That new statistic knocked the air out of Gentry’s lungs. “65%?” She squeaked. She’d been hoping for a little better odds thanthat.
“Yeah.” Wren patted her on the knee. “Relax. I died once. There are worse things. Besides, you’ll still be able to talk to me. Two’s company, eh?”
Gentry wasn’t so sure that the necromancer was using that phrase correctly. “Thanks,” she muttered and gave the small blonde a sunny smile. She really did appreciate the attempt to cheer her up.
About an hour later, all the details had been squared away — the assault would be in the dead of night when they hoped the rotation of guards would be at its slimmest, and the sky wouldn’t give their approach away. Luke and Clea would take the front charge with a small number of backup from Kit’s family. Kit and the rest would try to find an entrance in the back. The charge would be right at 0200 and would be right around the time Wren made the cut.
forty-seven
Gentry
When the Weavers left, Gentry sat numbly in her chair, her mind racing. She was supposed to have five days left. Now she only had a day because she’d put someone else’s family ahead of her own life.
It was all so terribly unlike her.
“You okay, baby?” Kit knelt down and cupped her face, gently guiding her into looking into his pretty eyes. It brought her back down, and she nuzzled into his hand, enjoying his heat which was so unlike her own.
“I’m not who you think I am,” she mumbled the words before she could chicken out. “I want to bolt, to run away. Hell, before I even learned excision was a thing, I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to turn myself in to save my mom and sister. I’mselfish, Kit.”
“And yet here you are”—he smiled at her—“doing the brave thing, anyway. It’s okay to be scared. I know you’ll do the right thing. Who else organizes an entire frontal assault within two hours for kids she only knew for a few hours?”
Gentry pulled back from his hands, everything in her protesting against prematurely ending the physical contact. Shethen put her finger on the red, angry Favor mark on Kit’s neck. He winced. “I did this to you. Took your free will away so I could escape. A good person doesn’t do something like that.”
He chuckled and picked her up. “So? I was going to kill you. That’s fair game as far as I’m concerned, baby. We’re both trying to be better people together. I call that a win. Now let’s get some sleep.”
Kit left little room for argument as he helped her remove her bra and jeans just the way she liked it. He stripped to his boxers. Then he tucked her to him, wrapping her with warmth and all the things she didn’t deserve. His hold didn’t waver when she murmured something about taking the tonic.
“Let it go for a night, sweetie. Sometimes you’ve got to rest.”
He kissed her asleep.
forty-eight
Gentry
The final day was a quiet one as Gentry woke up and pored over all of the Cobalt texts for the possible name that could free her. She’d compiled the names of all Cobalt females who’d been publicly executed, and had eliminated those without sisters to the best of her abilities; Skadra’s birth records were shaky at best, especially since the majority of witches migrated in from their magic-less families.
It was further complicated by the fact that she was unsure whether Drayer’s sister was a witch or not. The Cobalts had been a rarity in the fact that they’d allowed magic-less humans into their inner circles. It had been one among many differences between the deceased coven and the Weavers.
Statistically, Gentry knew it was likely that Drayer’s sister was magic-less, but something was making her hesitate. The memories had shown Drayer’s soul clinging to her own corpse as she’d waited for her sister. A magic-less person wouldn’t be able to do anything with a soul near its corpse.
But the Cobalts had specialized in making vampyres. That could be how the mystery woman’s soul had been preserveduntil the ceremony which had stolen Drayer’s body and bound Gentry to her.
"You better keep that needle of yours steady, Lydia.”
Gentry nearly jumped out of her chair as she remembered the old woman who’d greeted Drayer in the caves. She was a soul seamstress; she had to be.
WasLydiaDrayer’s sister?
Frantically, Gentry began crossing off the list of those with magical-less sisters. That left two names.
Enid Wintersbane, a child of 3, whose half-sister Ruby was a witch.
Penelope Hudson, a child of 10, whose eldest sister Trinity was a witch.
Heart racing, Gentry began frantically looking up their sisters to see if she could glean a birth year. Lydia appeared to be in her seventies or eighties, and she assumed that the crone had changed her name after the Cobalts’ downfall. A bit of disappointment hit her when she realized that both women were perfectly within age range, and neither had been heard from since the Cobalts’ demise. It made sense that the Weavers hadn’t let any sympathizers live.
“You look like you have something,” Kit murmured from the bed, his voice very sleepy.
