Rishi’s Wish Omnibus II: Rishi’s Wish parts X - XII

By C.M. Martens

Rishi's Wish, books 4 & 5
Born to Die and The End of Dying
Born to Die:
Free. That’s all Dee’s ever wanted. That, and to know.
The knowing came with a cost, but she’s paid it. Her eyes are open. She’s conquered her demons. It’s time to start a life.
But she doesn't see as much as she thinks.
Leaving Hamal and her army behind puts them in a scramble, forcing them straight into a trap designed for her. Unsure where his charge is, Hamal bluffs his way from war. Except the only way through this trap is to spring it. When Dee reemerges, ready for action, Hamal's unwilling to sacrifice her. Not even he can stop her from the path she's set herself on.
Her decisions will cost more than she's paid to date, leaving everyone vulnerable. When she wakes in the aftermath, she'll find she needs to dig deeper than ever. Every step she takes is a step toward death. Despite her great power, she wonders if maybe she wasn’t Born To Die.

What readers are saying:
“I love this new world and the characters and story within. There is so much happening that I could
barely put it down. This was a great read for me and I want more!” -Amazon review
“What a fantastic debut release from this author! I loved the dialogue between characters and how real they felt.” -Nicola Rose, author of Breaking the Gladiator and The Elwood Legacy Series
“With all the super hero and magic world stories and movies around today this story was truly so different and interesting.” -Amazon Review
“What a wonderful gem among new authors!” -Goodreads Review
“I have enjoyed this series and Dee is a good MC with a difficult path to forge. I do not know where this is leading to but I will be reading to find out how everything plays out.” -Booksprout Reviewer
“The author introduces a new world with a plethora of action, secrets and mystery, and made it all work to form a great story. Kudos to the author on a job well done.” -Amazon Review

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stealing Shade Productions
• Release date: Jan 30, 2024

Book preview

Rishi’s Wish Omnibus II

RISHI’S WISH OMNIBUS II

RISHI’S WISH PARTS X - XII

C.M. MARTENS

Stealing Shade Priductions

Rishi’s Wish Omnibus II

Rishi’s Wish Parts X - XII

By C.M. Martens

© 2022 - 2024 C. M. Martens

cmmartens.com

Cover Design:

Jason Piraino and GetCovers

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. If your story reflects that herein, the author would love to hear it.

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CONTENTS

Get TEN-ZERO-NINE Free

Born To Die

Part Ten

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Part Eleven

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Chapter 78

Chapter 79

Chapter 80

Chapter 81

Chapter 82

Chapter 83

Chapter 84

Chapter 85

Chapter 86

Chapter 87

Chapter 88

Chapter 89

Chapter 90

Chapter 91

Chapter 92

Chapter 93

Epilogue

The End of Dying

Part XII

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

…Sometimes…

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About TEN-ZERO-NINE

Some things you can't take back.

All Steve wanted was to find the balls to tell the girl of his dreams how he felt.

And he finally had.

Today was that day. A day engineered with no distractions. A day for just the two of them. No roommates. No cowardice. No second-guessing the friendship they'd built over the last year wasn't more.

Today was the day his hellish existence would move into the light.

Snatched away by four simple words, Steve's day turns dark. From one second to the next, the future he meant to take into his hands turns into a speeding train bearing down on him. Unable to change the fate that forces him to betray his love, he succumbs to the circumstances that long ensnared him.

No longer his friend, simply subject 10-0-9, he watches her suffer the procedure none has survived.

When she wakes, when she finally comes to, the first to survive, Steve wants to take it all back. The nightmare of hoping she survived was nothing compared to this.

BORN TO DIE

RISHI’S WISH: PARTS X-XI

This one’s for

all the readers

who cared enough about Dee

to want more.

PART TEN

1

Hamal blamed Porrima. If he hadn’t rushed from the shower, hadn’t responded to the knock on the door, he would be no where near this. If he hadn’t let the Rishi into his apartment, especially if he hadn’t acknowledged the laptop she’d turned to display Zibanitu’s waiting face, he would never have taken the simple mission of watching some plain girl.

Underestimated. Underplayed. Underwhelmed. Underpaid. So many unders tied to everything that happened since a grumpy Rishi paid him a house call. Even the girls he’d met, the females he’d used to distract himself from his growing attraction to the mark, were under.

Just like this mission. Under-planned. Under-scouted. Undermanned.

Un-FUBAR-able.

With a glassy stare, he let options run through his head, discarding one after the other. In an indirect, deductible way, hearing from the scum who’d infiltrated Dee’s home, who’d kidnapped Mike and taken a full third of Hamal’s team, gave Hamal more information than he’d received since waking from Initiation. It was the silver lining that kept him from marching across town to end this himself. Sarin, the outcast leader, had given enough ultimatums and threats to keep Hamal’s jaw clenched for a lifetime. Threats and ultimatums that made it clear Sarin thought Dee was here.

But she wasn’t here. And that was a more significant source of tension for the commander. Hamal had heard nothing from her since she’d left the island with only a pair of bodyguards.

His jaw clenched tight enough his teeth hurt. She hadn’t said a word. Simply vanished. All they’d risked and she⁠—

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Where the hell was she?

From the corner of the room, Hamal heard the buzz of Atkins's phone. Hamal started, eager to see if Dee finally made contact.

But it wasn’t. It was Sarin, calling with another threat.

Atkins's quiet murmur acted as a soothing distraction to Hamal’s thoughts. Hopefully, the ancient Soldier’s calming manner would work the same on Sarin and his homicidal demands.

Sarin had yet to threaten Mike’s life directly though it was implied in every interaction. It was a hostage situation.

At that moment, Hamal was glad Dee hadn’t made contact. Glad she was elsewhere. She would not take this situation well. She would think nothing of putting herself, all of them, in danger to save her last remaining tie to her old life.

