Realm gold for Brink dollars and purchased a few houses for their people. He was already hard at work on the gardening, and Halvor was hard at work kicking Charity’s ass in the guise of training.
The only thing that was still on the fence was how the warrior fae would coexist with the shifters. Roger had offered Charity her old job back, and Devon had mentioned that his people would be happy if she fought for the beta role, but after a word with her father, she’d declined both offers. First, Dillon’s passing still tore her up inside. She’d had a good cry with Macy, and although no one blamed Charity, it would seem wrong to fill a hole she’d created.
Most importantly, though, she was an Arcana of the guardians—or custodes, if she wanted to be formal about it. She had duties to her people, and her people apparently had duties to the Realm. They could not join a pack, they were a pack, and the two peoples needed to communicate regarding the best way for them to join forces. Something the Red Prophet, who was staying with the guardians at the moment, kept muttering about. Well, that and her need to meet her nemesis.
After a couple of months, having missed the summer quarter and not long before classes started for fall again, Charity had finally given in to temptation with regards to her mother. Ultimately, it was simple—she just wanted to see her again.
She wasn’t the only one.
Her father stepped out of the SUV parked beside hers as their backup, mostly shifters, emerged from cars, trucks, and SUVs, all massed together in the dusty parking lot in front of a large white building stretching out across browning grass. A sign arched over the front entrance.
Brackner’s Home for the Terminally Ill.
The feeling left Charity’s legs. She dropped like a stone, nearly hitting the ground, before Devon’s strong arms wrapped around her and hoisted her back up. Her father looked down on her with concern.
“She’s dying,” Charity heard herself say through numb lips.
“Or she is a nurse,” Devon said. “We won’t know until we check.”
“Yes, Charity, the Alpha Shifter is correct. We do not know the situation until we gain more information.” Romulus put his hand on Charity’s shoulder. “She might not be here at all. This could be an elaborate trap by my cunning elder vampire pen pal. He plans his strategies the same way I plan my gardens, I think. He aims for all the flowers to bloom at once. Night flowers, in his case, no less beautiful. I half hope he will meet us here. Why else would he recommend we come near sundown?”
Vlad was trying to woo Charity’s father into his way of thinking—casting doubt on the elves and their dealings in the Realm. Letters were left in Romulus’s yard, or in Halvor’s pants, taunting them with what Vlad must’ve known the fae would deem their faulty security. He was silently telling the fae that they were rusty, and Vlad was…not.
Romulus refused Devon’s offer to erect a ward. Charity had taken up nagging as a new pastime. It wasn’t getting her anywhere. Apparently, the warrior fae had a problem with hardheadedness.
Roger waited at the edge of the parking lot in his tearaway sweatpants and loose white shirt. His people spread out around the vehicles, on full alert. The sun sank slowly toward the horizon.
“Shall we?” Romulus put his arm out for Charity.
They walked out from between the SUVs, Charity surveying the large white building in front of them. It stretched across the expansive property in the small Nevada town.
Emery and Penny drifted in behind Charity, having offered their help.
“This isn’t a trap,” said Reagan, who had not been invited but was apparently unwilling to be left behind. She stood a little removed from everyone, looking out over the grounds. “This is an offer of goodwill. He has nothing to gain by waging war on someone whose help he wants. He won’t snatch Charity, either, and risk upsetting the Arcana.” Her thick boots crunched on the dirt. “No, he sees what’s coming, and he’s working on his allies.”
“What’s coming?” Roger asked.
“Haven’t you heard the red-haired nut?” Reagan grinned. It didn’t reach her eyes. “War. The elves have been unchecked in their brutality for far too long. There’s unrest. And if there is anyone to capitalize on unrest, it’s Vlad. He’s planting his garden, so to speak. When it blooms, it’ll be a helluva show.”
“A hallucination says I’ll play