Page 3 of Kiss of Smoke

On any other day I might’ve had a comeback for being calledgood girl.

Tonight, on the heels of Gwyn’s anger, I had nothing. I just buried my face against the back of his jacket, peeking out when he roared off down the street.

The shockwave of the palace explosion had buckled several nearby buildings, and he jerked the motorcycle up to fifteen feet off the ground, clearing the massive chunks of glass, concrete, and brick scattered across the road.

There were bodies, too.

I caught sight of a bloody arm, divorced from its body, and closed my eyes, pushing my face all the way against Gwyn’s back. My breath was coming in shallow pants as he rode up over the buildings towards Mothwing Falls.

Not even the cool breeze against my skin helped. I broke out in a cold sweat, nausea swirling alongside the pain as I thought about that arm, and the chunk of Hellekin’s flesh lying on a sterile metal table, and swallowed hard.

“I’m going to pass out,” I muttered, and Gwyn shouted something I didn’t hear. Whatever it was, he held onto my arms with one hand tightly to keep me from slipping off the back.

Then we suddenly dropped. The bike’s descent sent my stomach flipping upwards towards my throat, but the feeling of the tires hitting solid ground again gave me a small sense of relief.

He pulled to a stop and gently disentangled me from him. I looked up to see Carabosse’s front door, sliding almost bonelessly from the back of the bike and sinking to my knees on the sidewalk in front of it.

Blood dripped down my arms. I must’ve been gripping Gwyn so tightly I’d reopened the wounds Robin had cleaned.

“Her lights are off,” I said, a little breathless as I fought the light-headedness that came with the sight of fresh blood.

Carabosse’s windows were dark, but I could just make out the sight of boards that had been nailed across her windows. Gwyn strode across the sidewalk and hammered on her door, each bang as loud as a gunshot.

Strange how quiet Mothwing Falls was right now. Nobody was peering through their windows, and all the lights were off.

Nobody answered. Not a single light flickered on inside her home.

A low growl came from the Hunter at Carabosse’s door, and he circled back, carefully picking me up off the sidewalk and cradling me in his arms.

“She’s gone, Gwyn,” I said, tucked against him, then I felt his torso tighten.

He strode to the door again, each step taking him faster, and then he raised a steel-toed boot and kicked her door open.

“Gwyn!”

Metal screeched as he ignored me, pounding through the wood with each kick, ripping locks out of the walls and knocking the entire thing off-kilter. I watched with wide eyes as the door groaned and slouched sideways, hanging on by one hinge, as Gwyn carried me over the threshold.

It was pitch black inside, made even darker by the boards covering the windows, and dead quiet.

Until we heard the click of a gun being cocked.

“Stop right there,” Carabosse’s familiar voice rang out. “Human or Fae?”

I squinted into the black and saw a faint figure, holding a pistol trained on us.

“Fae, and we need your help, old woman,” Gwyn growled.

A light snapped on, and Carabosse scowled at us. “Old woman?That’s no way to ask for help after you literally break my door down.”

She had a point there.

Gwyn placed me on the table where I’d once sat as Carabosse picked rock shards out of my feet, and the woman’s eyes ran over me, taking in the damage with her usual pitiless assessment. “Ah. I see.”

She was disheveled, her hair an unbraided wild mess, and she clutched a robe around herself tightly with her free hand. All the color was gone from her face.

“Did you hear what happened?” I asked hoarsely. Only Gwyn’s hands on my waist and shoulder kept me from tilting over and falling off the table.

Carabosse’s derisive snort was so familiar it was almost steadying, a small beacon of normalcy in a night full of insanity. “Everyone’s heard, silly girl. The entire city rocked all the way into the Undercity.”

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