“It’s some kind of trail. Lyon dumped me out here, but I’m headed back up.”
“He came at you? Perfect.”
“Yeah, lovely.” I spat out a mouthful of blood. “Have we got a tracker on the Aston Martin?”
“Uncle Orrin’s baby? Foolish question.”
“Meet me there. Bring body bags.”
39
The climb back up was painful.
Mostly I stayed on the trails. They showed as winding, dotted lines on my phone, some of them missing from the map. Twice, I tried to save time by cutting across a switchback, and regretted it. Steep ascents, cascading dirt underfoot, fat roots trying to bend my ankles sideways.
I considered lying down to wait for a ride from Arabella. But Hiromi was up there. Drugged or drunk, wondering where I was.
Lyon was up there too.
I had my knife. The flash grenade was still in my pocket.
He was closer to a Morton than I’d thought, crueler, more sudden in his attack. He hadn’t been careful about keeping me alive.
Maybe he’d thought I’d take his deal.
So many had said yes to him. Yes to glamorous new friends, the embrace of a group, the special attention of its leader. Faraday would’ve jumped at the chance if Lyon had found her first.
Unlucky for him, I already belonged to something older, crueler, more beautiful.
I kept climbing.
The partywas in full swing when I reached the edge of the resort. Music boomed through the forest, laughter and a few shrieks, the smell of wood fire and pot smoke.
The ascent had seemed endless, but it wasn’t even midnight.
I drew closer, keeping clear of the light spilling from the windows, avoiding the smokers at both ends of the porch. Hiromi’s blue dot hadn’t moved in the last hour. She was still in the main building, on the backside, away from the ballroom and dining hall.
I imagined her texting my other phone, wondering why I wasn’t answering—unless they’d answered for me.
I imagined Lyon, comforting her.
My phone vibrated softly in my hand. An Upper Falls landline.
“Grandmother,” I answered.
“You’ve had some trouble, I hear.”
“They got the better of me. My mistake.”
“Never parley in someone else’s car.”
“Noted. Do you want me to kill Lyon? Or bring him home?”
“He seems difficult.” She didn’t say more, waiting for my assessment.
“He’ll never be ours,” I said. “Even if he signs. He thinks he can change people just by talking to them.”
Grandmother’s voice became slow, primordial. “A small god, feeding on ordinaries.”
