“I can’t tell you that.” I knew how the Council treated potential threats. If they thought one of my former friends had gone to the dark side, they’d send Hunters after every surviving member of the Slay Team. “It’s important, Felipe.”
“I am sorry, Jennifer. Like you, I am retired.”
As if either of us could ever fully escape that world. “I know you better than that. You’re probably going out to breakfast every week with other old mentors, reminiscing and catching up on Council gossip.”
“It isbrunch. With the senior discount, the buffet is a very reasonable eight dollars and ninety-nine cents.”
I had him, and we both knew it. “Either help me or I’ll tell Mom about the time you shot an arrow at my head.”
“I only did that because I trusted you to deflect it. It was a sign of my faith and confidence in your skills.” He let out a great, long-suffering sigh. “Very well. Imayhave heard Reginald DuPuis complaining about the library’s annual first-quarter audit last month. It required much overtime, and two librarians suffered minor injuries when relocating an improperly stored pair of seven-league boots. However, the audit found nothing missing, and there have been no attempted thefts or break-ins.”
“Thank you.” That wasn’t the only copy of Nabu-rihtu-usur’s book in existence, but it was the one the Slay Team knew about.
“I know that tone. Tell me what’s troubling you. Let us solve it together, like in the old days.”
A part of me wished to do exactly that. Felipe had a lifetime of experience with these things. I missed the security of having him and his resources in my corner, just like I missed the comfort of Artemis’s voice and presence as I went about my day.
Half a lifetime ago, I’d cut out parts of myself to keep the whole from rotting. That didn’t end the longing.
After a long silence, Felipe asked, “Is it because of what happened with Hope Lyons? How many times must I apologize and ask forgiveness? You were right, and I am sorry for my part in that tragedy.”
Apologies didn’t bring back the dead. They didn’t silence the screams. He wasn’t the one who’d killed a sixteen-year-old girl. “I have to go, Felipe.”
“It’s unhealthy to hold on to so much guilt and anger, Jennifer.”
“Give Mom my love.” I hung up before he could push more.
And to think, that had been the easy call.
• • •
I had three possible suspects to talk to. Three Slay Team survivors: Thalia Ravenwood, Alex Barclay, and Emily Arenberg. Three former friends. We’d saved each other’s lives more times than I could count.
I’d thought I was saving them again when I left.
By the time I finished my calls, it was twelve-thirty in the afternoon, and I felt like I’d gone twelve rounds with a mountain ogre.
Thalia was living in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, taking care of her father with end-stage renal failure. Her second divorce had been finalized in September of last year, and she shared custody of two teenagers with her ex. She’d been sober for fourteen years.
Alex had moved to Toronto for a job as a quality engineer working on the next generation of electric-car batteries. He was dating a chemistry teacher he’d met at a local pickleball league. He promised to send me a bottle of maple syrup next Christmas.
Emily was married and working as an analyst for the Idaho Treasurer’s Office. She and her wife would be celebrating their twenty-fifth anniversary later this year. Their youngest was in college, while the middle and oldest kids were out in the world, starting their own lives.
None of them said they hated me. All of them made the usual noises about how it had been too long, and we should talk more often, and one of these days we should all meet up. All of us knew it wouldn’t happen.
None of them confessed to running side gigs dealing shoggoth drugs or working to bring about the apocalypse.
The worst moment was when Emily quipped, “Raising teenagers makes me miss the simple, laid-back days of fighting evil beach gnomes.” For a moment, it felt like old times, joking and quipping together. But before I could respond, she’d added, “My wife freaked the first time she saw the bite scars from those little bastards. I told her I got attacked by a pug when I was in high school. I hated lying to her, but it’s what we do, right?”
She wasn’t wrong. Having to constantly lie to people you loved and betray their trust was number forty-seven on my list of Hunter of Artemis annoyances.
I missed my friends. I missedus. The laughter and the energy and the drama. I missed Alex humming theA-Teamtheme like an absolute dork while we broke into the school. I missed the way Thalia would play up her “small-town farm girl” bit, then turn around and spout off some obscure, genius-level thing she’d read in her free time.
It had all felt soright. So simple. We were the good guys. The things we hunted were the bad guys. We did our job and saved the world, week after week, year after year.
I’d walked away believing I was protecting us. Saving my friends from the constant injuries and threats of death. Saving us from losing our souls to the darkness we fought. Only, I hadn’t even managed that much, because one of my friends was lying to me.
I needed to check their stories. Annette was so much better at this. She had the detail-obsessed focus I lacked, but I couldn’t ask her for help. Not for this. I readjusted my position on the bed, stuffing another pillow behind my back before opening my laptop.
