Page 20 of Flame and Fury

“Sylvie, I’m just gonna come out and say it. I’m looking for the Boar, and I’m hoping you might be able to point me in the right direction.”

Sylvie’s gaze drifts over to me and then back to Wren. “Just you, or both of you?”

I rest an arm on the wobbly back of Wren’s stool. I don’t move my fingers, but let them brush between her shoulder blades, where her wings emerge. I want to see them again. I only caught a glimpse in the alley behind Mad Adams and I haven't stopped thinking about running my hands all over every inch of her body, including those damn wings. She was magnificent, fierce, glorious.

Wren leans back, crushing my hand between her body and the back of the seat. I flatten my palm across her back instead. She makes a disgruntled sound that has me holding in a laugh. I have never wanted to tease anyone in my entire life. My default is to tell someone to clear out when they’re in my way. But Wren has flipped everything upside down.

“We as in the two of us. I know he seems like a dick,” She leans back to squish my hand harder, and I dig my fingers into her side. She squirms and eases up. “And sometimes he is, but I can vouch for him.”

Wren turns to look at me and even though she’s vouching for me, it’s clear she doesn’t trust me. Not completely. She believes I don’t want to turn the Boar over to the gods, but I sold her out to the Underground. I told Kat her secret when it wasn’t mine to share.

It’s for the greater good.

I’ve told myself that a hundred times now, but with each repetition it feels less true.

Sylvie wraps her knuckles on the bar and heaves a heavy sigh. “He’s already waiting on you.”

CHAPTER12

WREN

“Follow me.” Sylvie turns around before I can ask another question.

Not wanting to miss out on this opportunity, I hop off my stool and snatch my soggy coat off the chair. Atlas is right behind me, so close I feel his breath on the back of my neck.

Sylvie walks to the end of the bar, and then keeps going down a narrow hallway. I hustle to keep up with her. Sylvie’s at least five foot ten. I’m not short, but compared to my five foot six, her legs are definitely longer than mine. Her words replay in my mind. The people’s champion. What the hell is that about?

I know millions of people all around the world watch the games. But it’s impossible for me to wrap my head around the idea that they’re watching me. That they might be invested in what happens to me. My life these past few weeks has been so damn weird. In some ways, we’re in this insular bubble where there’s only the champions and the random assortment of people who orbit around the games. There’s Billy and the guards, clerics, and fucking Nathaniel Rogers. Not to mention the gods we’re forced to attend fancy parties with. It’s been so consuming that I never stopped to think about the people on the other end, watching from bars like the Hole, and rooting for their favorite champion.

It’s unexpected and terrifying. If the people see my words and actions as some kind of rebellion, then there’s no way the clerics and the gods haven’t noticed as well. The underdogs of society might have someone to root for, but I’m pretty sure I’ve put a target on my back. The Fury part of me, the one that seeks to right the wrongs, loves this idea. It gives the rest of me anxiety.

The back hallway isn’t any nicer than the front of the bar, except there are no photos on the walls. Is Sylvie taking us to an office? There’s no way the Boar is hanging out somewhere in the back. It can’t be that simple. Sure, I let my instinct lead me here, but Atlas said that the Boar is some sort of legendary wanted figure. He wouldn’t be chilling in a bar storeroom on the strip. Regardless of how far away from the flashy parts we are.

Right?

If it was that easy, then finding him wouldn’t be one of the Olympus Games challenges.

Sylvie glances toward the front of the bar as we reach a back door. “You guys have drones out front?”

“Yes,” I sneer. I hate the damn things.

Sylvie pulls her phone out of her back pocket with a nod and types something on the screen with rapid swipes of her fingers. She doesn’t say anything else as we wait in the dark corridor for at least two minutes.

All right, so I just said that I trusted my instinct and was all proud of my gut for leading me here, but now I’m starting to second-guess things. Is Sylvie setting Atlas and me up for an ambush? Did she get us in the dark hallway so a bunch of people could swarm us and take us down?

The world’s a fucked-up place. I wouldn’t put anything past anyone at this point in my life.

Three loud thumps on the back door, followed by two softer ones, have me straightening. Atlas never relaxes his stance. His back is against the wall and his arms crossed. He’s probably been assessing the situation and watching for danger this whole time. My Fury has been quiet, so I’m not worried.

“Finally,” Sylvie drawls, opening the door. A gust of frigid air rushes in with the force of a hurricane. Standing in the swirling snow is a man. I can’t see any part of his features because he’s completely bundled up.

Are we going out? Or is someone coming in?

“This is Turtle. He’ll be taking you where you need to go.”

Turtle? What’s up with all these animal names, the Boar, Turtle? They’re obviously code names because who in their right mind would name their kid Turtle? I suppose stranger things have happened, so who the hell knows.

Turtle steps inside the bar and I get a good look at him when he throws back his hood. He’s tall and skinny and can’t be more than eighteen. He’s wearing a parka that matches the one Atlas has, and one of those stocking caps that have the earflaps. The entire look would give Estella a coronary. He obviously believes in function over form. As I shrug on my stinky, sodden coat, I completely agree.

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