While Sabik Han claimed Dee was no longer a walking time bomb, assured Hamal she’d found a balance with the animalistic nature forged from her creation, Hamal didn’t like to think how this situation might set her back. Hamal had little reason to doubt the Rishi who’d worked so hard to help Dee figure out what was wrong with her. Even so, there was a voice in the back of his head warning she wasn’t as put together as The Ophiuchus explained. Images of Dee staring at nothing remained clear in Hamal’s memory. Still as stone she’d sat, unblinking, gazing into space. If it wasn’t that, she was engaged in prolonged hours of vigorous training. Those two activities were all she’d participated in while they’d hid out on Han and Arlo’s island.

Then, like a switch thrown, he was supposed to believe she was all better?

Hamal shook these images from his mind to focus on Atkins and the conversation not going any better than the previous two.

Jaw clamping down had his teeth squeak. This time, his fists clenched as well. That the Rishis allowed these outcasts freedom enough to become this threat⁠—

How had he not known? An entire island of them, plus more? Growing up in Zibanitu’s House, living parallel to this world, Hamal never caught even the barest rumor of this renegade group. That they could pull something like this off right under everyone’s noses meant they were more than a group of barely surviving failures.

Holding himself still, Hamal forced concentration on Atkins's conversation. What he really wanted to do was strike the glass pane of the sliding door that led from Dee’s kitchen to the backyard. The same backyard where he’d started her training, disobeying orders, back when things were much more straightforward.

So much had changed. She had changed. So had he. Both were more than they were.

Was it enough?

Unbidden, a flash of Arlo came to mind. Arlo and his plan to rid himself of Dee by giving her transportation off his island. Hamal was half a mind to go back there and kill him. He almost had at the time. Finding Dee gone, whisked away behind their backs had set Hamal in a dangerous headspace. It didn’t matter the older Soldier had wiped the floor with a roomful of them. Hamal was angry enough to make up for his failings in strength and skill.

Only haste had kept him from forcing a confrontation. Only this problem of Sarin kept him from chasing Arlo to the ends of the Earth to pay for his meddling.

Of course, Hamal couldn’t kill Arlo until he found out if Arlo had set up this scenario with Sarin. If Arlo had let Dee go just so she might walk into this trap⁠—

They were spread too thin to gather intel that might answer these questions. They knew Sabik Han and Arlo controlled the outcasts. They knew Sarin was an outcast. They knew there were renegade Soldiers attached to the group based solely on two separate attacks on the island. They knew Sarin had scouted Dee’s home before settling on taking Mike’s for themselves. How long they’d been there, Hamal didn’t know. How long they’d had Mike in their custody waiting for Dee to return, Hamal didn’t know either. However long it was, it was too long.

Not only did Sarin have Mike, but the Outcast leader managed to capture seven of Dee’s Soldiers before they knew the danger they were walking into. A full third of the forces lent to assist Dee in making her own way, caught, leaving their resources more ragged than they started. Even beyond finding Dee, retrieving Team Four was a priority. While many of the remaining team continued to make phone calls and hack traffic cams hoping for a lucky break, the rest planned negotiation strategy. Diplomacy might be their only way to win this. A Soldier’s skillset was not in diplomacy.

Hamal struggled with his frustration. Until Team Four disappeared, Hamal hadn’t heard of Sarin. Hadn’t known the secret House run by Sabik Han and Arlo had a fractured cell set on killing one Desiree Galen. This gross oversight added another layer to Hamal’s grievances against the Rishis. Especially Han, who should have known what one under his House was up to.

Again, Hamal forced his limbs static, denied his impulse to rush off to beat on both Arlo and Sabik Han. Knowing the futility in that, he considered leaving the rest here while he went off to find Dee. He did better with action rather than this waiting and strategizing.

Remembering he’d asked for this roll of commander, Hamal refocused on Atkins's conversation with their new enemy.

Atkins's tone never changed, never pitched up or down in response to the infuriating bastard on the other end of the connection even as the conversation continued its circular rhetoric.

We won’t come there. Release our people, and we’ll set up a meet. You can talk to her if that’s what you need, but you know we won’t give her to you.

Actually, I think she might hand herself over.

Sarin’s voice was deep, unafraid to lace his tone with all the condescension and arrogance he felt. It made listening in all the more difficult.

Hamal took a breath to speak, to yell—something, anything. Sarin’s words were true, and Hamal didn’t like that one bit. Dee would willingly hand herself over to save her people. Especially to save Mike.

It wasn’t okay that Dee left him behind, but for the first time since she’d done it, Hamal was content with it. If she were here, she would already be in Sarin’s clutches. She might have gotten picked up with Team Four. She might have already rushed headlong into danger and found a bullet between the eyes. Not even she could survive that.

A guttural, sustained scream pierced through Hamal’s headset. After hearing that sound, the sound of someone’s pain, of Mike’s pain, no power on Earth would have stopped her.

It was a good thing they didn’t know where she was.

Still, where the hell was she?

2

There was nowhere in the world they could go that would take this long to get there. A clever tactic to confuse Daniel’s senses, it worked brilliantly. He was sure two days passed, but how many more, no amount of concentration could judge.

So, he gave little thought to where he was. There was no way he might determine it, so there was no sense wasting energy on considering it. He would know when they wanted him to know. This group of Outcasts had survived centuries with none the wiser, so Daniel had no doubt their experience in subterfuge was superior to his deduction skills.

Every moment he wasn’t dead was a chance they believed him, that they would invite him to their side. Then, he would learn what they knew. Or, at least, what they thought they knew about her.

As soon as Daniel turned that pistol on Hamal, as soon as he made the decision to change the game, he’d stopped thinking of her as anything but a vague pronoun. Her, it, even anomaly kept his conflicting thoughts settled. Kept his thoughts clear on which side of the line he’d fallen. Because his views would have to be clear for this rebel group to trust him. This group consisting of—he wasn’t sure. There weren’t enough rogue Soldiers to create a group as well-manned as this. The amount of them was staggering. Impossible so many failed Initiates existed with the mental faculties to live self-sufficiently. How Daniel had never caught a whiff of a rumor about them suggested—but he wasn’t here to think about that.

He took a breath before blowing out a shot of air, and with it, all the ideas he had no way of following up on. He was at their mercy. He would wait as long as they made him. Patience was his new superpower.

