“Out of it, while a vampire needed slaying,” Finnian scoffs. “How lucky for the residents of BlackFen Edge that our slayer is so work oriented.”
“Hey,” I snap. “A tired slayer is a dead one.”
“She is correct,” Taye says, again on my side. “Rynna was capable of handling the vamp. Nyssa was there for the wraiths, that’s the main thing. She banished them. That’s our headline.”
Finnian’s gaze flicks to her. That’s new. He usually enjoys poking me more. “Since when are you satisfied with headlines?”
“Since the town didn’t lose anyone,” she says. Her eyes cut to me. For a second, I see something other than Taye’s slightly unfocused stare. “Let’s cut Nyssa some slack. She has been working hard this winter.”
My mouth drops open, but no words come out.
Cormac clears his throat. “Be that as it may, wraiths appearing in these numbers is unusual.”
“They weren’t coordinated,” I counter. “Shabby lot. Confused. No echo of intent.”
Finnian leans forward, elbows on the table like a disappointed headmaster. “Hmm, that makes this even more worrying.”
“Nothing to worry about,” I say with a shrug. “All taken care of. Can I go now? I need to shower the ectoplasm off my skin.”
“Go,” Taye says before either of the men can harangue me further. For some weird reason, she is on my side right now. There’s that whole thing about gift horses, which I know I should pay heed to, but this is just plain weird.
I walk out before they change their minds and decide to dissect me for sport. Slipping out into the cold day, I clench my fists and aim straight for Marrow House. That attack had Voren written all over it. The question iswhy? Why did he set me up to tackle a dozen undead? Were they trying to bring my goddess power to the front, or what?
By the time I hit the crumbling steps, I’m vibrating with righteous murder. I march straight into the hall and up the stairs to the bedroom where Voren likes to hang out.
Dreven and Dastian are also there, expectant, like they were waiting for me.
“Which one of you thought raising a dead army for me to fight off was a charming way to spend my morning?”
Dreven straightens up, ready to take the hit, it seems. “Me.”
I stalk closer, blade tapping against my thigh. “And the point was what, exactly? See if the resurrected slayer does party tricks? Or were you just bored?”
Dastian perches on the bed like a smug goblin. “Optics,” he says. “Cheerful word. The Order needed proof that you still bleed for the village. We provided a photo op.”
My temper, already frayed, snaps. “Excuse me?”
Dreven’s gaze doesn’t waver. “We protected you.”
“By throwing a horde of confused grannies at me?”
“They were not grannies,” Voren says mildly. “Most of them were men.”
I glare at him. “I hate you.”
“Noted.”
I turn my scowl on Dreven. “Where did you get this so-called information from that the Order doesn’t trust me?”
“From the Order,” he replies, infuriatingly.
“Explain! Did you eavesdrop, what?”
Dreven’s gaze doesn’t flicker. “I spoke to their seer.”
“Taye?” I bark a harsh laugh. “You just rolled up to Taye for a cosy chat?”
“Not Taye,” he says, slowly, which gives me pause on crushing his nuts. The way Voren’s mouth tightens tells me I’m not going to like this. “Tabitha.”
