The Taste of Night (26 page)

Probably thinking they should’ve left me underground.

I’m sure it was against direct order, but he left the room after that, locking the door behind him. I was glad. The stagnant scent of his disgust made me want to hide my face.

I took the meal they brought me at noon, the other they served at five, and waited as patiently as possible while I counted the minutes until dusk. Finally, even my guilt and lingering sorrow burned off like morning fog along the left coast, and by six I’d had enough of cooling my heels. I stormed over to the door, intent on plowing through whoever was seated on the other side. A good confrontation would get me feeling more like myself.

The door swung open just as violently as I’d meant it to, but I had to jerk back to avoid getting beaned in the head—again—then froze when I saw the faces of the five heroes assembled there. A slew of magazines struck my chest with enough force that I stumbled back a step. “What the fuck is this?”

I glanced down at the floor, and realized Warren hadn’t thrown magazines, but manuals. There were multiple copies, but only two editions, and they each had my image emblazoned on the front. The first was titled
The Archer: Ambushed
. The second,
The Boneyard Breach
.

“Umm…” I said, when what I meant to say was,
Oh shit
.

Warren’s brows grew together in fury. Micah, who’d come in behind him, crossed his arms, his gaze equally heavy on my face. Hunter cursed and shook his head, while Vanessa only stared. Felix didn’t look at me at all.

I’d known this was coming, of course. I’d had two weeks to prepare an answer, longer than I’d thought since everyone had been so occupied with the virus that reading comics had been the last thing on their minds. Someone, however, had concluded my appearance at Joaquin’s home hadn’t sprung up out of nowhere, and they’d gone to Master Comics to do some investigating of their own.

“Okay, I know how this looks—”

“No,” Warren’s voice was a whip as he stepped into the room. “If you knew how this looked, you’d be backed against that far wall, prepared to fight your way past the five of us or die trying.”

Taken aback, my explanation died on my lips, and I looked from Warren to the others, searching for some sign that he was exaggerating. But their expressions didn’t soften or change. He waited until my gaze had returned to his, then raised a fist before pointing one finger in the air. “You hunted down and killed a Shadow—one who knew about your hidden identity—and didn’t say a thing—”

“But have you read it? Did you see why?”

He ignored my question, and ticked off another offense. “You gained the aureole without telling any of us, and were therefore off our radars for a twelve-hour period. A period in which we may have needed you.”

“I’m perfectly safe when I possess the aureole,” I said, immediately regretting it. I only sounded arrogant.

Warren held up another finger, his middle one, which, I was sure, wasn’t by coincidence. “You arranged a meeting with Joaquin at Master Comics, and discussed this troop—”

“I did not! I was told by a reliable source he’d be there, and I’d have done more than talk with him if it weren’t a designated safe zone!”

Warren held up his entire hand now, stepping forward as
he did so, and I stopped talking. Very quietly, in a voice so faint you wouldn’t have heard the individual words without superstrength hearing, he continued, “And after I gave you a direct order to remain in the sanctuary, you breached the hole in the boneyard’s walls, leaving the sanctuary vulnerable again, so you could meet with that same
source
on a rooftop above a crime scene where your entire troop was gathered…and could be picked off one by one.”

I hadn’t thought of it that way.

Which was, of course, Warren’s point. I hadn’t thought at all.

Micah stepped forward, an expression of pure hurt staining his eyes, and shame overran my anger. “You’ve known all along what we’re dealing with, haven’t you?” he asked.

I closed my eyes, knowing an admission would be more damning in their eyes than all of Warren’s points put together. I rubbed my hands over my face, trying to think of a way to spin this so they’d understand, but that was futile. My troop thought in terms of black and white. Right or wrong.
Shadow or Light
. Opening my eyes, I found Micah next to me, and though the truth was already reflected in his face, I knew he wanted me to say it.

“I’ve known since the night of the attacks.”

His face contorted, so many emotions passing over it at the same time that I winced seeing it, then winced again as he cried out, simultaneously driving a syringe into my good arm. I yelped and tried to pull away, but he wrapped his other arm around me to steel me in place, and I whimpered as he roughly drew the blood from my arm. When he was finished, he pushed me away so that I stumbled, careening into a wall with a small grunt. Nobody moved to help. I rubbed my arm, but knew that wouldn’t elicit any sympathy either. The needle mark was already healing.

