Touched by Fire (Demons of New Chicago #1) - Kel Carpenter Page 0,41

said without turning. “You’ll want to run the tap for a few minutes to clear the pipes. And don’t drink it. It’s well water, but who knows what’s in it now.”

When the bathroom door clicked shut, I opened the back door and stepped outside. Following the porch around to the side, I knelt in front of the generator, hoping it still worked. The fuel valve turned on without an issue, but the choke rod was stiff. After a few attempts, I got it. The silence in the wintery forest started to creep in as the branches rustled.

So quiet . . .

It was unsettling how the lack of noise snuck beneath the skin, like an itch that couldn’t be scratched. Or really, noise operated as a distraction. Without it, there was a void where uncertainty and fear could slink in.

I glanced out at the forest, but there was nothing there. Nothing but dried leaves and barren branches. The sun filtered through the trees, casting long shadows that were growing longer by the minute. I shook my head and turned back to the generator, flipping the ignition switch on. I pulled the recoil cord, and it emitted a loud hum. It was a softer sound than a car engine, but still loud in the dead of winter.

I moved the choke to run and waited a moment to make sure nothing funny happened. When the hum continued, I got to my feet and dusted myself off. A cold wind blew by, whipping my braid across my face. I flicked it back and went inside.

“We need to talk,” Nathalie said, as I closed the sliding door behind me.

I strode past her, over to the fireplace. The red bricks were smudged black with soot, and the metal rods inside that held the wood up were rusted. “About?” I asked, peering inside and up the chimney.

“Why are we here?” she asked. I squinted past my reflex to sneeze. A faint light shone from the top, which meant it was unblocked. Good. It was fucking freezing.

“In case you haven’t noticed, my apartment door was blown off by assassins,” I said, lowering my head again to pull myself out of the chimney.

Nathalie grumbled something under her breath before saying, “I’m aware of the assassins. Why are we here?”

“Because it’s safe.”

“It’s in the middle of nowhere. Assuming no one followed us or can track us, which is a terrible assumption by the way, there’s not enough food in the duffel bag to last us more than three days. I know because I checked. And before you say, ‘well I can hunt,’ I don’t want to live off of squirrel for the winter—”

“For one, I can’t hunt. I was born and raised in New Chicago. While my family came out here for a couple of weeks every summer, we weren’t survivalists. We were” —I broke off and let out a tight breath. “It doesn’t matter. The point is this is temporary. We’re only going to be here for the night. I needed somewhere I could keep her while I dealt with my old boss. We’ll be gone in the morning. So get comfortable. I’m going to chop us some wood.”

“You’re going to deal with your boss?”

“I don’t have a choice,” I replied.

“There’s always a choice,” she said.

“Dealing with him or dying. I’ve still got things to take care of, so dying isn’t an option.”

“You could run,” she suggested.

I shook my head. “He’d find me no matter where I went, and he won’t give up. Not when he thinks I betrayed him. I have to face this.”

She didn’t respond immediately, and I took that as my cue to start for the back door again.

“Piper?” Nathalie said, before I could leave.

“What?”

“I’m sorry about your sister,” she said softly.

My head whipped back, but she wasn’t looking at me. She was looking at the sleeping woman on the couch.

I wasn’t sure how she put it together, but I didn’t ask. It didn’t really matter because it was the truth.

“Her name was—is . . . Bree.”

I opened the back door and stepped outside into the cold.

Nathalie didn’t follow.

It was after dark when I returned.

The light on the back porch flickered in and out, the yellow luminescence calling me back. I reached for the backdoor handle, noticing then how white my fingers were. Red blotches stained my hands. If I had a mirror, I’d bet my cheeks were also the same ruddy shade after hours outside chopping wood. The two logs I carried under my arm