3. Faith in Us
Casimir Cimmerian
The sunset bled amber through the windows of Evermere as my phone vibrated with Foster’s text. Another delivery at the gates.
Moving through the house, I considered what Arabesque might have sent this time. We’d intercepted three packages already. Painful artifacts from Seri’s past wrapped in bubble mailers and false concern. Each item a calculated strike designed to keep our beloved off-balance, to remind her that her stepmother still lurked in the shadows of her life.
July heat clung to my skin as I jogged down the paved driveway toward Evermere’s front gate. Even with twilight settling, the humidity remained outrageous. Still, I’d rather run, burn off energy, than drive.
Through the iron bars, I spotted Foster’s hulking silhouette engaged in what appeared to be a staring contest with one of our gargoyles as his truck idled behind him, diesel fumes mingling with the scent of sun-baked blacktop.
Fang-rotted alphas. Everything’s always a dominance contest.
“Still trying to stare down sentry statues?” I punched in the security code on my side of the gates. “You know they eat wolves for breakfast.”
“Just admiring the craftsmanship. Thought these ugly bastards might appreciate arealpredator’s company.”
The left gargoyle twitched, limestone joints grinding, and I sighed. Foster’s idea of “appreciation” usually ended in property damage and bloodstains.
“Youdorealize it’s made of stone,” I said as I strode out to meet him, and he broke his glare-off with a grunt.
“Never trust anything that watches you while pretending to be an object.” His frame dwarfed mine, despite my own considerable height. The wolf shifter’s dark skin gleamed with a light sheen of sweat, his long hair pulled up in a bun as a concession to the heat, just as mine was.
“What do you have this time?”
“Fairly sure it’s the last of Seri’s parents’ mementoes.” He handed over another mailer. “Arabesque whined about it. Said she was going to level up the intimidation tactics after she gets back from Europe next week.”
“Scouting the fae kingdom?” My brain began calculating angles at warp speed.
“Shopping spree, but we both knew she ain’t hitting up Harrods or Le Bon Marché.”
“And that obscenely enormous bounty on Austin Cho’s head will most likely foot the bill.” I turned the package over in my hands, looking for any signs of tampering or magical residue. Standard protocol. “Anything I should know?”
“She might have done something to one of the items. Can’t be sure.”
“Can’t be sure or can’t detect it?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Four months in that house, Cas,” he grumbled with disgust, his nostrils flaring. “Fucking Dark witch rot has corrupted my nose. I’ll be sneezing charcoal briquettes til Christmas.”
The gargoyle behind us laughed, stone chips pattering on asphalt. Foster flipped it off without looking.
“Anything else?” I tucked the package under my arm.
He reported the rest of the intel he’d gathered, and I made a mental note to ask Seri about the Hollowing Rite. Maybe Kaori, too, if our beloved hadn’t heard of the ritual before.
“Aight, Cas, I need to get back before midnight.” Foster shook his head. “Me riding herd on a thousand rogues. Never thought I’d see the day.”
“The night, you mean,” I made a rare jest. He was a friend and ally, and even I could see the toll this was taking on him.
“Channelling your inner Zane? Tell him I said he owes me my weight in Goblin Moonshine when this is over.”
“I threw away his entire stash.”
“Twenty says he still has at least one bottle tucked away somewhere.” Smirking, he climbed into his truck and drove off, throwing up a hand in mock salute.
By then, the sky had deepened to indigo, stars emerging like pinpricks through dark fabric, and I ran back toward the manor, sweat trickling down my spine despite the oncoming night, but the exercise felt good.
By the time I reached our security room, my shirt clung to my skin. I submitted to the retinal scan, waited for the soft hydraulic hiss, then entered when the hermetically sealed door slid open.
