Chapter Six
Never has a choice hurt him so terribly. The goodbye, the forgiveness, in her eyes will haunt him—burn him—like live coal nestled behind his ribcage. The temptation to let it consume him is terrifyingly real, but he smothers it before it can catch. To stop fighting now would mean losing her, too.
CALIFORNIA, UNITED STATES
When the day comes, Anna isn’t ready for it.
Together, they had made plan after plan for how they would proceed when The First sent someone looking for them.
Years of discussing and fine tuning an escape, so they could sleep easier at night.
They couldn’t be more prepared and, yet, the moment Anna spies a pale blonde stranger’s silhouette approaching their home is the moment she realizes that—for all they spoke of it—she never really believed the day would come as soon as it did.
Jiro has been with them for a little over two years.
Khiran brought her all the ingredients she requested so she could make him galette des rois for his eighteenth birthday in two weeks, because she knows he’s been eager to try it since he stumbled on a recipe in the French cookbook Khiran brought back for him.
They’re getting along, have grown on each other the way time and circumstance nurtures.
Anna is so happy with where her life is, she had stopped believing in the possibility of it ending before it could well and truly start.
Khiran never had such difficulties.
He’s by her side in an instant—no doubt feeling the fear lancing her heart. One look at the stranger, still only a silhouette of dark leather against pale skin, and he steps in front of her. Shielding her. “Get Jiro. Now.”
Questions buzz like a hive in her lungs, urgent and pointed, but she knows better than to release them. There is a time for questions and there is a time for trust. Anna knows exactly where this moment falls.
She runs into the house, her throat tight and her heart drumming in her ears. Jiro’s in the kitchen, just like she expected him to be. He looks up from the garlic he’s mincing, his expression hardening into a scowl when he sees her.
“What’s wrong? Why—”
“You need to come with me,” she urges, voice hushed.
It feels like they’ve talked about this moment a dozen times over, but Anna still flips through her memories of the conversation as if she doesn’t know his instructions by heart.
Go to their room. Hide in the crawl space, directly under their bed. Wait for Khiran to find her to either tell her it’s safe or to whisk her away.
Jiro’s hand is sweaty in hers as she leads him down the hallway.
She doesn’t release it until she opens the closet and lifts the hatch in the floor.
“You go first,” she whispers, trying to keep her voice steady.
Jiro’s expression pales. If he didn’t know the severity of their situation before, he certainly does now.
“I’ll close it behind us, okay? But we need to move quickly. ”
He swallows thickly, but gives a jerky nod before lowering himself beneath the floorboards.
Anna quickly follows, feet first, before reaching up to close the door over their heads.
It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light, the smell of wood and earth thick in the small space.
She’s not certain if it’s the dark or her rabbiting pulse, but it feels more claustrophobic than she remembers.
The timbered floor joists hang so low, she has to go on her hands and knees to clear them.
She finds Jiro’s face in the dark and tips her chin in a silent order to follow.
As she shuffles through the dirt, the occasional stone biting uncomfortably into her knees, she tries to measure how far to crawl.
From the vents under the front porch, she can catch the sound of voices but can’t interpret the words.
Khiran sounds steady, though. That alone reassures her that, at the very least, they have some time.
After about ten feet, she stops, turning her body so she can lie on her back.
Above her head, a chalked ‘x’ marks the trusses, assuring her that she’s in the right spot.
Jiro follows her lead, settling beside her.
In the dim, his eyes are wide and wild with fear.
She grasps his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze while bringing a finger to her lips.
Stay quiet.
He visibly swallows. Nods.
Together they wait, muffled voices the only clue to their fate. Anna stares up at the trusses, her heart beating against her ribs like a drum. Silently, she counts, her lips moving with each number.
Twenty seconds in, the voices quiet. For a brief, blessed moment, she thinks the danger is past.
Then Khiran appears from nowhere, one arm winding around her waist while the other grabs a startled Jiro.
Anna sees a flash of blonde hair, hears a furious curse from behind him before space folds in on itself.
Jiro’s yelp is lost in the nothingness, twisting until it sounds like it comes from another world entirely.
Then their backs hit the ground with wildflowers tickling her cheek and Khiran panting over them with eyes so wide, Anna can see her own fear reflected in them.