3

The sounds and sights, smells—even the taste of the air, invigorated her. The people, so many people, rushing by, most with the cool indifference of things to do and places to be. It made her smile. Only those annoyed by her slow pace when she stepped in their path paid her a second glance. It was a delight she never considered.

So strange to be out and about. To be free. To roam and range, to see without doing, to have no destination but wherever the path might lead. This was a greater delight.

That her path was restricted to the island of Manhattan she easily ignored. There were plenty of miles to wander before she’d find the boundaries of this prison. From Battery Park to Washington Square Park was her current path. Eager to check out places she’d haunted in a time that seemed another life, her meandering attention made the couple-mile track last hours. Lives of so many hurrying to and fro, tourists gawking and vendors squawking was like visiting a brand new planet. So long secluded from this modern world, she’d forgotten what it was like to live in it.

She stared up at the faded red brick building at the corner of MacDougal and West 4th Street. Once her home away from home, she let the memories of that time play in her mind. It was too long ago to think any of those friends she’d made would still be here. Friends from school would no longer live in the freshman dorm, but they might be enrolled in a graduate program somewhere nearby.

Considering who might still be there, what professor she might want to stop in to see, fast turned to the realization that no one would remember her. She’d left no trace of herself here, had never been a personality who might leave a lasting impression, especially not through her dealings in the classroom. The acquaintances she’d had here, even her roommate would struggle to recall the shy, mediocre teen following her father’s plan.

Dee turned from the building, let that past crumble to a pile of nostalgia on the sidewalk. She crossed the street to continue her travels into the park, letting sentimentality coat her thoughts once again. She wouldn’t let the reality of her memories tarnish this adventure.

On the wide path, she stood still and quiet, watching an elderly pair move chess pieces in silent war before continuing under the trees towards the center of Washington Park. She took meandering steps, eyes searching, ears listening, taking in the energy of those she passed. Joggers staying fit, students hurrying to class while others, at a slower pace, enjoyed the day. Tourists, in languages Dee didn’t speak, snapped smiling pictures, enjoying the sights.

The fountain pulled her onward. Beads of water glistened in the bright day, relaying messages of hope. The laughter and smiles of strangers imbued that message with their own brand of aspiration. Dee hadn’t felt so good since—she couldn’t remember. She couldn’t remember looking forward and thinking it would lead her somewhere right and worthy. She couldn’t remember a moment of quiet that hadn’t resulted in thinking she would be better off sitting alone in the dark for the rest of her life.

Through the sparkling droplets of the fountain was the arch of the Ghost Walk. Another thing on the long list of should have done. She added it to her tentative list of things to do while she was in the city now, pretending there wasn’t a mob of people looking for her, including her own team.

You ever been to the city, Fera?

The warrior peered around at the iron and glass towers before returning her attention to Dee. There were too many people too close for any bodyguard to be comfortable. Her Shadows had protested this excursion, but Dee couldn’t stay in. Nash’s highrise overlooking Battery Park and the Upper Bay was fantastic. Still, Dee had to indulge this peek into her past. Nash made her promise she would spend tomorrow with him, but today was hers.

When Nash gave in so quickly to her demand, she hadn’t considered she’d find a fight in her own house.

The battle it took for Dee to secure her Shadows’ permission for this freedom was worth it. Here was a treat she’d never imagined. This uncomplicated stroll through busy, noisy streets was the greatest of holidays. At first paranoid and tense, it took a few blocks for her to relax. Thoughts of Daniel’s betrayal slid away, guilt over abandoning Hamal, Struve, and the others forgotten. Even her failed attempt at being Mike’s friend stopped the dampening of her soul. Alone in a sea of hustle and bustle, Dee saw nothing but what was right in front of her.

She smiled, showing teeth to the sky, breathing deep the sounds and smells of a life long gone before turning from the fountain to head for NYU’s library.

Only a few steps into her walk, jagged verve flared over her. Her skin prickled, and just like that, the sense of normalcy she’d wrapped around herself was revealed for the illusion it was.

Merging herself with her monstrous other-half created through Zosma’s experiment that turned her into whatever she was hadn’t settled her. Not like she’d wanted. Not like they’d thought. Sabik Han’s tutelage, his insistence this demon was nothing more than a fracture of herself, brought that piece of her to rest. A rest that hadn’t banished it. A short-lived rest that fooled them all. The presence she’d genuinely thought some alien energy or possession was now with her all the time. While the voice in her head was gone, the silence a great relief, its penchant for violence remained.

For three days, she’d thought herself healed. Flying over the waves in Arlo’s helicopter, ocean surrounding her to infinity on all sides, she’d felt a calm she’d never known. Even when she was stuck on the island of Samoa, forced to wait before she could get papers and passage to the States, she’d felt nothing from that side of her who just wanted to kill. She’d believed herself healed. Believed herself liberated. Believed it was finally time for her life to begin.

Four days later, she knew that wasn’t the case. While grateful for Phecda and Nash’s rescue, Dee just wanted to get home. Thinking herself finally free from Rishi oversight, here she found herself under not one, but two, Rishi’s meddling. Sure, they weren’t treating her like a pampered prisoner, this walk through the city attested that, but neither had they agreed to let her go on her way. Instead, she found herself whisked across the world, driven through a city she once called home, to the uppermost floors of a towering skyscraper like some A-lister. Surrounded by humans, the quiet logic of Phecda and the eager friendliness of Nash, Dee’s slumbering demon rose. She was always ready for a fight. Wanted a fight. Craved one. Before, her nagging ego always punctuated these moments as a sarcastic voice in her head. Ironically, that voice made it easier to resist the savage impulses. Without that voice, there was only her. Without that presence to argue with, arguments that allowed her to talk herself down, she found herself more apt to consider her baser instincts. The homicidal rage was a part of her. No longer could she blame that voice; blame the beast. No longer could she trust herself not to go on a killing spree. Before, it had taken extreme circumstance to pull out that side of her. Now, the monster and her were one. She was the beast and she didn’t know what small thing might give it leave to control her.

She’d thanked Sabik Han at the time. She appreciated The Ophiuchus's time and patience. Now, she cursed him. Cursed him for this self she barely recognized. This self she didn’t know how to manage.

