I look him up and down carefully. He’s surprisingly pristine, considering the supernatural massacre we just survived—his suit is barely wrinkled, no visible blood or wounds.
“Do you feel all right? Are you hurt or exhausted? What the hell happened with your abilities back in the ballroom?” he asks, his questions coming rapid-fire.
I glance around the modest but clean room, trying to process everything. “How did you even manage to get me here?” I ask, puzzled. “How did you carry me and all our stuff several blocks through that carnage?”
“Really?” His eyebrows shoot up. “Are you seriously answering my questions with more questions? Kat, are you hurt? Do you feel okay? You were unconscious, for fuck’s sake.”
His frustrated tone makes me laugh despite everything. “I feel fine actually. How long was I out?”
He glances at his watch. “Over an hour.”
This isn’t right. After crossing the Veil, I should be unconscious for hours, maybe days. Instead, I’m here perfectly fine after tearing the thing apart. What the hell did Bash’s procedure do to me?
“What happened tonight after I blacked out?” I ask, running my fingers through my tangled hair and pushing it back over my shoulders.
“Viktor’s dead, but he wasn’t killed by one of your spirits. He was stabbed right through the heart.”
“I remember hearing that right before I passed out. Who do you think killed him?” I pause, my mind racing as the memories flood back. “And how the hell were the spirits killing people? You saw that, right? I mean, you didn’t see them, but you saw necks snapping and people falling to the ground.”
“I saw,” he confirms. “You’ve never witnessed anything like that before?”
I meet his intense stare. “No, never. It was like they were possessed or being controlled by someone else. They weren’t acting like normal spirits, if that makes any sense. I wasn’t telling them to kill anyone, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
He nods slowly, looking away. “I don’t know if this is even possible, but after you blacked out on the stage, I had the strangest sensation. It was similar to how we felt in the car when we were leaving my father’s compound, and when I looked up across the room, I saw Meadow staring directly at you.”
I shake off the chill I feel creeping up my spine. “You think Meadow was controlling the spirits I summoned?”
The possibility seems both impossible and terrifyinglyplausible. At this point, I think anything could be true. They were all staring directly at me, responding to my presence.
“I honestly don’t know,” Malachi admits, scrubbing his face. “I carried you out of there as quickly as possible, but I did have to pass back through the ballroom to get our things. I made a mental note of everyone I saw along the way. A lot of the people with their necks snapped were individuals my father had serious conflicts with.”
The implication of what he’s saying hits me, and I don’t like this feeling, like I’m not in complete control of my own abilities. I don’t fully understand what happened or how I was used.
“My aunt and father are both already spinning lies about what happened tonight, each of them pushing their own twisted agenda,” he says bitterly, leaning back in the chair.
“Oh, this should be good. Tell me,” I say, reaching out to touch his leg. I know he’d hoped we might prevent bloodshed tonight instead of starring in someone else’s horror show.
“Irina hitched a ride with us here. It gave us a few minutes to talk, and she’s relocated all of her people to this hotel and the one next door.” He runs both hands down the back of his neck. “She’s telling everyone the attack was vigilantes from a nearby gutter zone. Poor, desperate people finally fighting back against their oppressors.”
“That’s complete bullshit,” I howl. “I’ve met desperate people, and they don’t usually coordinate supernatural neck-snapping massacres with fucking fear gas grenades. Who’s actually buying this crap?”
“More people than you’d think. She’s claiming the district leaders are losing control and that citizens are starting to revolt because they’re tired of being starved out. And she’s not wrong about the underlying problems. People are suffering. But you and I both know that bloodbath wasn’t some grassroots uprising.”
“So let me get this straight. Her master plan is to stir up a civil war? Systematically pick off the ruling families, and the ones she can’t murder directly, she’ll trick into killing each other or get the public angry enough to do her dirty work?”
“Bingo,” he says.
“Then she swoops in like some benevolent savior to restore peace and order, with you as her shiny new poster boy for a bright future.”
Malachi closes his eyes and lets out a laugh that’s completely devoid of humor. “Christ, when you put it like that, it sounds even worse.”
“I’m not done,” I continue, getting more worked up. “If I had to bet money, I’d say she’s the one who had Viktor killed too. Either she and your father are trying to outdo each other, or they’re planning to eliminate everyone else first and save their epic showdown for the finale.”
“You know what the really fucked-up part is?” he asks, looking at me. “I think you might be right.”
“I hate politics,” I mutter. “I hate how these people treat human lives like game pieces.”
“I haven’t told you what my father’s saying yet,” he says, and I give him a sideways glance.
