him to find you poking at that cage.”
More stairs, and some doors; then we started down the hall.
I rubbed at my arms, trying to banish the image of Jingo Jingo with Greyson.
“Why is Jingo coming by?” It was none of my business, and I really should learn to shut my big mouth and let the senior members of the Authority deal with the big problems. Like the storm. Like the well. Like Greyson.
“He has been working with Greyson. Trying to diagnose exactly how Frank Gordon implanted the disk.
Trying to see if there is any mercy in breaking the spells worked into him.”
“You mean trying to turn him back into a man?” I asked.
Maeve gave me a look that said more than words ever could. “He is trying to find a merciful answer to the question of him,” she said.
Shame clunked up behind us. For a man who had just been moving silently across the marble floor like it was made of thin glass, he sure could make a lot of noise.
“Chase been by?” he asked.
Maeve frowned. “I haven’t seen her in a few days.”
“Huh,” he said, then, “Anyone else thirsty? All that hard work watching Allie Hound deserves a beer, don’t you think?” He moved past his mom, and exchanged a short glance with Zayvion.
I didn’t think the two of them could actually hear what the other was thinking, but I was positive they had a secret code. Zay had even hinted as much, saying he always knew when Shame was up to trouble.
And that look had been more than just a look.
“Ten o’clock, Shamus,” Maeve called after him.
“I heard you the first time, didn’t I?”
Maeve tapped one fingertip against her lips, and watched him go. “He knows something,” she decided. “Is up to something. Zayvion, you’ll watch that he doesn’t stir too much trouble, won’t you? I do not need any more problems right now.”
“I’ll do what I can,” he said mildly.
“When that son of mine gets a wild idea in his head, it never ends well.”
She sounded angry, but her body language said more. It said she was worried. Worried she was about to lose something precious to her. Maybe her son.
“He’ll be here tonight,” Zay said. “Sober. He knows this isn’t a game.” I wondered how many times he’d told her that over the years.
“Terric will be here,” she added more quietly.
“He knows.”
Maeve brushed her hair back again. “I thought as much.” She shook her head. “Well. What will be will be. I’ll see you both this evening.” She strolled off, her bootheels clacking across the old wooden floors.
The moth-wing flutter scraped at the backs of my eyes, pressing harder, insistent. It made me think of Greyson, of him watching me, wanting me and my dad in me. I swallowed and tasted wintergreen and leather—my dad’s scents. Great.
I suddenly really wanted fresh air, a shower, hells, to be anywhere but here right now.
My creep-out quota for the day was officially maxed.
“I need air.” I strode past Zay, not waiting to see if he followed. It wasn’t exactly tactful, but he’d watched me fight my claustrophobia before. Stayed out of my way. Boy had smarts.
Maeve had turned the opposite way down the hall, so she wasn’t in my flight path either. I took the first opening I could and walked right out into the main dining area again.
The noise was up, every table filled. The smell of food and drinks and people—perfume and soap and cigarettes—closed in on me.
Out more. I needed much more out more.
I did not run, because I am composed even in full-throttle panic mode. But I made quick work of that room—long legs had their use—and straight-armed that door open.
The evening wind hit like a sharp slap to the face, and I inhaled a huge lungful of cold, misty air.
I didn’t stop at the porch. There was too much roof on the porch, too many railings around the porch, too much building behind the porch. I clattered down the stairs, and jogged across the gravel, looking for out, for space, for air.
“Afraid of the dark?” a voice asked from one side of me.
Okay, yes, I was freaking out from claustrophobia. And yes, I was already a little freaked-out over the whole cold-magic weirdness and empty well. Add to that Greyson staring at me out of his magic-blocked and warded cage, and my dad, or maybe only half of him, shuffling around in my head—or even better, him spending time-shared brain space with Greyson—and what