We’ve been missing for weeks. Sal may have replaced Luca and me at the Fang by now, and Resker will definitely have filled my spot on the combat roster.
That should be a relief. I’ve had enough fighting, and the battle still isn’t won. But my heart sinks anyway. I worked too hard to build a life in the Fringes to watch it vanish while I’m trapped somewhere I didn’t choose.
I take in the faces around me. Malach, tired and pained. Luca, laughing at Ciprian’s jokes about the basement. Alistair, pale as a ghost as he prepares for their argument. And Riven, whose amber-coated stare is focused on me.
I shake my thoughts loose and stare right back.
If my life is gone, I’ll build another one.
Because I have everything I need and more standing in this room.
THIRTY-FIVE
Monster Realm Survival Tip #20:
Know when to stand your ground
and when to retreat.
CIPRIAN
Riven shows me how to get “downstairs,” and I shake my head.
It’s a glorified hatch in the floor, with a staircase so narrow and steep that it wouldn’t pass any human housing code made in the last century.
“Why do you need a cellar?” I mutter.
Riven pretends not to hear me, clearing his throat and looking between us warily. His face glitches twice. “Don’t kill each other down there,” he says. “It would contaminate the food.”
Alistair’s eyes flash red as he scowls at the veydra. “I’m not going to kill him.”
Riven glances at me and raises his eyebrows.
I shrug and step onto the first stair.
It’s creepy as fuck. Riven must have designed this home while readingDraculaand listening to Wagner. That’s how my momfinds her inspiration, at least, and there’s no denying that parts of this house could have been pulled straight from Mallory Casanell’s vision board.
The stairs groan as Alistair follows me down.
When I reach the landing, I’m surprised to find it’s more functional and less Gothic than I expected. There are rows of shelves neatly stocked with food and blankets, and firewood stacked high in the corner.
The same floating lights from upstairs bob and weave around the cellar at random.
Unlike the rest of the safe house, there’s been no attempt down here to make the space homey. The rock floor is jagged—only leveled out in the spots the shelves are bolted into, and the walls curve like the sides of a shallow bowl, as if Riven or Hyacinth used a giant spoon to create the cellar.
Oddly enough, it’s warmer down here than it is upstairs. That makes me suspicious. With our luck, this whole place was built over a volcano that’s primed to blow at any minute.
“I’m prepared to answer any questions you might have,” Alistair says stiffly.
I pivot and look him over.
The angles of his face are harsher than usual. One cheek is lit by a floating light while the other is bathed in shadow.How poetic.It’s perfect for the guy who insists on knowing everyone else’s secrets while protecting his own viciously.
“I don’t have more questions.” I cross my arms and sigh. “I got a pretty clear picture as soon as you told me the butler did it.”
“I want you to know that I didn’t seek the informant out,” he says.
“How could you?” I snort. “They don’t exactly stand out in a crowd. Mazzikin are snooty as fuck, though. I can’t believe they decided to talk to you.”