For the anger she couldn’t shake, for her weakness that she couldn’t beat the monster inside, she cursed herself. No more did a voice in her head egg her on to irrational violence, but she stepped towards it on her own. So far, she’d managed it well, but she knew that couldn’t last forever. Just like she’d blacked out to protect herself, killing handfuls of Soldiers, she knew it was only a matter of time before she lost herself in similar fashion. This time, there would only be herself to blame.

Like always, it was the training that kept her sane; kept the energy siphoned to a manageable level. Phecda and Nash swooping in to transport her back to the States had done little more than change her location. Instead of sweat under the sun on the beach or by the pool, she worked herself to exhaustion in a modern highrise, surrounded by glass and steel and the newest equipment she didn’t use.

For all that should have changed, nothing was different.

At least here, she’d been able to stretch her legs, to get outside, to pretend, even if just for single moments, that all was normal. Normal enough to walk through the city and breathe fresh air. Normal enough to pretend she was fine.

But she was not fine.

That tingling sense flared again, too far away to tell who it was. If she even knew.

She tugged the phone Nash handed her on her way out of the building from a tailored pocket.

He answered on the second ring. Enjoying yourself?

You’re not here, are you?

She sensed him perk, worry lacing his words. Why?

Someone’s here.

She scanned her surroundings, Fera on heightened alert at her side. She listened to Nash type at his console. While she waited, Dee concentrated, tasted the power, analyzed it now that it was closer.

She let out a puff of relief. It’s Phecda.

Nash let out a similar sigh. Apologies. I was under the impression she was still out of town.

Thanks, Nash.

Dee hung up and took a seat on a donated bench that lined the path canopied with trees. Fera’s tense posture, hand close to her hidden pistol, drew more attention than Dee liked, but there was nothing she could say to make the Soldier blend in. Or relax. Dee was only grateful Subra hadn’t come as well. The pair would have drawn everyone’s attention.

Practiced at ignoring the tense aura of her guards, Dee focused on watching the passersby. Wondering at their lives was a better pastime than wondering why Phecda was coming to meet her. A better pastime than mourning the end of this illusion she’d maintained for a few hours this day.

When Dee’s phone buzzed, she wasn’t surprised. She let it ring a few times before putting it to her ear.

Nash tells me I gave you a scare. My apologies.

I’m surprised you’d stoop to following me, Dee responded, looking to Fera when the Soldier let out a breath of laughter.

I admit, curiosity got the better of me. I was on my way to an appointment when I saw you out for a stroll. Seems a peculiar spot to stop to admire the view.

Dee recognized Phecda’s subtle pull for information and sidestepped it easily. She doubted the Keeper of Secrets didn’t know about Dee’s time enrolled at the University here. She’d probably pulled records on every person Dee spoke with during her time in the city. Phecda was most assuredly a better expert on Dee than Dee herself.

Seemed as good a place as any to check out, was all Dee said.

I see, Phecda responded with a note of humor in her tone. Well, I’m right in front of the library next to the park if you’d like a ride.

There was no way the Rishi could see Dee from there.

Dee frowned, imagining some tracker embedded in her skin. Skin crawling, Dee couldn’t resist the urge to rub a hand against her arm.

It didn’t take long for Phecda, peering through the backseat window of a pearl Mercedes S Class, to come into view. Dee knew the model because she’d made a note to get one of her own.

Did you eat?

Dee raised her brows. Still used to infrequent meals, she’d long learned to ignore the empty grumblings of her stomach. Even so, Nash made sure to feed her before leaving for her walk.

This morning.

Very good. You’ll join me for tea, then.

Fera, who’d poured herself into the front seat after securing Dee in the back, threw a glance over her shoulder. Dee smiled. She’d had the same thought. Tea? Only some other character’s involvement would explain the draw of the Rishi to such a human convention.

Phecda was already on the phone, never considering Dee would turn down her invitation. She spoke in her no-nonsense way to whoever answered. Delay our reservation for thirty minutes. I’ll need a room and one of Desiree’s appropriate outfits for tea, including shoes. Especially shoes, she added, eyes flickering to the floorboards on Dee’s side of the car as the driver pulled into traffic. Send our apologies.

Dee glanced at her feet, at the comfortable leather flats she’d chosen as her best option for city walking. Shoes Phecda disapproved of. Dee managed to steer clear of the spiked heels Phecda preferred, adept at ignoring the look Phecda appraised Dee with at her choice of styling. Already, Dee missed the loose garb of her Soldier’s training. While her current tailored outfit helped with her facade of normalcy, it wasn’t as comfortable as the loose outfits she’d worn since her days with Ainn and Ellie at Amaltheum.

It is fortuitous we crossed paths. This meeting might be good for you. It is sure to be good for her.

Dee sat quietly, knowing Phecda would only reveal what she considered necessary for the moment. When the Rishi said nothing more, it was as Dee expected. Where before, Dee might have handled the lack of communication with silent brooding, now she bristled. Her fists clenched. Her breath came fast. She contemplated the ramifications of attacking a Rishi in their own car.

Phecda had to notice. Her obliviousness must be feigned.

Dee didn’t know if that should make her more or less angry.

By the time they arrived at their destination, Dee had calmed down.

A member of the hotel staff and a no-nonsense woman in a high-waisted pants suit met Dee and Phecda inside the lobby of the St. Regis hotel. As the pair whisked their guests to their room, Dee gawked at the brightly painted mosaics on walls and ceilings that contrasted with the black and gold marble accents of the floor. Entering one of the copper elevators, the concierge turned a key. They rode to their floor undisturbed.

Ms. Metsvahi had no issues with the updated tea time, explained the well-dressed female who could only be one of Phecda’s numerous assistants.

Phecda scoffed, a human gesture in a body that might fool the others, but Dee knew had never been.

I should think so. My checkbook finances her research. She’ll wait if we tell her we’ve rescheduled for next Thursday.

4

S o, you’re telling me you’re okay with telling her we did nothing to save the person who is basically her only family? Oh, and that we left a team of Soldiers behind who put their lives on the line to protect her?

