Page 58 of Feathers From the Sky

Without ever having step foot in the tobacco shop, my assistant has determined exactly who owns it, and, in the process, has uncovered a hidden faction dedicated to ridding the world of my kind. Humans, sorcerers, a few demons, and even a soothsayer have been meeting weekly in private for years, creating protective amulets, attempting to undermine my father’s business deals, and stockpiling silver. Creating silver buckshot and bombs is quite lucrative, but not enough to grow their numbers or their weapons.

Each of them has a reason to hate us, and that’s why I let Margot scope it out first before deciding to bother with them. They are barely a threat, their numbers and abilities too weak to do much without proper organization. Now that we know of their existence, they’d be easy to monitor. We’ve killed their friends and loved ones in this endless war for dominance, and I don’t know if it will ever end.

Will I be the one to finish it or will there always be someone from one side seeking retribution? If there is ever to be peace, we have already bought it with flesh and blood. If we continue until no slights or vengeance is left, we will be eradicated. It’s not worth it.

I startle, rubbing my hand over my face when I realize where my mind has wandered. Never has inaction against those who would do us harm been an option I would consider. Though I seek to live peacefully and quietly with more freedoms after my father Slumbers, not once would I consider allowing our enemies to live.

Until now.

Fighting the urge to peek at the monitors again, I walk into the kitchen. But like a weed drawn to the sun, I can’t help but look at her. Ignoring a tightness in my chest, I only look away once she’s fallen asleep. I have not given two fucks about anyone save for Remy since my mom died. I have killed anyone who stood in my way, have had no desire to be more or do better. Not until her.

Not until Gwyneth fucking Parsons.

It’s goddamn infuriating.

She so earnestly thinks I’m not at fault for my brother, clearly believes in my ability to save her from death. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I breathe deep, dismissing the thoughts. Gwyn is just saying all the shit she thinks I need to hear. She’s trying to force me into being a better person by creating this illusion that I could be.

“Sit down,” Margot says, and I raise a brow. She’s nervous as fuck. Chewing on the inside of her cheek and averting her eyes, she asks, “Where’s Nico?”

“He’ll be here any minute.” I nod toward the monitors. “Why?”

“I’ll wait until he’s back,” she says, immediately turning around to leave. Her hand is shaking as she tucks her thumb under her bag. Her normally sluggish heart rate has picked up.

“Stop,” I command. “Tell me.”

“I-” She fights it, and I growl at her. Margot is a bombshell—the woman could stop traffic—and she knows it. Never has my confident, borderline-egotistical friend cowered before me, but if she had a tail, it would be between her legs right now. “I saw his car,” she whispers.

“Who’s car?” I ask, but I already know.

“Remy’s.”

* * *

Nico is driving northwhile Margot sits in the backseat, trying to hack into the security cameras belonging to the tobacco store and the tire shop next door to it. They’re owned by the same people, and Margot suspects this group meets in the basement below the strip mall. In a stroke of luck, it’s a Friday night. Just in time for their weekly meeting.

I can kill a lot of birds with one stone. Seventeen birds, to be exact.

“Why didn’t you tell her?” Nico asks as he merges lanes.

I don’t answer, watching the SUV to our right almost rear-end the car in front of it. Closing my eyes, I think of Remy, imagine my brother and his crooked smile. The chipped tooth he got before he Ascended. I think of him tossing back a shot and telling me he planned to marry Rose. Remember holding him in my arms after she died. Everything I’ve done and everything I do tonight will be for him, and maybe his soul will rest easy knowing I did my best.

All of that floods my mind, and yet the image that pushes forefront is Gwyn.

I picture her horrified face as I gut the people who killed my brother to protect her, to protect abloodline. Do they give a flying fuck about her? Know her favorite color is teal? Do they know how long she can talk about her hatred of Hemingway without needing to take a single goddamn breath? Do they know how many ridiculous fucking hobbies she’s picked up in the last few years without finishing a single project? Or is she just a broodmare to them? They clearly don’t view her as a weapon or they would have trained her. Even if Bill had been against it, the old man has been dead for over a year now.

They only want her for what they could grow in her fucking womb.

Part of me wanted to bring her. To see if she would condemn them for what they’ve done to Remy. Or what they might have done to her if given the chance.

I’m nearly sick to my stomach when I realize I want to protect her from that knowledge.

“Because he doesn’t want to get her hopes up,” Margot quips from the backseat. “Ya know, in case he breaks the deal he made with her.”

“Jesus, Margot, not right now.” I stretch my leg, massaging my thigh where the worst of the damage was. The breakthrough pain is gone, but it’s still sore to the touch.

“That’s what thinking with your dick gets you,” Nico says, not taking his eyes off the road. These two jackoffs have gotten way too goddamn comfortable with me.

“No more talking,” I command. The traffic is abominable, but I have to end this tonight. I crave more answers, and I don’t know if I’ll get them. All I know is the auto shop has Remy’s car, and what can be more damning evidence than that? It’s his dead fiancee’s car, and he would never have parted with it willingly. The sooner I deal with this, the sooner I can move Gwyn far the fuck away from me, fake her death, and patiently wait for my father to Slumber.

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