
He does. Up it pops, linked to two other names in the database: David and Lorelai. When Donovan clicks on their records, both of them show the same code: WDCC7.
There are more names on the tree. Grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins. A whole family, just waiting for me to find them. The whole time, when I was abused and alone, mocked and bullied, all these people were out there, thinking I was dead.
Caught between fury and devastation, I watch as Donovan pulls up one name in my family tree after another. ‘WDCC7’ appears next to all of them.
“They’re genetic markers of some kind,” I tell him, wiping away the tears that have flooded my eyes. “They have to be.”
“Okay,” he says, “but then Cooper and I?—”
“You have different fathers. It stands to reason you wouldn’t be an exact match.”
“But then…” His lips purse, and he types something again, then sits back. “Shit. If you’re right, I’m the only one in the database that has both markers, Rune. Out of thousands of people, only me.”
It’s my turn to bite my lip. “Who was your father, Donovan?”
“Jonathan Frost. He was a mechanical engineer. Why?”
“Look him up,” I say, a terrible suspicion taking root inside me.
“He never lived in Sapphire?—”
“Look him up anyway.”
Brow knitted, Donovan does as I ask. Sure enough, Jonathan’s name pops up, linked to Donovan’s family tree. And next to it: BDCC8.
Holy shit. If these really are genetic markers… Then what if ‘WDCC7’ indicates the presence of a marker for regular witches, the ones I’m descended from? And the ‘B’ in ‘BDCC8’ stands for ‘Blood Witch’?
If that’s the case, then Donovan’s father was a Blood Witch, and his mother must have been a regular one, like Cooper. Could that be why he’s a magical null—because the two markers canceled each other out? But does it also make him something unique, something that, when linked to me, somehow has the potential to wreak havoc on the magical world?
I’m in way over my head here. I need to call the Sinsters. But Rosa took my phone, and Donovan’s, too. And there’s no landline in this cabin.
I turn to Donovan, who’s still staring at his father’s name. “I need to call Charlotte,” I tell him. I have her number memorized; she can reach out to Mrs. Fontaine, Mrs. Grant, or Mrs. Hernandez for me. “Can you dial out on FaceTime?”
“Sure.” He drums on the desk again, faster this time. “She’s a lawyer, right? But before you talk to her, we need to think, Rune. Yeah, this looks bad, but we don’t know what we’ve found, not for sure. Plus, the way I got this information is about as far from being on the up-and-up as it gets. And?—”
He’s still in the middle of his recitation when all of the scroll-and-dagger symbols flare. The overhead lights flicker and die. And then, with a sizzling sound reminiscent of a steak on a grill, Donovan’s laptop’s screen blinks once, twice, and then goes completely black.
Swearing, he punches the power button again and again. It’s no use. His computer is dead.
And with it, our best way of communicating with anyone who isn’t on this mountain.