I’d given a blood sample before leaving the sanctuary, but apparently Micah hadn’t gotten to it. Probably because he’d rushed out with the others to come and save me. I swallowed hard as he pulled a white, palm-sized cassette from his
pocket and injected my drawn blood into one side. Then he held the cassette still, watching the other side for a reading.

All the blood left in my body drained away. I could reason with them to read the manuals, convince them I was ambushed by Regan and Liam, but all I could do while Micah scrutinized my blood was wait, breath held, even though I knew what the results would be before he lifted his head and addressed the rest of the group.

“Positive,” he said, voice rasping. “She’s immune.”

“You knew,” Warren said, stepping toward me, and the look on his face was the same that’d been there when he’d reached for Joaquin. Micah reached out to grab me again.

“No, no,” I said, panicked now, jerking away from Micah as my words tumbled out. “Read the manuals! You’ll see. She kissed me…I didn’t know that’s what she was doing. The Shadow agent who was with her was surprised as well. He thought she meant to kill me.” And as I heard myself defending things that were indefensible, I wondered how I could have been so taken in.

“Who is ‘she’?” Warren wanted to know.

“Regan…uh, DuPree is her last name. She’s an initiate; the Shadows use them to track agents of Light, and that’s why she doesn’t show up in the manuals. She gave me Joaquin’s address, then told him I’d be coming. I trusted her because…” Because she’d lied, I realized, doing a mental head slap. She’d lied about wanting me to come to the Shadow side, and her desire to sit at my “right-hand side,” and I’d believed her.

God, had I wanted to believe her?

Warren backed up a step, his body language no longer quite as threatening, though he didn’t let up with his words. “And this Regan lured you to the aquarium and told you Joaquin would be at Master Comics?”

“I wouldn’t say lured—”

“She’s the one who followed you to that downtown rooftop, where we were all gathered below, sitting ducks—”

“She was alone,” I protested.

“No, Olivia. You were with her.”

And I had nothing to say to that.

“She knows who you really are doesn’t she?”

It was the first time Hunter had spoken. I glanced over at him, surprised. I’d almost forgotten he was there, leaning near the door, one foot propped on the wall in a pose that looked relaxed, almost benign. How deceiving.

I bit my lip, but it was in the manuals anyway. And I was done lying. “Yes. For months now.”

“And you let her live?” Disbelief swam on Felix’s face.

“She’s an initiate. I thought she was harmless. She—”

“She had information you wanted,” Warren interrupted, taking up the interrogation again. “She bribed you with the one thing she knew would convince you to spare her life. Bread crumbs leading to Joaquin’s door. Meanwhile she lied to you, betrayed you, and persuaded you to betray us.”

“I haven’t,” I said. “I swear.”

Warren looked at me like I was a mentally incapacitated two-year-old.

“I swear I didn’t,” I said again. “I didn’t know there was a virus until I saw that woman in the alley, and I have no idea how it’s still being spread among the mortals. The initial exposure came with the fireworks off the roof of Valhalla, but Regan said those susceptible to infection had to be within falling range of the spores for it to take effect. That’s all I know. I swear on my mother’s life.”

There was silence as they contemplated my words, weighing them as a group while scenting the air to test my sincerity, checking for lies as they studied my face. I knew if they decided I was lying, I’d never leave this room alive. Finally a sharp inhalation.

“Give us a minute alone,” Warren told the others without looking at them. When nobody moved, his mouth tightened. “Alone!”

His voice was barbed, with the ruthlessness that made him the only choice for troop leader. He played the fool, sure, but a truly foolish man wouldn’t have done it so well.

“I warned you of this, Joanna,” he said, using my real name when the room had emptied. “I told you this vendetta against Joaquin would be used to harm us all—”

“It hasn’t! Not…yet.”

“But they’ve found a way to exploit it, haven’t they?”

I shook my head. “Regan’s working alone, I’m sure of that. If she weren’t I’d already be dead.”
We all would
, I thought, remembering Warren’s anger about the rooftop.