Jiro pushes himself up, his hair as windswept and wild as his expression. There’s an unsteadiness in the way he’s standing, a sick sheen to his complexion that tells her his stomach feels as twisted as her own. His legs falter, his body disappearing, half hidden by the tall grass as he retches.
Anna rolls over, bracing herself on her hands and knees and wills her stomach to settle and her vision to stop spinning. Khiran’s hand is at her back, rubbing small, apologetic circles.
He releases a breath, the sound so sharp, Anna wonders if he must have been holding it. Standing, he offers her help up. There’s a jerkiness to his movements, an anxiety still trembling beneath his carefully controlled mask. “I’m sorry. I know this way of travel is harder on you.”
Jiro groans from his spot in the grass. “What the hell was that?”
“We’re at Eira’s,” Khiran answers, even though they both know that’s not what the teen was asking. “If you’re ready, we need to move. Eira’s magic will fight against her following, but we don’t have long before she forces her way in.”
Anna thinks of the stories he’s told her—of how the betrayal Eira felt was sharpened by the consequences she had to live with after.
Thinks of the flash of blonde, of the way Khiran insisted she hide beneath the house, and knows The Huntress does more than track his magic, she’s able to follow it.
This meadow is a reprieve, not a sanctuary.
Her heart lurches, her hand finding the crook of Jiro’s arm and helping him up.
She’s still dizzy, her steps clumsy and her world tipping, but she doesn’t dare waste time waiting.
They need to get Jiro to safety before securing their own.
“It will pass,” she promises. “Come on.”
He’s still lanky, but the years under her care have added height and muscle to his frame.
Anna feels the weight of it now as he bumbles, steps slurred.
She pales, turning to Khiran fearfully. There’s no comfort in his expression, only mounting horror.
This wasn’t something either of them had planned for.
Jiro is mortal. The effects of travel are more poignant and lingering longer.
Khiran grabs him, mumbling an apology under his breath and hoisting him over his shoulder.
Jiro groans, his words muffled by the hand covering his mouth. “If I throw up, you’ll have deserved it.” It’s uncertain if it’s more a joke or a threat. Khiran doesn’t pause in his stride.
Eira meets them at the threshold, her blue eyes assessing the tightness in Khiran’s expression and the fear painting Anna’s gaze. She looks to Khiran, searching. “Who was it?”
“The Huntress.”
“Did she come alone?”
“Yes.”
“Good. The last thing we need is to battle time along with her blades.” She ushers them inside, nodding toward the boy slung over Khiran’s shoulder. “Set the boy in the chair. I’ll assist him while you grab what you need.”
Anna’s hand reaches out, snagging the ancient woman’s sleeve. “I don’t think he’ll make it down the path. Not on his own.”
“Silas is already here. We’ve been expecting you.”
Anna’s first reaction is one of relief—the uncoiling of a breath held too tight. The second is more subtle. A trickle of unease that grows stronger the longer it sits with her. She has no idea how Silas would have known to be here, but the fact that he is can’t possibly be good.
She swallows, nodding, and lets Eira usher her inside.
When she meets her old friend’s dark gaze, he doesn’t smile.
There’s a tension in the line of Silas’ spine, one that echoes danger.
The last time she saw him wear such an expression, they were dodging discovery in Louisiana and waiting for the moment their luck was sure to run out.
Jiro sits in an upholstered chair in front of the empty fireplace, his elbows planted on his knees and his head cradled in his hands as he releases a miserable groan.
“The room is still spinning.”
Anna flinches. “I know, I’m sorry. I promise it will pass.” Her eyes lift to Silas, an unspoken plea.
Watch him?
There’s a promise in the solemn dip of his chin. “Go. Khiran is in the bedroom gathering what you’ll need.”
The tone of his voice, the lack of warmth, makes her blood run cold—the chill of fear dipping so low it burns.
She releases a stuttering breath, her skin prickling with nerves as she rushes to the bedroom.
Khiran is already pulling a bag over his shoulder, a long charcoal coat she doesn’t recognize draped over his frame.
In his hands is a similar one a few sizes smaller.
“Put this on,” he says, with the edge of an order.
As he helps her pull it over her shoulders, Anna’s surprised to find it feels heavier than it should.
He catches her look. “I had Eira sew gold into the hem.”