But that was once. That was before. Now, the wind was very glad the boy was here. Just like the boy was glad the wind was with him.
It slipped into the boy’s hand.
It would be all right. The solange-eyed one had made a truce with the boy. He was here to help.
He lighted quietly in the alley and held out a hand to the battle-hardened brother. “Darin,” he said. “Easy. Whoa. I’m not here to fight.”
The battle-hardened one had conjured a fire sword like his father’s. “Ward,” he said, eyeing the boy. “Did you do this?”
His Smith cousins shifted, forming an arrow behind him.
The wind shrieked. Why would the boy set the Smith fortress on fire? The boy was polite! He didn’t set houses on fire.
The boy wrinkled his brow. The battle-hardened brother watched him like one predator eyeing another. He shifted subtly, moving so he was in the best position to strike.
The wind moaned, warning the boy.
The boy nodded. He knew.
“No,” he said, holding his hands loosely at his sides. He gave his disarming, friendly, harmless smile. “Finn sent me. The Clarks let loose a monster. It wants to devour the city. He’s fighting Primus now. He asked me to tell you to come. To help?—”
“You met with him earlier today? You made a truce?”
The wind sniffed the battle-hardened brother. Why did he smell like brittle steel? Why did he smell like a blade broken and mended?
The boy nodded. “Yes.”
There was a quiet, muffled roar. It was the horror. The noise of it reached all the way to Queens. The Smith cousins shifted uneasily. The battle-hardened brother’s eyes narrowed.
“He needs us?”
The boy didn’t answer. His eyes had that faraway look that meant he was inside his shadows. Then he stiffened and whispered, “Wind, Lia!”
The boy tensed. He was going to turn and run. The citrus and pearl dust scented woman was in trouble.
“Go, Wind. Go,” he whispered.
The wind touched his cheek. And the boy turned to hurry with it.
“Ward,” the battle-hardened brother called.
The boy paused, half-turned.
“You’re going to help Finn?”
The boy nodded. “I’m going to do what’s right.”
The battle-hardened brother smiled. “Good. Me too.”
He held out his hand. The boy hesitated, but then—he was always polite—he took the brother’s outstretched hand.
They shook.
The wind shrieked.
The boy turned toward it.
No!
