Chapter Thirty-Seven
Oooh, look! A new window display!” Sophie took off for a shop on Dante’s main drag before I could stop her.
It was halfway through the next morning, which was ridiculous considering the pressing nature of the issue we were dealing with.
But after my talk with Cyrus, I’d begun to feel seriously unwell and had decided to lie down for a few minutes—and ended up sleeping until midnight.
After which I’d gotten up, staggered to the kitchen, and eaten half a pound cake.
It had had a sticky note taped to the little aluminum pan that read: “Eat and Die (anybody but Lia),” so I’d supposed it was for me.
I had then cleaned out the fridge of the cold fried chicken and potato salad I guessed had comprised everyone else’s dinner, scarfed down a bag of pretzels, and even eaten an old frozen meal I found in the freezer.
Cyrus hated the chemical smell of them, but I’d liked it just fine, and had had my head stuck in the fridge, debating what to gobble next, when the man himself padded in wearing a pair of pajama pants and a sleepy expression.
He had nonetheless insisted on making me the world’s biggest omelet and half a package of bacon to go with it.
I’d protested that I couldn’t possibly eat that much, and had then proven myself a liar before falling back into bed, face-first, not to wake up until morning.
When I had discovered that I felt somewhat better.
I was better still after a huge breakfast of pancakes, griddled ham, orange juice, and pie.
Cyrus had gotten up early to make some apple pies for later in the day, which did not survive the onslaught of a bunch of hungry, teenage Weres led by their ravenous Lupa.
But after all that, I felt strong enough not only to get dressed, but to avoid staggering around like a drunk when walking from valet parking into Dante’s.
Unfortunately, the trip had been a complete waste of time.
Sienna had informed me that juniper berries, which ghost beads were made from, were often used to make jewelry that was sold at every roadside stand.
And since they were a natural product, just dried out and strung onto a string, there was no maker to be identified.
These could have come from anywhere.
And now, because Dante’s believed firmly in the adage of exiting through the gift shop, we were having to traverse the length of the drag to get back out, and of course, the girls had become distracted.
The shop in question was the one I’d visited a week ago, but a line of mood ring clothing had replaced the rodeo line.
According to the sign, the fabric was supposed to change color based on the wearer’s aura, and it appeared to work.
The whole display flushed Barbie-pink as soon as Sophie got anywhere near it.
“Ha!” she clapped her hands like a delighted little girl, and spent the next few moments running back and forth along the window display, watching the pink blush follow her across a bunch of sixties pastiche: bell-bottoms, tie-dye, mini dresses, and fur vests, with oversized peace signs on the wall as a backdrop.
Then she darted inside the store, followed by Jen, who never passed up a chance to shop.
Where they found display after display of the new clothing line happily morphing to suit them.
Sophie was followed everywhere by a blush of pink and red, while Jen found herself in a tie-dyed swirl of different shades of green.
“Try it, Lia!” Sophie said, coming over to the bench I’d found just inside the entrance, to prop up my weary bones.
She was carrying a bright blue sarong-style skirt that immediately shifted to black when I touched it—fair considering my mood. But to my surprise, it didn’t stay that way. Tendrils of scarlet, orange, and yellow began threading through the fabric, creating a design that almost resembled smoke.
Or fire.
“Ha!” Sophie laughed. “It looks like you picked the right colors for Fireborn.”
“Yeah,” I said, my hand fisting in the silk. “It does.”
She ran off to explore the rest of the shop’s wonders, but I just sat there, watching the fabric morph and feeling guilty. The cheerful red and yellow seemed to mock me, peeking through the black to give proof of my lie. Because my mood wasn’t nearly as dark as it should have been.
The ghost beads hadn’t helped, but a part of me—a large part, as evidenced by how wide the swath of colors was becoming in the skirt—had been glad of it. No leads meant no danger for Cyrus or the clan. Because they couldn’t fight what they couldn’t find, could they?
The boys were out there now, using the contacts they’d made in their street days, none of whom would have talked to the Corps, to try to get a lead.
Meanwhile, Cyrus was having a chat with our newest clan members out at Wolf’s Head, hoping to do the same.
Somebody had to know something about a Reaper suddenly having a far more deadly line to flog than usual.
And yet, here I was, hoping they failed.