Hamal’s sarcasm was thick. It coated the room in a heavy silence that underlined just how thin his patience was. The rhetorical question in response to Sargas's implication they drop everything to go to Dee was a far calmer rebuttal than the one that first came to mind.

When Sargas didn’t comment in kind, didn’t add some acerbic or underhanded remark, everyone was surprised. What wasn’t a surprise was that it was Struve who managed to keep the Soldier from saying something he couldn’t take back. The red-headed Soldier, full beard adding size to his already massive form, faced the more giant blond, expression demanding obedience that no words might top. Hamal didn’t know how the mute Soldier managed it. He was just glad he could. Hamal was sure he and Sargas would have long since put the other in the ground, without Struve.

Most annoying about Sargas's suggestion to leave Mike to his fate was that it was probably the wisest option. They knew too little about their foes. There was no clear intel on Mike’s condition. There was no word if Team Four were dead or alive. All they had was Sarin’s word. Especially they didn’t know how the enemy would react when they showed up without Dee. This could all be for nothing if they were dealing with fanatics whose agenda was simply to erase targets they considered bad for—whatever they considered good.

The general consensus was that there was little chance of successfully extracting Dee’s friend and their team. Not without fatalities that could easily include the very person they most needed to save. Sargas's inclination to go to Dee was not unfounded. It just wasn’t what Hamal needed to hear.

There could be a plan that involves us getting her and then regrouping to deal with these knuckleheads.

Sargas overcame Struve’s compulsion, this time with a less asking-for-a-throat-punch tone to his voice.

Hamal squeezed a fist but didn’t look at Sargas. He might not be able to resist him him if he made eye contact. He definitely wouldn’t be able to hold back explaining it was Sargas who was the knucklehead.

Instead, like a grownup, he ignored the Soldier.

But only for a second.

And you know where Dee is?

That tiny detail continued to get lost on the bear of a Soldier. No matter they didn’t know where to start, Sargas just needed to hear they were doing something. Hamal understood, but that didn’t matter. A Soldier obeyed and Hamal would see this team have a modicum of discipline.

Again, Struve was there to save them from a fight that would only serve to weaken the one they were supposed to protect.

Atkins, what do we know? Hamal was smart enough to turn the conversation before Struve’s magic stopped working a second time.

Four days they’d been on the ground in upstate New York. Ninety-six hours in which their situation went from bad to better to awful. Hamal hated to admit that if Dee hadn’t left them behind, all of this would be much worse. If Dee were in Sarin’s clutches, he would start a war to save her. A war he couldn’t win with their current numbers. Not even against an outcast and his failures.

Not much more than we did. We know where our people are. We know we don’t have the numbers to get them out safely. Not without risking everyone. We know we’re safe enough here, even if they decide on a direct assault which they won’t do until they’re positive Dee’s here.

Hamal nodded, pretending to pay attention. He’d only asked to fill the room with a distraction. They were details they’d been over plenty of times already.

When Atkins's phone vibrated, dancing across the surface of the table, the room went still.

Yes. Yes. Thank you.

He met Hamal’s eye and nodded. She’s safe. She’s in New York.

Nash?

And Phecda.

Hamal’s eyebrows lifted, but before he could comment, Sargas was back at it.

New York is seven hours from here. Less if we hurry. We need to get there.

Hamal sighed. Instead of continuing another circular argument, he left them to it without him. His was the final word and he said they weren’t going. They couldn’t. Hamal couldn’t face Dee knowing there was unfinished business here. She would never forgive him if he left Mike behind.

He found himself in the kitchen looking out over the lawn where simpler days had created great memories. Even then, knowing the changes Dee’s life would go through, he hadn’t considered this. He hadn’t considered how much his life would weave together with her’s. He told himself he’d let go of other feelings, but there was still that piece of him that held on⁠—

Sir? Sarin’s on the line.

Hamal turned, back to business.

Fast steps took him down the hall towards the office, where he managed the slightest illusion of privacy. Most Soldiers had advanced hearing. There were no doors in this house soundproofed against that. It made transparency of his efforts the only option, quickly turning what should have been a hard dictatorship into a common collective nearing democracy. No military unit should run like this. It severely added to Hamal’s stress.

Long strides took him through the room, around the desk to the leather seat.

He didn’t sit. He was too tense to sit. Too wired.

Propping the tablet, he tapped the screen to receive the call, staring coldly as the older man’s visage filled the screen. Shoulder-length grey hair flowed around striking features. A sharp nose and intelligent eyes pointed at Hamal, showing an expression Hamal wanted nothing more than to wipe clean with a steady battery of fists.

Unfortunately, there was no option for that. Yet.

You hear screams, yet you do not come. Their pet does not come.

Their pet? I assume you mean Desiree.

It matters not her name. The anomaly who would destroy us all. Only our master knew the truth and tried to stop her. We continue that mission.

Our Master?

Arlo?

Sarin studied Hamal, pinning arrogant features more acutely on Dee’s commander. Hamal remained unruffled, only further endeared to taking this bastard down. Sarin could try to play his games, but he had no power here. Sure, he had Mike, but without Dee, he had nothing. Hamal would ensure Sarin would never get his hands on the real prize.

He is no longer my master. I am master here.

Then why bring it up?

Hamal nodded as if the words made sense. I see. Regardless, Dee won’t come to you. I’m afraid we remain at a stalemate.

Sarin’s piercing stare hardened further. She would not leave her Mike to us.

Hamal swallowed, slow and careful to not betray any change in expression. Sarin’s intel was excellent. Hamal didn’t like what that meant. They’d talked of a traitor on the island, Hamal sure it was Arlo. But while Arlo might know of Mike, Hamal wasn’t so sure he knew enough for Sarin to understand this nuance.

But if it wasn’t Arlo who’d given up their island location, who hadn’t sent Sarin here, they had a much deeper problem on their hands.

How long have you waited for us?

Sarin shifted his weight, gave a slow blink, but otherwise did not answer.

Hamal wanted to both smirk and frown. Instead, he took a steadying breath to refrain from either. How long have you been in this town, waiting for Dee to arrive?

