Page 42 of Sharpen Your Claws

“But that means they’re holding them captive somewhere without either of us sensing them. Considering how many patients they’ve taken, there must be more than one, and that would be impossible to hide from us.”

“I don’t know about impossible.” Evera gazed upon the abandoned buildings and their darkened windows. Alogan had countless places to hide. Their quarry took another corner. They hadn’t left the outer banks, continuing along a pathway through the abandoned warehouses.

“If there were a group of disciples, we’d sense them, like we are now, and I’ve gone over this district multiple times already.” And yet he missed the obvious that Evera spoke of so easily. With the cracks of his mind, he may have missed the obvious again.

“Sir, where are we going? I thought your shop was on main street,” asked the girl. She stopped to examine their surroundings.

“The shop is on main street, but the furniture we are retrieving to take there is this way,” the stranger replied in a hushed voice, like they struggled to enunciate their words.

The woman accepted the excuse. The disciple didn’t rush, did nothing to make himself stand out. He held a conversation with her, spinning a story about a factory shutting down and having good furniture to sell. The girl did not know who she followed until the disciple stopped in the middle of an alleyway.

“Down here,” he said, pointing at the street.

“There’s nothing here,” she replied, then he waved his hand over her eyes and she fell into his arms.

The disciple laid her beside a manhole. Once opened, he tossed her over his shoulder and descended into the sewers. Evera and Nicholas shared understanding looks. They weren’t hiding in an abandoned warehouse. The disciples infiltrated beneath the city.

Nicholas stood along the manhole first, where the stench made him ill. Evera openly gagged.

“Mortals are foul,” she hissed.

Sighing, he dropped into the manhole. Evera followed. The sewer ran all throughout the city, more convoluted than the streets above. They kept closer to the disciple, mirroring his movements until they came upon the answer to their many questions. The disciple approached a scar in the middle of a passage, hardly visible to the naked eye. If it were any larger, it may have caused sickness among the civilians above. The shadowed disciple walked in, carrying her limp figure over his shoulder.

Evera turned to Nicholas. They shared the same worried expression. The kidnapped patients had been taken to Faerie.

“Weren’t you supposed to have slaughtered these bastards?” She hissed on their way to the exit.

“I lost count of how many I slaughtered, but some kept their heads low, and now we know why,” he replied irritably.

Laurent sent him on a worthless mission. They understood Nicholas couldn’t destroy all of them, considering more could rise after Fearworn’s demise simply to worship the bastard. However, he hadn’t expected the damn creatures to cause problems already.

“No, we have an idea why. They’re up to something foul, but what do they need mortals for?” Evera corrected.

“Food?” Nicholas shrugged.

Evera caught the rings of the ladder and climbed out of the sewer. “This has to do with Fearworn. You’re thinking it, too.”

“I killed him. He’s gone. I…” In truth, he didn’t remember Fearworn’s death.

That moment when William’s breathing stopped, the world faded. What he recalled was anger and desperation, to finish Fearworn off once and for all so he could save William anyway he could. There was blood, Fearworn’s body broken in his hands, a sudden change and the need to spare William above all else, but nothing more than that. Others spoke of the battle, how he and Fearworn became mirrored blazes of light ripping through the sky. Arden admitted to believing they would all perish as the sky caught fire and that fire rained upon them. The evergreens sparked and, before they realized it, the battlefield had been consumed, little more than fire and ash. Nicholas’ first memory from that time was William laid out on a bed, his silver arm draped over his stomach and Laurent leaning over him. Laurent wore a smile, one of pure villainy, for he had Nicholas trapped.

“How could Fearworn have survived?” he muttered, angered at himself most of all for not ensuring anything remained of the bastard.

“This is the fae who tore a hole into another realm,” Evera said. “Two realms went to war against him for decades. Do you truly believe him incapable of cheating death?”

He wasn’t sure. He didn’t want Fearworn to be. The war ended and that couldn’t change.

“Let us return to William. He must know of this.” He headed for the clinic.

Though it was late, William spent most of his time there, so it was the best place to check first. Evera traveled with him, her hands locked behind her head. To others, she looked relax, but he knew she watched the corners for signs of another disciple. Her presence and the help given drew about a worried curiosity. Laurent told her to monitor him. He knew she would get bored and expected she would follow around, but not take the situation as seriously as this.

“Why did you help?” he asked. “Tonight, you had no reason to stop me from making foolish decisions and don’t use my father as an excuse. We both know you didn’t have to intervene.”

Evera shrugged. “If I’m to follow you, the least you can do is entertain me, and this is entertaining. I enjoy a good mystery.”

Nicholas wouldn’t admit to being grateful. Without her, he may have ruined their best chance to discover where the disciples were going.

They walked the rest of the way in silence. He ascended the warehouse with Evera snickering at his back. “Did your little pet make you promise not to frighten his patients? Poor boy, you have to sneak in.”

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