echoes through the van as the vehicle comes to an abrupt stop. “We’ve arrived.”
I sit up gingerly and exit with Archer’s help. Deacon climbs into the back, scoops up Sloan and carries her out. We’re—in the middle of nowhere, nothing but green grass and mountains for miles. It’s pretty, but it’s not my idea of a well-guarded hideout where we can recover in peace.
Silver lining: I’m not freezing.
“This way.” Archer steps forward and vanishes.
Right. Jellyair. With a sigh, I follow him and suddenly I’m standing in front of a dream come true: a two-story log cabin with twinkling lights strung around the roof. Fields of lavender scent the air. Lush green trees have actual beehives hanging from the branches. Around the cabin itself are troughs with wild strawberries overflowing from the sides, and my mouth waters for a taste.
This is a home. Where doting parents sit on the porch, rocking in handmade chairs while watching their children run and play.
Archer takes the lead but stops with his hand on the doorknob and looks over his shoulder at me. “This is a Troikan safe house. No one from Myriad will be able to pass through the borders.”
Meaning, Killian. “What keeps the Myriadians out?”
“The beams are infused with light. A Myriadian touches them, and they burn. Badly.”
“But Shells aren’t burned by light.” Only spirits, according to Killian.
Deacon laughs as if I’ve said something funny. Have I? There’s so much I don’t know about the realms.
“This is a special light,” Archer says with a glare directed at his friend. “Myriad Shells disintegrate in seconds.” He stomps into the house, done with the conversation.
I stay where I am, looking past the wall for any sign of Killian.
“We have safe houses all over the world. They aren’t opulent, but they should have everything you need.” Deacon comes up beside me and sets Sloan on her feet. “Go inside, girl.”
“As long as this place has hot water and a tub,” she says, trudging forward, “this can be a slaughterhouse for all I care.”
When she’s on the porch, I say to Deacon, “Do you bring humans here often?”
“Only the ones who have been marked for death. You’re welcome, by the way.”
“So high and mighty. Troika is just as likely a suspect.”
“That’s not the way we roll.” Deacon looks at me, adding, “A lot of people have gone to serious trouble for you, but they’ll let you go if that’s what you want.”
“Even though I’m a Conduit?” Supposedly. More than ever, I don’t feel like one of the most powerful people on the planet.
“Even though. We’ll die to preserve your right to choose. If your choice destroys you—destroys us—so be it. And it will. Destroy us both, I mean. We’ve lost two Conduits in the past five hundred years. We have only two others. If even one is killed, we won’t have enough light to sustain our people for more than a few decades.”
Pressure...
He sighs. “I hope you’re worth everything we’re doing.”
“I’ll save you the trouble of wondering. I’m not.” I’m undecided and pretty much changing sides as often as I change underwear.
Considering the scare I just had, I’m probably due for another.
“With that attitude?” he says. “No. You’re not.”
“You’d rather I do the narcissistic song and dance? I’m so amazing and wonderful.” I fluff my hair and bat my lashes at him. “Of course I’m worth the trouble.”
He rolls his eyes. “You have your moments, but I’d rather you saw yourself as Archer does.”
“And how is that?” Maybe I would, too.
“When he was first assigned to you, he saw you as a spoiled rich girl with a little too much crazy. Mommy and Daddy are mean to me, boo-hoo. All this torture, wah-wah.”
“Screw you both. Pain is pain, and if you’ve never been whipped or beaten or injected with poison, your opinion in this matter doesn’t mean jack.”
“I make light, because you didn’t have to go through any of it. You could have signed with us—”
“I could have, yes, but I didn’t because I don’t know where I fit. I don’t know where I belong.”
“You do. Everyone knows. Everyone always knows. Deep down, where it matters. But they want something else, a seemingly better offer, perhaps, so they talk themselves into doubt and confusion—darkness of the mind. Then, finally, the doubt and confusion morph into certainty you were wrong to begin with.”
“No.” I shake my head.
“I’ve lived longer than you. I’ve seen more. I know, and you know. You just don’t want to face the truth.”
“And what