What he really wanted to ask was if Arlo had meant for Dee to fall into Sarin’s clutches. Had the co-leader of Sabik Han’s fringe House, who’d been more than eager to rid his island of Dee’s presence, been in charge of this conspiracy to kill her all along? Sabik Han didn’t think so, or else he wouldn’t have sent them to Arlo’s island. Hamal wasn’t sure he trusted Han that much.

Sarin’s face morphed into a grin. You think Arlo has his hand in my camp?

A lazy shrug and dancing eyes was his answer.

I will not answer your questions, Sarin continued. I will only say you are running out of time. Not just Mike, but all of you, especially those of yours I have with me.

The camera swung around, the too-fast pan of the room forcing Hamal to squint. When his people, huddled on the floor in a corner of a dark room, filled the screen, Hamal’s neutral gaze hardened.

Persia was closest to the camera, huddled with the others. Sarin grabbed her, standing her on her feet with his own strength.

Before she’d caught her balance, a bullet was between her eyes, the back of her head blowing across her teammates. Half stared in shock, while the others yelled in despair and rage, struggling to rise. These were tased with enough volts to make them stiffen, unable to control their limbs through the shock. More of Sarin’s people swarmed to control the prisoner’s reactions, swinging clubbed weapons to keep them down. Hamal couldn’t see his people through them. Only Persia, staring blindly into the camera in silent condemnation.

Even when Sarin’s face filled the screen once again, her eyes were all Hamal saw.

There. Now we understand each other. Have the monster call me. I will not wait long.

Hamal was left staring at his own reflection.

5

Doctor Metsvahi was a long-faced woman with strawberry-blonde hair and square-rimmed glasses.

Dee liked her immediately.

The scholar fit in at the St. Regis as well as Dee felt. The outfit she wore, a plain but expensive day dress, was obviously not something she was used to wearing. Dee wondered if an academic ever bothered strapping anything as masochistic as six-inch spikes to their heels. Dee attributed her own ability to navigate the shoes Phecda insisted she wear on her fight training and advanced genetics but doubted the professor had something similar to draw on.

Dee smiled, matching the warmth in the Professor’s face when they were introduced, wrapping warm hands around the other’s in a gentle shake before they all took their seats in soft, high-backed chairs. Enveloped in the murmured conversation of the surrounding patrons, they were free to speak of whatever they wished. Here, none would ever consider something not-human was in their midst.

Doctor. Thank you for waiting. I thought it would do Desiree some good to overhear our meeting.

Professor Metsvahi’s eyes lit up. She leaned across the table towards Dee, words clipped by her Eastern European accent. You are interested in the stories of werewolves?

Dee couldn’t mask her look of shock, though she managed to keep from shooting Phecda a questioning glare.

I—sure. Who doesn’t love a good werewolf story?

It was the professor’s turn to look confused. However, she took it in stride, returning her attention to Phecda, who clearly did want to hear about werewolves.

I found a ninety-year-old woman in Estonia who had first-hand accounts of groups of women turning.

Witches?

Dee watched the Rishi engage, fully committed to the obscurity of Doctor Metsvahi’s accounts. Phecda financed most of the professor’s research centered around female werewolves in Eastern Europe, specifically Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania. Dee thought she was kidding. Or at least, well—something. The Rishis always had the newest technology, the most sophisticated toys. To think of one wasting their time on folklore was difficult for Dee to wrap her head around.

Rather than annoy Dee, the bizarre topic relaxed her. It was a bizarre far removed from what was her new normal. She found it refreshing. The professor’s excitement about the subject made it easy listening.

So, Dee sat back, studied the flavors of tea available on the menu. At the same time, the professor’s words about an old lady in a not-so-faraway past filled the rest of her attention. This wasn’t about her, and that was just fine.

But slowly, over sweetened tea good enough to switch Dee from her coffee addiction, the conversation turned to details that had her pay closer attention.

…good to everyone. But occasionally, one couldn’t balance their dual nature.

This hit close to home. Close enough, Dee knew Phecda had always planned for Dee to sit in on this meeting.

The professor continued, spoke of women who changed into animals, whose power helped and supported their communities, even after the Christian world condemned them for it. Except for the rare instance when a beast got out of hand, these women were renowned in their areas.

Dee lost the thread of the conversation again as her thoughts took her back to the beach, to Sabik Hans’ tutelage, his insistence she accept the monster as part of herself. A part she couldn’t see as anything but some foreign entity, some possession rather than fractured psyche. Only by facing the might of Mother Nature had Dee discovered how to merge the two, proving Sabik Han right in the end. Right, but not infallible. The connection wasn’t as seamless as they’d thought. Here, maybe Dee could find some secret to controlling this other side of herself.

Dee leaned forward, interrupting. What have you discovered about their origins?

Phecda sat back, sipped her tea. Dee stared at the long, bronze fingers bringing brightly painted china to her lips, too distracted to witness a Rishi imbibe for the first time to note the satisfied tilt to her mouth.

The professor’s eyes lit up. "There is not as much talk of this as there should be. But I have a theory. Something ancient, something more advanced than we have ever been, combined animals with the original homo sapiens. Maybe even Neanderthals or homo erectus."

Dee blinked, willing her attention not to waver too. She sipped her tea, holding back throwing an accusatory glance in Phecda’s direction.

The professor continued, Throughout ancient tales, from the pyramids, Hindu texts—so many others—there are motifs that suggest this very thing. In Arcadia, Greece, Zeus was Lycean Zeus. Wolf Zeus. In my area of the world, bears are more common, rarely wolves, and those stories continued until very recently.

Dee frowned. The turn of the esoteric nature of the conversation to literal lessened its impact on her situation. She was not a wolf. Not any actual animal. Her beast was not literal. The professor’s niche of study, while comparisons could be made to Dee’s situation, wasn’t directly related.

Dee sighed, disappointment but not dangerously so.

She spread jam on a scone.

