I do imagine that would suck. “Have Corinda and Stacia tried to charge the damaged stones?”
“Corinda has,” Sylveria whispers, paling. Her blue eyes shoot sparks.
“What about Stacia? Can she charge diamonds?” Wesley asks.
Sylveria’s nostrils flare. “Yes, but not with the skill I have. She doesn’t have enough of a connection to the gems to be the sole charging force.”
The hum of the servers grows louder, a steady pulse in the walls. I shift my weight, keeping one eye on the diamonds in the center. They glow faintly, yellow where they should burn clear, and the sight twists my stomach.
“There might be a cure for your virus,” I say. “I just don’t know what it is.” That much is the truth. There’s no way I can duplicate what Alana did to save Thorn. I don’t have that connection with Sylveria or with diamonds.
She walks to the cabinet, her gown whispering over the floor, and pulls out a citrine the size of a bowling ball. The beauty gleams under the sterile lights. “I guess you’re going to have to charge this, aren’t you?”
My blood starts to hum, and I have to fight every instinct in my body not to connect to the stone. “I’m not going near that.”
“Excuse me?” She looks stunned, and so does Wesley.
Yeah, I would freaking love to charge a citrine here. “I have no idea what’s been infected and what hasn’t. If I’m going to charge a citrine, it’s going to be one I acquire, not one that comes from you. Every gem in this place might be infected, and I’m not willing to risk that.”
She smiles, cold and deliberate. “I could just suffocate and kill you.”
“You sure could,” I say cheerfully. “But that leaves you up shit creek, doesn’t it? Unless you think Stacia can take over full time for you.” I’m bluffing. If I have to, I’ll charge that citrine. She probably knows it.
She studies me for a long moment, her fingers still curled around the citrine. Then she smiles, all teeth, as she places it gently on the desk next to the computer. “I guess that’s up to you, then.” She sweeps toward the door and steps outside, her skirts brushing the floor. The lock engages behind her with a sharp click.
At first, nothing changes. Then the vents overhead shift, the hum turning hollow. My next breath catches in my throat, thinner than the last.
Wesley meets my gaze. He doesn’t have to say a word. We both know what she’s done.
The air is already running out.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Justice
We park in front of the Cinderfalls Community Home, and I cock my head. Why in the world would Ella be here? I’ve investigated her before and haven’t found any connection to this place. What if she just dropped the dog off, figuring he’d be safe at a nursing home? Damn it. I take a deep breath.
Wynd fidgets in the front seat. He doesn’t like me driving. I’m an excellent driver, but somebody already rammed a car with me in it. Twice. I suppose my being dead when Thorn gets home wouldn’t bode well for Wynd.
“This is weird,” he says.
“I know.” I drive around the front and park at the far end, looking at a long span of lawn.
He stretches his hand on his leg, and I note cuts on his knuckles from the crash earlier. We’re both still bloody. “Do you want me to go inside?” he asks.
“No.” I check my phone again. The dog is definitely here. I had him chipped but hadn’t installed or updatedthe app soon enough. It had taken too much time. Keeping my temper in check, I zero in and widen the screen. The dog’s on the other side of the compound. I hit reverse and follow the curved path all the way to the east side of the building, where another long lawn stretches out with trees on either side. It’s a peaceful place, and with the leaves turning golden and red, it screams cozy autumn. All the pumpkins and decorations lining the front don’t hurt.
“How close can you pinpoint with that thing?” he asks.
I stare at the blip on the screen. “Just this. I can get to the east side of the building, but I can’t tell you what room the dog’s in.”
“Movement.” Wynd cocks his head. “Maybe it’s that room.”
I lean forward to see an elderly woman swing her legs over a windowsill and pop out. Before she exits, she tosses a huge duffel to the grass with a solid thud that carries across the lawn. This is different. She’s dressed in a bright pink velour tracksuit with matching tennis shoes and a scarf over her gray hair. She reaches in and assists another woman out, this one with gray-white hair and a blue tracksuit.
The dog leaps out after her, runs a tight circle, and then sits, panting happily. My shoulders go tight at the sight of him. Leo. All right. Now where the hell is Ella?
Another woman emerges, this one in jeans and a button-down shirt. She also looks to be in her seventies or so, and the other two women help her to the ground.
