“Debrief and carb-load then,” Revelin adds, patting his stomach with a grin.
We make our way down the cobblestone street as the sun begins its descent, casting long shadows. Our spirits are high, and there’s a renewed energy amongst us. It’s not just anticipation for the concert or the satisfaction of securing the map from the Henley mage—it’s the feeling of being part of something larger, a reminder that our quest doesn’t exist in isolation, but within a tapestry woven with countless other threads.
I enjoy their company so much I’m waxing poetic, which is so damn cliched for a vampire.
At the tavern, we settle around a large table, the clink of glasses and murmur of conversation enveloping us. We talk openly about our day, sharing details of our successes and the challenges still ahead. Each voice adds to the story, building upon the next, strengthening the bond that ties us together.
“Here’s to finding trouble—and looking good while doing it,” the witchling raises her glass with a wink, and laughter bubbles up from our table.
“Cheers to that.”
The map sprawls across the table like a beast of legend, its myriad lines and symbols luring my bleary eyes into the labyrinth of Goldgarde’s streets. I’ve been up since the crack of dawn, the uneasy feeling in my gut rousing me from a fitful sleep. Revelin and Tiernan are already out, swallowed by the demands of soundchecks and stage setups, leaving the three of us to grapple with the quiet tension that has settled like dust in their absence.
I’ve never been one to shrink from danger, but I don’t enjoy looking over my shoulder all the time.
“Look here,” Dezi points at a cluster of alleys branching off the main square, his finger tracing the routes as if willing them to reveal their secrets. “Henley said we could use these as escape paths if things go south.”
Khol, with his broad shoulders hunched over the table, nods pensively. The shadows under his eyes suggest he didn’t sleep much either. “At least this damn thing shows both the townandthe outskirts we’re going to explore. As much as I want to find the shit we came for, I’m also worried about Rev’s show tonight. We need to be ready for anything—including another one of those skull head things.”
I bite my lip, picturing the carnage from last time—the lifeless bodies that turned a night of music into a macabre spectacle. “We can’t have a repeat of the last event. People being ripped apart in the middle of a crowd isn’t something I’d like to repeat.” My voice sounds more steadythan I feel.
“Everything’s too rushed,” Dezi mutters, worry creasing his brow. “It’s making us vulnerable.”
“We’ll have to be smarter,” I say with forced optimism, studying the map for hidden dangers and silent prayers. The weight of responsibility presses on me, but it’s a burden I didn’t get to choose for myself. Even if we hadn’t gone looking for the cause of our parents’ deaths, I get the sinking feeling these fuckers would have come after Fer and me, eventually.
Why, I have no idea, except the lie that was our childhood—but we still haven’t unraveled it to know for certain.
“Sassy’s right,” Khol agrees, his usual stoicism infused with a hint of urgency. “Let’s tighten our plans. We can’t afford any surprises.”
No, we certainly can’t. Whatever lurks in the wings, waiting for the perfect moment to strike, could mean the difference between living and dying, not just for me and my coven, but also a slew of innocent people. I hate thinking that way, but the past few weeks have shown me that no one is exempt from the shadowy assholes pulling strings in the background.
Khol stands up, stretching his arms above his head in a way that makes his spine pop audibly. “I want to get a feel for the streets. We should grab a bite atThe Wet Stone, then sneak around.”
“I can’t believe that place is a bar and a smithy,” I reply, folding the map with careful precision and tucking it into my jacket pocket. “It’s ridiculous. But I agree, we’ve got time before we meet the costuming crew, and we could use more intel.”
“Agreed,” Dezi says, slipping on his leather jacket. His gaze is sharp, alert. He’s always ready to dive into the fray.
We leave the safety of our temporary home, stepping out into the crisp morning air. Goldgarde is waking up; there’s an energy to the streets that feels both vibrant and precarious. But instead of heading toward the bustling market squares and polished storefronts, we veer off into the narrow alleys where the buildings lean tiredlyagainst each other, and shadows cling to the cobblestones like dark secrets.
“Revelin would have a fit if he saw this,” Khol murmurs, nodding toward a dilapidated school with windows patched up with cardboard. “The disparity here... It’s not right.”
Dezi scoffs, hands tucked into his pockets as he surveys the graffiti-tagged walls displaying cries for change. “Supes mimic the worst qualities of humans without a shred of shame. Power and wealth dictating worth—it’s disgusting.”
My brain wants to rebel at their words—after all, they’re rich as fuck—but I know Dezi takes care of his people and Khol does, too.
We continue walking, the sounds of the livelier parts of Goldgarde fading behind us. My frown deepens as the shop gets shadier and the air is filled with a dark quality that almost chokes me. This is definitely not a place where they would have wanted the Court royalty to go; maybe canceling Rev’s tours was more about hiding this than worrying about safety?
“Khal and I... we went to a school like that one,” Khol says quietly, almost hesitating. His finger points to a rundown building with a broken sign swinging in the wind. “Uncle Krystos had the means, but he believed in honing his heirs through violent awakening. Said surviving would make us strong.”
“Must’ve been rough,” I say, glancing at him. The thought of Khol and Khal—both powerful in their own right—facing hardships like these kids is jarring, especially since there was absolutely no reason for them to.
“Taught us to command respect and stand up for ourselves, I suppose,” he replies with a wry smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Some lessons are learned better on the streets than in classrooms.”
“Despite all that, you turned out pretty good for a drug dealing criminal,” I offer, trying to lighten the mood.
“Depends on who you ask,” Khol chuckles, but there’s weight behind his words.
As we meander through the neglected part of town, I can’t shake the feeling of unrest simmering beneath the surface. These streets hold stories that don’t make it to the headlines—stories of struggle and survival. Somewhere in these whispers of discontent, there might just be the clue we need to prevent another disaster.
