A család nem egy fontos dolog. A család a legfontosabb.That was a phrase my dad said a lot.
“Family is not an important thing. It’s everything.”
Chapter
Twenty-Three
The rumble of motorcycles echoed in the cold night air. The waxing gibbous moon was a deep orange, lighting the dark streets.
Tomorrow, the harvest moon would be full.
Tomorrow, it would be my twentieth birthday.
The day of Samhain. The anniversary of the fae war.
The day my mother died.
And the time I brought Warwick back to life.
Tucking into Ash’s back to block the cold, I pulled my hands into my sleeves, pushing the anxiety I always felt when the day of my birth was near. Something nipped inside, scratching at my intuition, warning me. I had no clue what, but I felt something was imminent—peril looming over me.
Warwick signaled in front of us to turn. The wounded captive was tied, gagged, and slightly sedated behind him. Warwick wanted Vincent with him, not trusting the man or the situation we were riding into.
Earlier, Warwick and Ash had placed the note in a location. Circling around later, they found a response waiting. We were to meet at the Fiumei Road Graveyard. Midnight.
Bandaged and with a shot of morphine, Vincent didn’t put up a single fight when we tied him to Warwick’s bike. I tried to ignore the deep feeling in my bones he was close to death, battling and fighting against the line, trying to stop it from taking him. Like a skipping record, it scratched at the back of my neck, stirring up something in me.
Something unsettling.
Warwick slowed, pulling up to the graveyard, the only light coming from the dull bike headlights and the moon. Ash parked next to him, the guys getting the hostage off the bike as I yanked the gun from my waistband, unlatching the safety.
Nerves scaled up my esophagus, and my eyes danced around the open space, the creepy headstones casting shadows that seemed to move. On high alert, I trained my senses to take in every little thing, my gun up and ready to protect us.
“Sense anything?”Warwick’s link stood next to me while he was still busy getting Vincent off the bike and standing on his feet.
“No.”But it was a lie. I could feel energy crawl over me like bugs, but that wasn’t what he was asking about. He meant living people.
I felt the dead.
Reminding me of the Bone Church, currents tapped at my skin, their curiosity mounting, raising the hair on my arms, affecting my equilibrium. Ghosts swarmed and circled around. Steadying myself, I tried to block it, my teeth grinding together, fighting back the nausea. They sucked at my energy, brushing past me.
“Back off!”I commanded, my body blistering with authority. It took a couple more times for them to retreat .
A neigh of a horse jerked my head toward it, my finger tight on the trigger. Silhouettes of six horses trotted across the graveyard, five of them carrying men, pointing guns at us, the sixth horse for their leader.
Ash and Warwick yanked out their weapons, creating a standoff.
“This can go really easy. Him for the bag.” Warwick gnashed his teeth.
“Let him go,” one demanded.
“You drop the bag first,” Warwick said back, tension already skating through the night, riling the spirits with more energy.
Fuck, why did they have to pick a cemetery?
“Show me,” I replied. “I want to see everything is still in it.”
The one who spoke before slid off his mount, holstering his gun and tugging something from his arm, holding it up. The headlights from the motorcycles lit up the gray canvas bag. He opened it up, showing me the inside. I could make out a black leather-covered notebook inside.