Stupid! If they did, we’d be in even more danger. I didn’t know whether what I’d thought yesterday was true—if a single potion could actually decide the war—but having it in the hands of the dark would definitely result in massive casualties on our side.
Including my clan.
Including my boys.
Instead of a handful of Relics, the potion could make hundreds or even thousands. And what thousands of those things could do... didn’t bear thinking about. And that didn’t even count the fact that Cyrus was probably correct about the clans.
Damn it, I was the trained investigator here! I should be able to do this, to get a clue, to figure out some path forward. And for any other question, I would have.
But not this one.
You don’t have time to wait to recover, I told myself furiously.
To go with them, to fight alongside them!
I know what you want, but this will be decided soon, one way or the other.
No one could hide from the number of people hunting this guy for long, and we had to get there first; we simply had to.
The swath of fiery color I was clutching had broadened to the point that it now covered half the skirt, and I stared at it resentfully.
Goddamn it, I couldn’t afford to have my usual instincts blunted because I didn’t really want an answer to my question.
What would I have been doing normally, after striking out with a witness?
That was easy: looking for another one. But Dave had been with Sienna when I showed up, and he hadn’t been able to tell me any more than she had. And neither did the beads.
I felt them slip through my fingers, the lightly furrowed surface giving me nothing except the vague hum of a mildly magical object. Because of course not. I was a mage, not a—
I stopped, frozen in place for a moment, and even the morphing colors in the skirt slowed to a crawl.
And then sped up into a churning, whirling mass of ugly gray/black and olive green, like a thunderous sky.
With only a few hints of other shades flashing through occasionally as I slowly, slowly, slowly. ..
Looked up.
But I wasn’t seeing the ceiling, which was plain white to avoid clashing with the riot of colors below.
But rather another stretch of white I’d seen recently: ceiling, marble floor, and ribbed walls, making the whole atrium look like a giant bird cage.
The gilt spines had provided the only color except for the brilliantly hued paper kites that had fluttered about, perfectly mimicking their feathered counterparts.
The Pythian Court.
Because yeah, I was a mage, not a seer. But there was a seer on sight, wasn’t there? Only no, that was wrong.
The Seer was on sight, the greatest of them all, and the scariest, judging by the way my arms had just broken out in gooseflesh.
At least, she was supposed to be.
Assuming I had the guts to face her.
I stood up.
“It’s okay,” I told Sophie, who, like a mother hen, immediately came over. “I, uh, I’m just going to talk to another witness.”
“Okay, gimme a minute to check out.”
“What is it?” Jen called, poking her head out of one of the beaded curtains concealing the dressing rooms. She was holding a cute little skirted suit that made her look like the Joker, as it wasn’t only green but was now covered with purple question marks.
“We gotta go,” Sophie called back.
“Already?”
“No, you don’t,” I told them. “I’m just going upstairs—”
“So?” Sophie said. “We’ll go with.”
“You can’t—”
That got me a look, and the soft, pale pink cardigan she was holding abruptly flashed fuchsia. “Watch us. Cyrus said not to leave you for a minute—”
“I’m not going to get in any trouble—”
The fuchsia deepened. “You get in trouble walking across a room! You get in trouble breathing. You are basically the definition of—”
“Not this time.”
“I know not this time, because we’re going with you!”
“Where are we going?” Jen asked, coming over with a riot of shades of green across her arm, from a bikini to mod daywear to an evening gown with fur on the hem.
“Did you give Sebastian back his credit card?” I asked, suspicious.
“He hasn’t asked.”
“Jen!”
“You saved his life. It’s the least he can do, and most of these are for you anyway.”
“I don’t need—”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t say you don’t need clothes. I was just in your closet, remember? Besides, Weres always need clothes—”
“Not these!”
“I don’t know,” Sophie said evilly. “I kind of like knowing your mood in advance.” She crossed her arms and looked pointedly at the rat fink of a sarong, which had just turned a bright shade of amber with a few black striations.
“What does that mean?” Jen asked, curious.
“I’m glad you asked,” Sophie took out a card she’d found somewhere and scanned down what I assumed was a list of colors. “Amber: Excited, nervous, or anxious.” She looked at me. “What are you anxious about?”
I decided that a little tough love was in order. “I’m going to see the Pythia,” I said bluntly.
“What?”