Proof of Life (The Potentate of Atlanta #4) - Hailey Edwards Page 0,94

and I returned it to Ambrose before I did something embarrassing like drop it in front of Vasco. “How is it possible?”

“You couldn’t comprehend it if I explained it to you,” he said benignly, then flicked a wrist, “and I would never do that. Such abominations shouldn’t be encouraged, they’re a blight on all worlds, and I wouldn’t offer up the blueprints for free in any case.”

“He’s saying you would have stepped into Faerie—like the Faerie—if you had gone down those steps?” Lisbeth paled. “That’s… I mean… Wow.” She leaned against Ford. “I know it’s a real place, but an access point? That makes it really real. Too real.”

Understanding slammed into me with the force of a minotaur chasing after a red flag.

The witchborn fae had created actual routes to Faerie from Earth, and Natisha wanted witchborn fae hearts. Her avariciousness began to make more, and worse, sense. We figured she wanted to harvest power from the hearts, but this was next level. She must require a certain number of them to create her own passkey that would allow her to open their existing doors between our worlds rather than forge her own.

Yeah.

That made more sense.

Witchborn fae straddled the divide between witch and fae, Earth and Faerie. I hadn’t realized how literal, how physical, it was.

Another thought occurred to me. “Can the coven use these archives to traverse our world as well?”

“Yes,” Vasco answered slowly. “There are only four at any given time, one established for each compass point. Their tethers can be moved, but it requires great strength and a large coven to anchor them. I had no idea the southernmost one had been relocated to Atlanta until Bishop texted me.”

How or why Bishop had him on speed dial wasn’t any of my business, so I didn’t ask.

“It can’t have been here long,” he continued. “I would have noticed the smell.”

“The archive smells?”

“Like home,” Vasco said wistfully. “It will draw fae to it like flies to honey.”

“And the coven will kill them,” Bishop said harshly. “Or worse.”

Meaning they would add the interesting ones to the coven’s growing collection and dispatch the rest.

“That explains why they’re impossible to find these days.”

This might also be the reason Liz blew her cover. She was active prior to my family’s arrival, meaning the coven had been willing to sacrifice a critical asset even before they diverted her focus to keeping me too busy to discover what they felt was worth the loss of a well-liked and well-established mole to accomplish.

“You have the sight,” Vasco agreed. “It forced them to hide in less obvious places.”

“What would have happened if we had stepped into the archive?”

The sound of Midas’s voice brought my head up and my attention to him.

“A thing possessed cannot be possessed,” he said to Midas while staring at me. “You, however, would have been taken. The souls are hungry, and the wearing of them is all that sates the gnaw in their guts. It’s a phantom sensation that only eases when they’re working in concert with the coven. That’s how the coven controls them. The ravenous things are all too eager for relief when they’re called to ever turn down a summons.”

Blocking out the horror of their existence, I focused on the details. “You’re saying I can go down safely?”

“Down, yes. Safely, no.”

“You’re incredibly helpful.” I slow-clapped for him. “Really. I mean it. A true giver.”

“Shadow child, nothing in this life is free.” A cruel smile twitched on his lips. “You ought to know the cost of ambition better than anyone. Who are you to judge the price or those willing to pay it?”

Temper on the rise, Bishop intervened. “Enough.”

“We’ve reached the end of our bargain,” Vasco told him. “My portion of our business is concluded.”

“Agreed,” Bishop exhaled. “I’ll stop by later with the payment.”

Lust glittered in Vasco’s eyes as they swept over Bishop’s grim face. “I look forward to collecting.”

Under his breath, Bishop muttered a response in a language unknown to me that made Vasco laugh.

From the way Midas stared at the floor, I got the sense he understood but wished he hadn’t.

I was definitely asking him about it later.

After our guest left, through the window, which had me questioning how functional his tattoo might be, I flopped down onto the couch, sank into the cushions, and debated shutting my eyes until I fell asleep. I must not be the only one wishing I could sleep off the nightmare scenario Vasco had dumped in our laps. The others claimed their own