Oblivious to Dee’s changed attitude, the Professor continued. Much modern commentary on lycanthropy suggests an allegory between the physical and spiritual nature of man. In that case, we are all werewolves, or some manner of lycanthrope, all battling between an animal and spiritual life. But I think it is literal. In most of the world, werewolves represent the horrible nature of men. Not so where I am from. There, females dominate the werewolf and lycanthropy myths. There, they are beings of great value to their communities. While Gilgamesh, from some two-thousand miles away, might be the first written account, it is far from the first record. She sighed, expression pained. There is so much lost to the religious wars. A blanket of witchcraft and devil worship was thrown over this lore to account for things the Western World did not like. It makes my task difficult.

Dee nodded, sympathizing with the professor, wishing her own problems were so pedestrian.

Phecda said, But you have found so much buried in the spoken tales of the region.

Doctor Metsvahi blushed and looked at her plate. If not for your patronage, these tales might already be lost.

Dee was happy to listen in as the doctor explained her work and recount her latest developments. All the while, Dee waited, questions layering until she had Phecda alone.

S ince the most obvious question seems ridiculous, I don’t want to ask, but I can’t think of a better way to broach the subject, so—you think I’m a werewolf?

Phecda didn’t bat an eye. Gods, no. But I think the origin of werewolves, as Doctor Metsvahi explained, will explain your creation. That, and I think the allegory of lycanthropy hits on your awakening better than any other analogy.

Dee stared out the tinted window, her body molded into the cushioned leather of the car’s seat. She considered what she’d heard over the last few hours, tried to pull details to fit what Phecda pointed out.

So, werewolves aren’t real?

Phecda gave a non-committal shrug that left Dee more unsure of her place in the world.

Phecda’s following statement didn’t help. We are not the only things that should no longer be here.

Dee studied Phecda’s profile, considered just what we the Rishi referred to. You’re saying it wasn’t one of you, wasn’t a Rishi responsible for this genetic manipulation the Doctor studies? What else is there?

The corner of Phecda’s mouth turned up before she dipped her chin in the semblance of a nod. There are others. Others with more power than us. Others who were responsible for this.

She waved a hand. Again, Dee had to guess at the specifics of her meaning. If Phecda didn’t just say, she wouldn’t, no matter the questions Dee asked.

Regardless, Dee kept talking, unwilling to let the conversation die. I thought—the Twins's explained that you killed each other off. That Sabik Han kept you few alive through some—spell or something. That the world was toast until humans finally rose from the ashes.

That is true. And not. There are many, many details left out. Details I can not give. I am sworn. We are all sworn. But maybe, just maybe, with enough nudges, you will uncover the truths we can not reveal.

That’s why you finance the doctor’s work? Why you’re interested in this super-specific niche of folklore. There’s something…. Dee trailed off, returned her attention out the window, stared through the slow-passing steel forest as they crept through traffic towards Nash’s tower.

When the Doctor answered Dee’s question about her theory on an origin, Dee hadn’t known what to think. Now, after Phecda admitted to the existence of other beings, she knew a door had opened. Now to decide if it were worth going through.

She clenched and unclenched her hands around her kneecaps, restless under the weight of more questions. Always more questions.

Barring Zibanitu deciding otherwise, you should have plenty of time to follow this lead if you wish. Neither Nash nor I will impede your will, though we might insist on tagging along wherever you decide to travel.

Dee gave no response, debating if Phecda were daring Dee to follow the professor to Estonia. While it might be fascinating to chase the origin of werewolves and animal-human hybrids, there were more pressing matters to attend to first.

6

Dee loved the sprawling room that stretched to glass on three sides, the city surrounding her as if this were the center of the world. Each day she stopped here, even if for just a quick minute, to stare at the panorama.

Today, a group of stuffed chairs was laid out along the Eastern wall, blocking the impeccable view. Dee barely noticed. Instead, her eyes moved directly to the pair of males seated there. She recognized Nash and Phecda’s energy in the room before she’d exited the elevator, but the other was—other. Not Rishi. Not human. Dee’s eyes pinned to him as his pinned to her’s, his arrogant smirk pausing her steps.

Dee. Good morning.

Dee dipped her chin but kept her eyes on the stranger. Nash.

When the stranger rose to stroll toward her, Dee’s insides went taunt. She kept her limbs loose, anticipating—something.

Well, well, what have you done. His voice moved over her like silk, and while not unpleasant, the power in it made her hands flex for a weapon that wasn’t there.

Not us, Phecda answered from the other side of the room.

He snickered. Let’s not split hairs. I can smell you on her. Which of you was responsible matters not to me.

The closer he got, the more immobilized Dee felt. His stare filtered through her, stripped her of what made her sentient, what made her her. It left her tired and drained.

He stalked closer, voice a whisper. Brothers of mine would have war over this.

Phecda’s tone maintained its dryness. But not you. It is why we tolerate you.

Ha!

The burst of sound shook Dee from whatever spell the male laid over her. Her eyes shot to Nash, a silent question to explain.

The Rishi smiled, an attempt to settle her. Desiree, meet an old—friend. Jeremy. Jeremy, Desiree is our guest.

Jeremy held out an alabaster hand. The softness of his touch surprised Dee. She expected it to be as cold and hard as it appeared. His hair, a shock of platinum more yellow than white, highlighted the emerald irises floating in too-white eyes. The chiseled lines of his face were—off. Too striking. Too smooth. Dee might have considered him attractive if not for the otherworldly energy that licked like shards of glass over her skin. She couldn’t pin down what made him scary, but she didn’t, for a second, doubt her intuition.

So, this is the one causing such a stir? Even we heard something of her. You should have called me. If you wanted something this badly, I could have helped.

Dee noted Nash frown at the remark, but whatever thought conjured the expression, he kept to himself.

Will Jeremy be here long? Dee asked no one in particular as she stepped around him, hoping her wide berth wasn’t too obvious.

Jeremey laughed, charging the air. Dee managed to ignore the sound, concentrating instead on the shimmer she sensed in the air. She even lifted her hand to move her fingers through it as if she might feel the charge he’d given the particles. Whatever he was, he was a power much different than the Rishis.

There are others. Others with more power than us. Others who were responsible for this. Phecda’s voice from yesterday rang through her head.

If you’re quite done playing with her, Jeremy, that will be all.

