“Define improvisation,” Zane shot back. “Because that’s my bread and butter, bro!”
Casimir sighed, a sound I’d heard countless times.
“Aw, c’mon, Ko!” Zane was already off on another tangent. “Save some carnage for the rest of us!”
Koa’s reply was a single, flat syllable: “No.”
I shook my head. Even in battle, they were still themselves. Zane reckless and playful, Koa intense and focused, Casimir trying to maintain order.
My boys.
Someone or something gurgled through the comms, followed by a wet thud and Casimir’s cold, detached tone: “No, no. Don’t get up. I haven’t finished killing you yet.”
“Are they always like this in battle?” I asked Foster.
“The banter? Yeah.” He shrugged, his eyes sharp on me. “The body count? Usually higher.”
“Dude, dude! Did you see that?” Zane’s voice exploded through our earpieces again. “Ko crushed that rogue’s throat with one hand! Oh, yeah! My guy!”
“Get down from Cas’ shoulders, you fucking gremlin!” Koa’s growl rumbled through the comms. “What iswrongwith you?”
“Lots!” Zane chirped back, sounding delighted with himself.
I pictured them in the heat of battle: Zane scaling Casimir like a demented circus performer, Koa demolishing enemies with his bare hands, Casimir maintaining his deadly calm even with Zane using him as a human rock wall.
Then, “Confirmed sighting of Arabesque,” Casimir said. “Seri, Foster, make your move.”
“Ready?” Foster asked, his face betraying nothing.
Gripping Koa’s knife in one hand, I used the other to hold Brummy’s new collar, a gift from Zane, who’d insisted on engraving the tag with, “Murder Floof.” At my nod, Foster grabbed my elbow, and I pulled us into the shadows.
Shadow walking was so easy for me now. I just slipped between the cracks of reality and, for a heartbeat, we were nowhere. Then we weren’t.
And my breath caught at what I saw.
My family farm looked nothing like I remembered it. The farmhouse seemed to hunch, the windows were sealed shut with panes of black crystal, and the field that had once grown our vegetables was bare dirt. The old barn had been reinforced, but its red paint was bleached to the color of dried blood. And the orchard…
Moon Goddess help me, theorchard.
What had once grown the best apples in the state was now a sprawl of deathblight, thorns spiraling up from the poisoned earth in twisted, unnatural patterns.
“I see Arabesque has made some improvements since I left,” Foster muttered as he dropped my arm.
I couldn’t speak as I surveyed what my stepmother had destroyed. Memories assaulted me, running through the orchard as a child, my father’s laughter echoing as he chased me, my mother’s hands guiding mine as we picked apples for pie. Now it was all poison and decay.
Brummy growled low in his throat, hackles raised. His body quivered beside me like a spring uncoiled. He smelled Dark magic. Or maybe just the wrongness.
My earpiece clicked, and Koa’s voice came through, satisfied and breathless.
“Splitter just grew a new arm. I ripped it off again. We’re dancing now, baby!”
“I’ll try not to be jealous,” Foster muttered, then his elbow bumped mine, his grin all sharp edges. “Bet you ten bucks Zane tries to ride Splitter like a bull.”
I shook my head. The mission. Focus on the mission. Find the reliquaries, destroy them, weaken the Gravewrought so my mates could finish them off. Simple steps. One foot in front of the other.
“Let’s move,” I whispered. “Fast.”
We skirted the front of the house, moving in a crouch, with Brummy silent beside us, his blue eyes alert. Then Foster grunted and his arm shot out, a throwing knife spinning from his fingers toward a shape darting from the barn. The blade struck with a wet thud. One of Arabesque’s guards, faceless and masked, collapsed without a sound.
