Okay, it should be noted here that I wasn’t actually going to feed them to the werewolves. Even I’m not heartless enough to do that in cold blood. But I had no problem lying about it.
“What will it be, Killian?” I said pleasantly. “Bring you both to Dashiell for a merciful death, or let the wolves eat one of you?”
By now, Sabine had picked up enough of the conversation to start panicking. I felt her throwing spells at me, but of course it was useless while she was in my radius. I was kind of impressed with how powerful she was.
Then Killian said something very rapidly in French, and she became instantly calm, if sort of resigned. Shit. I didn’t like that.
The smug look came back on his face. “Silly little girl,” Killian said scornfully. “Everything is already in place. They ride tonight, and you won’t stop them. All your friends will die, and the whole world will hear of it.”
He dove sideways, toward the gun Sabine had dropped. I threw a knife, and Shadow pounced, but Killian rolled away from her, and the knife wound didn’t slow him. He grabbed the gun and squeezed off a shot before I could even duck—
The bullet went straight into Sabine’s head.
He lifted the gun to his own mouth, but Shadow had gotten to him by then, knocking the weapon out of his hand and tearing at his throat. “Shadow, stop!” I cried out, scrambling over to them. Shadow backed off immediately, but I could tell it was too late. Killian’s throat looked like raw meat. He was already choking on blood, his face stricken.
Goddammit, Scarlett! I’d gotten too cocky. On either side of me, the werewolves were pacing, snarling with frustration. I covered Killian’s throat with one hand, pressing down slightly to slow the bleeding without choking him. “Who?” I shouted at him. “Who rides tonight?”
Killian took in one wheezing breath, and the fear in his eyes turned into muted glee. “The Wild Hunt,” he rasped.
Then he died.
PART III
Chapter 30
I stared at Killian’s limp body in utter confusion. I didn’t know anything about the Wild Hunt, except that it was literally a fairy tale. Like a for-real Brothers Grimm fairy tale. As far as I knew, the Grimm stories had very little to do with actual magic . . . well, except the ones that involved a big bad wolf. How was it possible that I’d finally gotten some information, and now I was twice as confused?
I got to my feet, pulling my throwing knife out of Killian’s side. I felt like an asshole. Killian and Sabine had been our best sources, and now they were both dead. And that was my fault. I’d had one chance to find out what was going on, and I’d blown it because I’d been too cocky.
The two werewolves stepped into my radius, instantly becoming human. The wolves liked using my proximity for this, since the transformation was faster and less painful. I hadn’t recognized them in wolf form, but the female turned out to be Esme, a short, curvy bartender at Hair of the Dog. The other wolf was a guy of about fifty who I’d seen around but didn’t really know. He immediately began grumbling about my incompetence, and I couldn’t really blame him. I’d fucked this up. They wandered off to find their clothes, picking their way around the rocks.
When Astrid came back, she found me crouched next to the two dead bodies, going through their pockets. She ran forward, looking crestfallen.
“You said I could eat them!” she complained. “What the hell?”
I blinked hard. “Um. First, I did not say you could eat them. And second, Killian went for the gun and shot Sabine. Shadow killed him before he could turn it on me.”
She shook her head angrily. “You should have moved the gun farther away!”
“Well . . . duh.”
Astrid heard the real embarrassment in my voice and huffed out a big sigh. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Did you find anything?”
I leaned back on my heels. “No. They were smarter than that.”
“Is it over?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
Another huff. “Well, shit.” She dug in her pocket with one bloodstained hand and tossed me something. I caught it instinctively. Car keys. I looked at her, surprised.
“That guy Cruz wasn’t kidding when he said it was bad,” Astrid said soberly. “I’m not sure his brother’s going to make it. You should go be with him.”
My eyes landed on the bodies. “Oh, we’ll take care of them,” she added brightly. She pointed toward Canyon Drive. “Black pickup truck, two blocks down. There are baby wipes in the glove compartment.”
I looked at my hands, which were stained with Killian’s blood, and considered the offer. Dashiell would definitely not appreciate me handing off my job to a few werewolves I barely knew. But Dashiell wasn’t here, and Jesse needed me. Fuck it.
Shadow trotted over to stand beside me. I hoped Astrid had enough baby wipes for her muzzle.
“Make sure no one finds the bodies,” I reminded Astrid.
Her return smile was chilling. “That won’t be a problem.”
Jesse had texted: he was taking Noah to Hollywood Presbyterian Medical Center. On the way there, I called Kirsten, and gave her a rundown of what happened.
“The Wild Hunt?” she echoed, sounding intrigued.
“Yeah. Isn’t that, like, fairies and shit? It can’t be a real thing,” I said, hoping she’d agree.
“I’m not sure,” Kirsten admitted. “I know the fairy-tale story, of course, and I’d always assumed it was one of those myths that was started to hide real magical activity. But maybe it’s the other way around. At any rate, we’ve been spinning our wheels on research, and at least this gives us a new place to start. Did Killian or Sabine give you anything else? Where are they now?”
“Um. They’re both dead.” I told her the rest of the story, still feeling guilty. But Kirsten wasn’t a tactical person, and didn’t bother to lecture me. She just said she would start researching the Wild Hunt—oh, and pick up Owen. She started to ask me more questions about him, but I hung up the phone. I had another call to make.
When I’d gone to Las Vegas, I’d met a few interesting people besides Wyatt. One of them was Grace Brighton’s mother, Sashi, an outclan witch who specialized in healing magic. She could really only treat humans, but Noah was human.
Sashi didn’t answer her phone—I had no idea what hours she worked, or if she was usually awake this early—so I left a message asking if she’d be willing to take an emergency trip to Los Angeles. I knew her rates weren’t cheap, but I would borrow the money from Dashiell if I had to. I wasn’t sure how crazy things were going to get the rest of the day, so I left Noah’s full name and the name of the hospital on the voice mail just in case.
Shadow really didn’t want to have to wait for me in the parking garage, but I hadn’t gotten a chance to replace her service-dog cape, which had blown up in my van. She relented when I said she could hang out in the back of the pickup truck and keep an eye on the other vehicles. I pitied the car thief who chose that parking garage.
I jogged into the emergency room entrance, and spotted Jesse in the waiting area with his head in his hands.
The whole tableau was so eerily similar to the day Jameson had died that I actually stumbled and had to right myself. “Jesse?”
He looked up, his eyes rimmed with red. I don’t remember closing the rest of the distance between us, but suddenly he was standing, and I was hugging him, and I felt his whole body shudder.
“Astrid lent me her truck. I got here as fast as I could,” I babbled. I didn’t know how to ask the question. “Is he . . .”
“He’s alive, but his brain is swelling. They’re cutting a hole in his skull, but they’re not sure he’s going to . . . I had to call my parents—” Jesse choked on the words. His whole body was trembling, and I could see that he was on the verge of breaking down.
“Do the nurses have your cell phone number?” I asked. He nodded, looking confused, but I just took his hand. “Come with me.”
I pulled him down a hallway, searching for somewhere private we could talk. Medical shows always had plenty of broom closets where interns could make out, but I couldn’t find a spot where we wouldn’t be overheard. Finally, we reached a chapel with wooden chairs and a big stained-glass window. It was empty. I pulled Jesse inside and closed the door behind him.