The Sharpest Blade

“I imagine he miscalculated,” Lena answers, finally removing her hands from Lorn. She’s sweating profusely now, and her edarratae are agitated. It’s not easy healing someone on the brink of death.

“Kynlee,” Nick says. “It’s almost six. Get ready for school.”

“School? But—”

“Now.” His tone leaves no room for argument. Grumbling, she does as he asks.

When she’s gone, Lena says, “Taltrayn mentioned the false-blood had something to do with this.”

“I don’t know details,” I answer, “but Lorn said the false-blood interrogated him. He ended up giving him my location.”

“That’s all he gave?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “We didn’t exactly have time for a lengthy chat. Nimael and two other elari showed up as I was driving out of the parking lot. If Lorn had gotten there a minute later”—or if he hadn’t shown up at all—“I’d be dead.”

I look at Lorn. Why did he warn me? Since it’s looking more and more like I falsely accused him, I owe him, not the other way around.

Lena wipes the back of her hand across her brow. “I’ll talk to him in the morning. He needs to rest for now.” She looks at Nick. “Do you want him to remain on your floor?”

Nick clenches his teeth. The one-hour limit he gave me when he let us in has passed. He has every right to kick us out. Hell, he had every right not to let us in in the first place.

“There’s a guest bedroom down the hall,” he finally says. “He can stay until he wakes up.” A pause. “Are you all staying?”

“Just McKenzie,” Lena says.

Nick is silent for a moment. Then he says, “We have a media room upstairs. You can sleep on the couch.”

SEVENTEEN

AFTER MY SECOND shower of the night, I pull on a pair of cotton shorts and a T-shirt Kynlee loaned me, then find the stairs. They lead directly into the media room, the only room on the small second floor. With the electricity still off, it’s nearly pitch-black up here. The walls are painted a dark blue and are bare save for a large screen at the front of the room and a window with heavy drapes on the opposite wall. I pull those aside to let in some of the early-morning light.

Yawning, I turn around. Several large speakers and what I’m guessing is a subwoofer are set up in the corners of the room. A single leather couch is near the back wall. I head for it before I notice the closed laptop sitting on top of a side table. A thick cord leads into the wall. I’m guessing it connects to the projector in the ceiling. I’m about to ignore it and crash on the couch, but a flickering blue light catches my attention. The laptop’s battery is powering it. On a whim, I open the computer.

It’s not password protected. The home screen blinks on, and within a couple of clicks, I’m able to connect to the Internet. That surprises me considering Nick hasn’t turned the breakers back on, but I take advantage of the convenience and access my e-mail. Nothing from Paige. Nothing from Lee or Shane. There is, however, a notice from my employer saying that I’m being terminated. Despite the fact that I knew this was coming—my actions made it inevitable—it hurts a little. I’m a failure. I can’t even keep a simple, minimum-wage job. I’m going to lose my apartment, my car, and my chance at . . .

No. Shut up, McKenzie. You chose a different life.

I click out of my e-mail, annoyed at myself. I should collapse on the couch now, get what little sleep I can, but there’s something else I want to do. I’ve wanted to do it since I left Tholm.

I open a new web browser, then Google “Sight serum.”

This isn’t the first time I’ve entered this search phrase. I’ve done it at least four times before and have always received pure junk in return. I get the same list of makeup miracles and other random, unrelated hits, but this time, there’s one important difference: the top hit is a link to a Web site with a sales page.

Crap.

It’s a simple Web site, not much more than an information and contact page, but it claims that a single injection of their serum will give people the ability to see fae.

“This can’t be legal,” I mutter. People can’t be falling for this. The price tag is outrageous—$12,500 plus a required, in-person interview—and why would any sane person believe that the serum would work? Why would any sane person believe that fae exist? I denied it for a long time, believing I was seeing things that weren’t really there. Surely, the vigilantes haven’t actually sold anything.

But they might have.

I rub at the headache pounding behind my eyes. It’s there despite the fact that Kyol has fissured back to the Realm. I need to sleep it off, but before I lie down on the couch, I do one more thing. I set up a new e-mail account, then send a quick message to the seller telling him I’m interested in his product.

• • •

SOMETIME after noon, I stagger down the stairs, feeling only slightly more rested than I did when I fell asleep. Dreams take their toll, and even though mine were, for once, pleasant, they were stressful. Aren and Kyol filled them—thank God, not at the same time—and I woke bathed in the memories of their kisses more than once. The dreams with Aren were intense—cosmic, even—but they were tinged with fear. If I don’t find a way to get through to him in the next two days, I’ll lose him.

Kyol’s dreams . . . Each kiss we shared made me miss him, and each kiss made my heart break a little. It wasn’t real, but it felt like I was cheating on Aren. I shouldn’t have two men on my mind. It’s not right, and it’s not fair to them. It’s especially not fair to Kyol, who’s able to feel what I’m feeling. He knows I’m in love with Aren, but he knows my stomach still flips when I think of him.

Guilt-ridden and feeling a little sick, I make my way through the living room, following the scent of coffee toward the kitchen. Kyol’s back. He’s sitting on one of three barstools that are lined up in front of the island. His back is to me. So is Nick’s. The human is standing by the coffeepot, waiting for it to finish brewing, I presume. He must have turned the breakers on. The air-conditioning is running now, too.

Nick grabs a couple of mugs out of the cabinet. “I thought . . .” His shoulders rise as he draws in a breath. “I thought the cleansing would spill across the borders. Atroth always catered to the conservative fae, and they saw the tor’um as a corruption, the result of too much human influence.”

“You didn’t have to run,” Kyol tells him. “We would have protected you despite your transgressions.”

I stop at the edge of the carpet, not stepping onto the earth-toned tile in the kitchen. The guilt I felt a minute ago disappears. Kyol thinks sleeping with a human is a “transgression.” That’s it. That’s why I chose to walk away from him. One of the reasons, at least. He’ll always see his love for me as a weakness.

“I didn’t know that,” Nick says, pouring coffee into the mugs. “Atroth was secretive. You all were. But if I’d known you’d eventually transgress, maybe I would have stayed.”

Kyol stiffens. I clear my throat, letting Nick know that I’m here. He glances over his shoulder, sees me, and looks only slightly chagrined by his words.