It’s probably not every day they have this many visitors. Were they told about our past?
Quinn’s fingers scrabble over her blonde hair, wrangling the blowing strands flush against her damaged cheek. When my friend got up to use the restroom, I asked Calanthe if scar-zapping was among Tarian’s powers.
“There isn’t much my fiancé can’t do,” she’d said.
Though cryptic, I took her reply to mean Tarian Hadez could probably spare Quinn the reminder of her rotten ex.
Calanthe didn’t offer to discuss it with him, though. Why would she? She’s been friendly, but I can tell she doesn’t trust us. I don’t blame her. Winning their trust will take time.
Time I now have thanks to Tarian.
Time I intend to put to good use by helping bring down Trenton and his Holy Hunters.
Quinn sidles closer to me on the weathered leather seat. She even sneaks one of her hands into mine. Her skin is clammy in spite of the sweltering heat. “Do you feel it?”
“It?”
“The air…it’s…”
“Charged,” I murmur.
Even though I was just finishing her sentence, she treats it like a question. “Yeah.”
“I feel it.” I also feel Electra’s eyes on me from the car behind us.
Soon we’re slowing, and they’re unloading the pine box in which they put Ines’s remains. Where Calanthe and the others are visibly shaken, no face is more carved up than Dorian’s. Grief crimps his forehead and hollows his cheeks.
Even Electra, who didn’t like Ines, sports reddened eyes. Though, that could also be due to a missed night of sleep. Many napped during the plane ride over, but not Electra. I know this because I didn’t either.
As I help Quinn out of the Jeep, Malachi points toward the olive trees. “Our graveyard’s through there.”
It feels like a warning.
“And see that well?” He pivots, stabbing a finger toward a ring of cut limestone. “That, ladies and gents, is the entrance to our fabled mine. Careful not to drop into it. Gaea doesn’t take kindly to uninvited guests.”
Quinn lifts her chin, shooting Malachi a haughty look that I know is all smoke and mirrors. “And our cell? Where’s that?”
A menacing smile curls Malachi’s mouth. “This whole island is your cell.”
And then he walks off toward the others, leaving Quinn and me behind in the middle of the dusty road. Though our wrists and ankles are unbound, being left alone doesn’t feel like trust—it feels like a test.
Like he’s organized some village-wide hunt and is giving us a head start. Could this be the reason we were invited onto the island?
I feel Electra’s eyes on me. The instant I look her way, though, she averts her stare.
As she trails after the funerary procession winding its way through the olive trees, she calls out, “If you want food, there’s an open buffet at my house.”
What I want is a few hours alone with her.
What I want is to understand what we’re doing here.
“Do you think Trenton’s watching?” Quinn murmurs, glancing at the sky.
Though weapons don’t penetrate, satellites carry images back to those who have the equipment to tap into them.
“Yes.”
A genuine smile seizes Quinn’s mouth, and she waves. “How jealous do you think he is right now?”
