“Then tell me what you can.”
“I can tell you nothing. He’s been planning this for centuries, and he has left nothing to chance. The minute I attempt to say anything that could lead you to him, I die. The minute I land in IIT hands, I die. Kill me if you wish—in the end, you’ll be doing me a favor.”
I studied her for a second, my fingers clenching and unclenching around the hilt of the two knives. “Then what of the council?”
“What of them?”
“Give me the names of the councilors who have fallen victim to the power of Bia’s Blade.”
“No.”
And with that, she attacked.
The move took me by surprise, and I lurched backward. Pain ripped up my leg, and I stumbled, falling down onto one knee, barely raising the knives in time to catch her blade in their center. She screamed and lashed out with one foot, the blow thudding into my side with surprising force. Something within broke, but it wasn’t agony that rose, it was fury. The wind surged, screaming around us, but I resisted the urge to attack her with it. Instead, with Carla’s blade still caught between my knives, I rose to my feet. She tried to withdraw her weapon but the lightning rolling between the two blades had it caged, and it wasn’t going anywhere.
She swore again, released her knife, and then spun, aiming her boot at my gut. I jumped back, caught her leg with the wind, and pushed her, as hard as I could, away from me. She stumbled backward, flailing to keep her balance on the steps, and then fell in an ugly mess of arms and legs down to the bottom of the stairs.
I uncrossed my knives, releasing Bia’s Blade, and then followed her down. The need for revenge pulsed through every bit of my being, a force that was almost a living thing. The skies above compounded the inner fury, filling my mind with whispers that begged me to give in to the darkness, to take the revenge I so desperately wanted. The urge was so damn strong that I actually knelt in front of her and raised the knife. The only thing that truly stopped me was the blood curse.
That, and the fear I saw in her eyes when she opened them.
She might as well have thrown cold water in my face. I pushed away from her, landing hard on my butt, my heart racing so hard it felt as if it were about to tear out of my chest.
No matter how deeply, how badly, I wanted to find my mother’s killer, I could not follow the siren call of darknessand claim the life of a woman who’d already said she was not responsible for Mom’s death. That may or may not be the truth, but if I did what the storm and the voices that raged within it wanted, if I killed her like this—when she was unarmed and broken—then that inner darkness would claim me, and I would become the warrior my father wanted me to be.
If I was going to emulate anyone, it would be my mother.
I shoved my knives back into their sheaths, then crossed my arms, my fingers clenched against the power that pulsed through them, through me, dangerous and demanding.
Carla groaned and tried to get up; a scream tore up her throat and echoed across the raging night. I had no idea what she’d broken—whether it be her back or her hip—and I didn’t really care. I might not want to give in to the darkness, but that didn’t mean I had sympathy for her current plight.
“Where is your phone, Carla?”
“Fuck off,” she growled, though her voice held little strength, and her face was pale and sweaty.
I sighed, leashed her arms so she wasn’t tempted to attack me, then leaned forward and patted her down. I found it in her jacket pocket. I hit the ON button, shoved it in front of her face to open it, then said, “Tell me where we are so I can call you an ambulance.”
“And why would you fucking do that?”
“Oh, trust me, there’s a large part of me that really doesn’t want to, but I’m doing my best to be more like my mother than my father. Who, by the way, is screaming for your death because he believes it will hinder your boss’s movements, at least until he can find a suitable replacement.”
“I cannot be replaced.”
“Everyone can be replaced, Carla. Where are we?”
She hawked and spat rather than reply. I went into the settings on her phone, changed the access to me, then tucked itinto my back pocket. The sound of sirens began to cut through the night, and I glanced up. In the distance, blue and red lights flashed, growing ever closer. Not one car, but multiple.
The tracker obviously worked.
I returned my attention to my captive. “If you can’t tell me who killed my mother, then at least tell me why.”
“Why should I?”
“Because the bastard who killed her will undoubtedly kill you, and this is perhaps your only means of getting a little posthumous revenge.”
She considered me for a moment, her eyes narrow slits of anger and pain. After a moment, she said, “In my phone, you’ll see a number for a Delores Collins. When I am dead, ring it, and tell her Brídín sent you.”
“And what will she tell me?”
