Page 100 of Awry
“Thanks for the milkshake,” I say, turning away as I take another long, fortifying sip of vanilla creaminess.
I don’t invite her to join me, and she doesn’t ask to.
“Ma’am?”the shifter calls after me.“I’m Brett Shaw, and this is my partner, Clara Wilson.We’d like to ask you a few questions about the events of the last few days.”
I ignore the agents.It’s an appropriate response just for them calling me ‘ma’am,’ but they also know I have diplomatic immunity.I could have them run off, even from the edge of my property, if I felt like making a couple of calls.Unfortunately, those calls would also require me to build relationships — with the local police, the Outcast Motorcycle Club, or both — and I don’t have the energy or inclination to do so.Not right now.
Cayley calls, “You’ve got text messages.”
I still don’t look back as I head up the drive.“I know.”
She snorts, then adds, “Will you at least let me know if you want to leave the property?”
“Doubtful.”I flash her a grin over my shoulder.
She swears under her breath.
Then I give her a bit of a break.“I don’t have any plans to go anywhere today or tonight or for the next few days.”
The shifter offers me a little salute.
By the time I’m at the top of the rise in the drive, with a view of the house in front of me and the road behind, Cayley has driven off in the Corvette.The Authority agents, ignoring the mist, are still watching me.The mage has her phone to her ear.
I continue on to the house, for some food to top off the milkshake.And to tackle the last task I want to be tackling — my aunt’s office at the top of the turret, and all the secrets I now know it holds.Even without the missing or muted memories filtering back to me, her note on the new ice cream machine and the interred knife have already made that clear.
I’m actually scared of what I’m about to uncover.I’m not sure anyone of my blood, no matter how distant our relationships, has ever outright betrayed me before.Why would they take the risk?My aunt, though, is the most powerful of the epically powerful elite who make up the Gage-blooded awry —
No.She was the most powerful.
I’m the Conduit now.
The armoirein my Aunt’s office still won’t open for me, and I still haven’t found the keys to the three drawers in the desk.A quick scan of the last few entries in my aunt’s notebook, before setting it on the shelves next to the others to be further explored, offers no illumination to her last days.I struggle to be patient as I smooth my hands over the varnished wood of the massive cabinet, trying to get it to accept my essence, to accept my right to look within.But as more time passes, and as each measured breath I take seems wasted, I become more and more aware of the necklace.The obscenely expensive, epically powerful amulet hanging around my neck.
Despite all the entwined threads of gold and the size of the rough-cut diamond, when the necklace settled around my neck three weeks ago, it didn’t come with any real weight.Or at least what weight it had was negligible.I was born to wear it, created by the fucking universe to wear it.Or, more accurately, imbued by that universe with the necessary essence to eventually become the Conduit.
But … as I continue to shift through the bits of my aunt’s life, trying to piece together what’s happened to her, or to find something to help Coda track her— and as I try to open the armoire that draws me, draws me and repels me, I know that something within that seemingly simple piece of furniture is going to … break me.I know it in my hindbrain, not as an actual knowing.I know there are multiple somethings behind that locked door.
Those things will break me.And I’ll have to put the pieces of myself back together.And then I’ll never quite fit again.
Those shattered pieces …
Even worse than the last time …
Just like when I woke that first time at age seventeen and I’d lost so much of myself.I had lost … chunks of myself … of my soul … ripped away from me … by … by …
I stumble back from the armoire, sliding down the side of the nearest bookshelf and tucking my knees into my chest.That sense … that visceral sense of my first awakening isn’t an actual memory.Or at least it wasn’t, even a few days ago.My aunt told me … I woke up in bed, and my aunt already had me packed to leave the estate …
I can’t …
I can’t … pain streaks through my head, and I’m panting, fucking panting …
What is wrong with me?
I’m unraveling.
Why is the necklace so fucking heavy?And growing heavier and heavier still.
I shove farther back from the armoire … sliding my ass across the wood floor … my palms are slick with sweat … my heart is racing so fast, and I’m breathing … breathing …
