The snap of bone pings across his hindbrain. He sets the decanter onto the table with more force than he’d intended. “You’re full of conspiracies tonight.”
“Drop the act. You knew this would be Keeling’s play. It’s why you dragged me into it. You said he’d go after something important, and he has. Only he’s not cutting you off at the knees, he’s drawing you out. He’s baiting you, and he’s using Shea to do it. I just can’t figure out why.”
“Don’t hurt yourself,” says Lysander. “You’re not here to play detective. You’re here because of your ability to put a stake through Paris Keeling’s heart from a hundred meters away.”
“I’m here because you told me you could help find my sister.”
“Your sister’s body,” Lysander corrects him.
Asher is quick for someone so colossal. Cuffing Lysander’s collar, he rounds him hard into the bedpost. They’re brought nose to nose, the canopy shuddering overhead.
“Say that again.”
“Gladly,” says Lysander. “In just under an hour, you and I are going to head into the Gravewood to track down your very definitelydeadsister. Recovering what’s left of her was already going to be a chore, but now it looks like we’re also going to be saddled with the herculean task of keeping Shea Parker alive along the way.”
“So, you admit I’m right.”
“I’m not oblivious,” says Lysander. “Why do you think I asked you to step in? I’m not handing her over to you on a silver platter out of the goodness of my own heart. There’s nothing selfless happening here. I’m doing it for me. To protect myself.”
“From what?”
“Does it matter? This is your chance to be the hero. Get the girl. Save the day. Speaking of—you did a very okay job out there tonight. I’m impressed. A little more to the right, and you might have even managed to kill our traitorous little knight.”
“I wasn’ttryingto kill Choi.”
“No?”
“No.”Asher releases him with a shove. “If I’d been trying, he’d be dead.”
“Let’s hope so,” says Lysander, smoothing the wrinkles out of his shirt. “I’d hate to get all the way to the Flatwood and find out you couldn’t even hit the outside of a target.”
Asher’s expression is murderous in the gloom. “That won’t be a problem.”
“Good,” says Lysander. “Because Keeling is pissing me off, and I don’t like to lose. Can you ride a bike?”
“I can.”
“I don’t mean one with a little bell on the front.”
“I can ride,” repeats Asher. “Why?”
“Because we’ll need to be fast, and bikes are our best option.”
Asher casts a glance toward the blacked-out windows of Lysander’s room. A frozen rain patters dully against the glass. “It’s not exactly backpack weather,” he says. “It’s freezing out there.”
“It’ll be warmer where we’re going.”
“And where is that, exactly?”
“I have a contact in Pennsylvania,” says Lysander as coolly as he can. The thought of going back to that secluded house of horrors deep in the heart of Lancaster County has his stomach in a free fall. “We can stay with him until it’s time to head south for the revel.”
“And you trust him?” asks Asher. “This contact of yours?”
“As much as I trust anybody.”
Ushering Asher out of his way, Lysander pries open the trunk at the foot of his bed. He sets to rummaging through his things, conscious of Asher still standing in his room. Still eating up his air. Still intruding on his space.Find somewhere else to get your sick little kicks.
He wonders what Asher Thorley would say if he knew Lysander counted Shea’s heartbeats even when she wasn’t in the room. If he knew he’d memorized the cadence of her pulse, the rush of blood through her veins. If he knew how hungry he is—how unsatiated—his mind all in pieces.