Jeremy was definitely not his name, but rather something to address him. Dee knew that as well as she knew she was the weakest one in the room. Knew it as clearly as she knew he was one of those others Phecda couldn’t talk about.

Phecda’s tone erased any play of mirth from the stranger. The sudden heaviness of the air told as much. Again, Dee’s hand itched for a weapon, but Nash’s explanation that it wasn’t appropriate meant there wasn’t one to bring out now. Especially with her Shadows forced to wait in the hall, it was ridiculous Dee let him talk her into moving about without at least a knife on her person. When would they learn that security meant a whole different thing when it came to her?

I will not be dismissed like one of your minions. Remember your place.

As you remember yours? Phecda shot back, her dry tone taking an edge that further braced Dee for violence.

Rather than continue throwing words with Phecda, Jeremey returned his attention to Dee. As sudden as the air thickened, it normalized.

I can help you with the problem of your friend.

Dee didn’t react to Jeremy’s claim. She didn’t even look at him, instead facing so he was in her periphery, pretending to look through the windows. Pretending not to know what friend he referred.

You’re not so like them that I can’t read your thoughts. Steve, is it? Just ask, and I can make him whole.

Dee’s eyes flashed to Nash before turning her gaze to Jeremy. While Nash and Phecda had promised to arrange a meeting with Steve, just as Zosma and Regina claimed, she had yet to see her friend. And what did he mean, make him whole?

When Nash opened his mouth to speak, Jeremy spoke fast. It’s true. Like theirs, our power has faded, but I think this I might still accomplish. You only need ask.

Just make sure you ask what the cost such a transaction would incur, Nash countered.

The stranger frowned at an unapologetic Nash, who responded to the look with, I won’t let her get sucked into your mischief.

Isn’t friendship, isn’t love, worth any cost?

No, it’s not. Not this cost.

Dee studied Nash’s face while Jeremy studied her. This time, she felt him inside her head. Maybe it was only some psychosomatic response to his claim that he could read her thoughts. Whether it was real or not, she focused on kicking him from her mind, on locking down his invasion.

He grinned, wide and bright. I really would like to borrow her.

Let’s not overstep the welcome. Phecda stood, and the militant power she kept clamped washed through the room. While Phecda projected herself as elevated beyond violence, Dee saw at that moment what a force she might be if pushed.

Jeremy’s grin widened to a smile of flashing teeth. Oh? Is this the game we want to play?

Phecda’s weighted stare was Jeremy’s answer.

After a tense second, he conceded with a patronizing bow. Always a pleasure. He turned the full weight of his soul-stripping gaze back to Dee. And you. You have given me hope where I’ve had none for countless generations.

Dee stared after him, continuing to gawk even after he’d disappeared into the glass elevators. It was long seconds before she felt the burden of his presence lift from the room.

Jeremy, huh? Why do I think that isn’t his name?

Because you’re not an idiot.

Phecda gave Nash a sharp look.

He sighed. Right. No more talk of Jeremy. It’s you who are here for us to barrage with questions.

Dee gave Phecda a long look before deciding to hold her thoughts. She knew why Jeremy was here. It was too much of a coincidence he’d come the day after their chat with the Professor.

Nash winked, and Dee managed a smile, switching her thoughts from questions of a secondary supernatural community to thoughts of Steve.

A part of her still didn’t believe he was alive. Again, stuck in this limbo of waiting, she’d pushed him to the back of her mind, just as she’d pushed thoughts of Mike, Hamal, and the others aside. She knew she should check-in and check on, but with each passing day, it was harder to pick up the phone. Harder to conjure the courage to apologize for leaving. So much in her life had changed, but not this thing. Not the running. Not the hurting those close to her when she failed them by failing to handle herself.

We’ve received word your people made it safely to your home.

Dee cocked her head, face scrunched in confusion. Home?

Your house upstate. They are there.

This surprised her. A spark of fear traveled up her spine. She’d left them safe on Arlo’s island. Leaving was asking for trouble. None of them, not even Atkins, was sure how Dee’s medley of Soldiers stood politically. Their moving across the world and back, especially after skipping out on LeSath, might cause significant issues. Sure, LeSath had tried to kill Dee, but the Council might not care about that. So far, her scuffle with LeSath hadn’t come up. Both had landed on the other what might have been a mortal blow on any lesser creature. Dee was sure that conversation would leave her and her team in big trouble.

To hide her unease, Dee paced closer to the windows. Steve?

We are arranging a meeting. That is still true. Until then, there are other matters to get out of the way, Phecda explained.

You promised me the day, Nash said when Dee bristled, clearly about to argue.

Dee deflated, though the pinch between her eyes remained. I did.

Then, let’s go.

A piercing alarm interrupted. Fera was fast at Dee’s side, coming from outside the room quick as lightning. Her arm swept Dee back while Subra pulled a weapon, waiting for the source of the threat to reveal itself. Security forces followed Dee’s Shadows into the room with raised weapons, all human.

DINA, update, Nash said, calm tone contrasting against the bustle of the room.

A fight has broken out in the basement garage, level two.

Nash groaned. This is why we don’t have— He glanced at Dee. "Jeremy, or his brothers, here. She finds them every time."

Before Dee could ask for explanation, the wall opened to reveal a floor-to-ceiling bank of screens, broadcasting surveillance footage of the fight. A red-headed female, skin as close to true black as Dee had ever seen, was fighting the being introduced as Jeremy. Her sure strokes had Jeremey twisting and turning to stay out of its reach.

As they watched the fight, Dee noted the oddity of the female’s fight style, the slower movements than Dee was used to that blended into forms she’d never trained. It occurred to her how unusual the use of a sword was. Except against the hard-to-kill Soldiers and immune-to-death Rishis, she’d considered it a dead art. But here was someone clearly not of enhanced blood wielding one against a far superior foe.

Nash looked over his shoulder to where Phecda had sat back down. Someone must leak her the information.

Phecda didn’t bother a response, though Dee got the distinct impression she might have if Dee weren’t there.

Who is that? Dee asked, turning from Phecda to stand next to Nash to watch the fight. A second figure, who could only be Jeremy’s brother based on their likeness, moved in, allowing Jeremy to run off while the red-head