He joined me on the edge of the bed, though there was nothing companionable about it. I resisted the urge to inch away, and found I couldn’t meet his eyes. “Let me tell you something about initiates, Joanna. You don’t know this because you came to us late, but for those raised in the lifestyle, there are certain things that can never be done. One of those is disobeying a senior troop member when given a direct order. If Regan’s been contacting you regularly, drawing you along on a wild-goose chase, it’s not by her own design. Somebody’s pulling the strings behind the scenes. She’s merely—”

“The puppet,” I finished for him, Joaquin’s face looming in my mind as he’d been, smirking and sure, hours before. We’d both been played like puppets. I ran a hand over my face. “But she said she wanted me to join the Shadow side; that’s why she let me live. Zell or Sloane or any of the other Shadow signs would’ve killed me on the spot. That’s what Liam intended. They all want me dead.”

“There’s one who doesn’t. And he’s the one who cannot be disobeyed.”

I shook my head. “No. The Tulpa doesn’t know who I am. If he did he’d have come after me himself. He thinks he has a right to me, like I felt I had a right to Joaquin.” I looked up at him now, eyes imploring, desperate for him to see I’d never intended to injure my troop. “I’ve searched him out for so many years, Warren. And I have both more to gain by his death and more to lose with his existence than anyone else—”

“But—”

“But I was wrong,” I provided, and saw surprise bloom in his expression. “You were right and I was wrong. I disobeyed and unwittingly put you all in danger, and I did all those things you said…except one.” I placed my hand over his, ignored the stiffening muscles beneath mine, knowing the contact would strengthen his ability to read my sincerity. “I never betrayed you. I never even thought of it. I defied you, but I swear there was no malice in it. And I promise, if you’ll just give me another chance, I won’t be taken in again.”

Warren jerked his hand away, and now it was he who wouldn’t meet my gaze. “It’s more than that. Awe at some unidentifiable power can easily mutate into admiration. Especially if a person’s been convinced that power is theirs for the taking.”

Trouble or not, anger surged at that, and I catapulted from the bed’s edge, whirling to face him. “Feeling the Tulpa’s power last year in Valhalla didn’t make me hunger for it, Warren! It made me realize how much I’m lacking, and how much more strength and experience I need if I’m to survive it again!”

“So you decided to seek it out for yourself.”

“Damned right,” I said, and hell would freeze over before I apologized for that.

“And did you stop to consider there might be a reason we’re going slowly with you?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“And you still don’t trust me.” He opened his mouth to protest, but I stopped him with a shake of my head. I’d thought a lot about Regan’s words and decided they made sense. It was a lot to ask a man who was uncomfortable with shades of gray to fully and immediately accept a troop member who was both Shadow and Light. “You never say it outright, but you ignore the talents that side has gifted me with, the things I can do and see because the Shadow lives inside of me, and refuse to use them for good.”

He shook his head. “Not true.”

“Then look me in the eye and tell me you haven’t sat up at night worried your precious Kairos was going to start pinch-hitting for the other side.” My mouth was dry, my heart pounding, but it felt good to finally get it out in the open…even if it might get me killed. I forced him to meet my gaze, eyes fierce as I pleaded with him to listen to me. “Because that’s what you’re saying, isn’t it? That I’m going to be so enamored of the power promised to me by dear ol’ dad, that one day I’m going to wake up and take all the training and knowledge and power your troop has gifted me with, and start using it against you?”

His answer came in the emotions bleeding through the molecules between us. They were torn, sullied things, sharpened by a confusion he’d never felt before. Warren had only ever had one job, to lead this troop against beings who operated under the same restrictions but refused to play by the rules. While we fought fairly, they looked for loopholes. We acted defensively while they played offense, and a mean one at that.

Was it any wonder that the way I bucked at my restraints was seen as a rebellion? Or the way I questioned everything was interpreted as devious? Shadows were not to be trusted—as I’d just found out the hard way—and here was one, half one anyway, living in their midst, sharing their thoughts, emotions, training, secrets. I’d be just as cautious in Warren’s shoes, but how many times was I going to have to prove myself for him to stop frowning when he looked at me? Or wondering about my motives? Or fearing my growing strength?

Warren’s sigh broke into my thoughts, and for the first time since he entered the room I really looked at him. He had a gash on his arm the length of two fists, and though his lids were heavy with fatigue, his hair even greasier than usual, he wasn’t in his hobo attire. He was just an exhausted leader in a war that showed no sign of ending.