“Agreed,” David replied, surprising him. “Assess the house. See if you can find a way in. And take salt for the wards. I’ll stay here and wait for Kay—she texted a few minutes ago to say they were on the way and should be here before nine.” David rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll let you know if Emma moves or tries to contact us.”
Hell. Emma would call David. It should have been him, but he’d lost that chance.
Zach scrubbed a hand down his face. She’d been right about everything. She’d been right about his friends and his life, and about how much she could help. The only thing she was wrong about was how much she meant to him.
He turned to go when David called him back. “Zach, just… don’t do anything stupid. Okay?”
Zach grunted. “I’ll try.”
He made his way out of the house and down to the nearest tube station with David’s words playing in his head. He’d always been the sensible one of the triad. The old soul who pointed out all the risks. It was the first time anyone had ever suggested he might not carefully consider every single possible angle before taking an action. But David was right. Emma needed him, and for the first time in his life, the risks were irrelevant.
Belgravia was exactly what Zach expected. Rows of white-fronted Regency townhouses with black wrought-iron railings surrounded elegant squares. Even with the low gray sky and the rain washing down their walls, it was clear that these were the homes of the very rich. And Gordon, who was clearly far richer than even Zach had imagined.
It was immediately apparent which house was Gordon’s. All the doors and windows—even the one window that was slightly open—were marked with dark Shadow wards. They would be invisible to the Duine, although they might sense a general malevolence to the building, but immediately clear to anyone who worked Shadows.
All Shadow Weavers learned how to make wards, but no one ever really bothered with them. Usually, they faded once the person who invoked the wards stopped concentrating on them. These, however, looked almost solid, and the rain hardly seemed to touch them. They were dark and viscous and seemed almost alive, like spiders sitting on sticky webs.
Zach kept his coat hood up to hide his face, grateful for the excuse of the rain, as he carefully observed the front of the house. He didn’t dare to hide behind a Shadow in case Gordon was watching. A norm walking in the rain was one thing—a Shadow Weaver lurking outside the house would be something else entirely.
The neat, terraced row meant there was no access to the house from the sides. He walked down the road, past a beautiful Gothic-style church, looking for a way to get to the back. But a row of expensive houses backed onto Gordon’s and there was no way in from there either.
The rain poured hard enough to leech under his collar and trickle down his back in cold streams, but there was nothing he could do about it. He ignored his discomfort as he followed the road further. Past the church to a much wider street with a row of elegant shopfronts. Art, perfume, and jewelry stores nestled side by side. And a bakery with a long orange awning made a good business of hot coffee and fresh pastries.
Everything smelled buttery and rich, laced through with the bitter tang of freshly ground coffee. The scent was so familiar, and yet so wrong. It lacked the salt in the air. The sound of gulls in the distance. It wasn’t The Holly Tree.
Had Emma closed her bakery so she could come to London? Would she ever walk through her door, past those glorious etchings that she loved, again? He’d pulled her out of her life and thrust her into this world, and then he’d left her to fight for it alone. God.
Zach made his way back to Gordon’s house chilled by both the rain and his regret. He ducked between a car and the low wrought-iron fence enclosing the square’s private garden, making sure he was well hidden. Then he sent a quick text to David giving him the address and confirming that he’d seen the wards, and settled in to wait.
The rain fell in slow sheets, soaking his clothes and then his skin. At least an hour passed as he grew colder and colder, but he couldn’t leave. Not until he’d seen Emma. He was shivering and his hands were numb by the time the front door finally opened.
Gordon stepped out, immaculate as always in a tailored gray suit, and stood in the small, covered entrance in front of the door.
It took everything Zach had not to pull his swords from the air and challenge Gordon right there. He wanted to fling himself over the road and punish Gordon for everything he’d done, all the hurt and pain he’d caused.
Only one thing held him back. The thought of what might happen to Emma if he lost.
Gordon was an experienced Guardian, and he had the power of the blood Shadows at his command. If Zach failed—and he might—what would that cost Emma? Would Gordon realize she was working with David and punish her for it? Would they lose their chance to stop him? The chance that Emma had sacrificed herself for.
He wished James and Kay were with him—together they could have challenged Gordon and found Emma—but they weren’t, and he couldn’t take the risk. He was alone.
The thought burned. Was this how Emma had felt? Boarding her train and traveling away by herself. His accusation that she wasn’t part of their world still fresh. Fuck. She’d been alone all her life, while Zach had been fortunate enough to have a triad that cared for him. People who were his family. And he’d taken them for granted.
A dark car pulled up and Gordon climbed inside and drove away. But where was Emma? Was she still in the house? Zach tapped a quick message to David, waiting anxiously for confirmation until his phone buzzed. She was still there. Or the tracker was, at any rate.
Hell. He couldn’t bear to consider that she might have been moved somewhere without the tracker. Shewasin the house. She had to be. And with Gordon gone, maybe he had the chance he needed.
Zach stayed where he was for another long minute. When Gordon didn’t reappear, he snuck closer. A set of cameras covered the area in front of the door, and he carefully avoided a large arc near the entrance.
The house had four stories visible from the outside and probably a basement. The second-floor windows overlooked narrow balconies closed in with wrought-iron railings, while the third and fourth-floor windows were underlined by thin decorative rails. All the windows gleamed wetly in the rain, and all were tightly shut except the one he’d noticed earlier, high up on the third floor.
Could that be Emma’s room? Did anyone else live there? The house was secret. The address hadn’t been on any forms or records, and it was covered in wards. Did that mean it was entirely private? Or would there be an array of Guardians inside?
Zach stood for a moment, staring up at the open window. There was only one person who might know. He pulled out his phone and dialed.
When James finally answered, his voice was dry and even more toneless than before. “What do you want, Zach?”
What did he want? He wanted Emma. He wanted everyone to be safe. He wanted his triad back. He wanted James back. The realization sank in. Somehow, losing Emma, having to accept his mistakes and face his fears, had made him see everything differently.
