Page 102 of Light

Chapter Four

Emma

I thought I knew what fear was.

I assumed the bastard and I understood each other plainly by now, after every corner of hell through which he’s already escorted me in the last three years. Watching Reece nearly die an equal number times. In matching quantities, thinking my own mortality was staring me in the face—and wondering if I’d be adding to the number by giving birth to an electric super baby. The bastard’s been along for the ride as I’ve stared down gang bangers, high-end thieves, jet turbines, and crime cartel thugs. He’s even taken the wheel completely to give me a terrifying spin on Faline Garand’s lab table, as well as an excruciating dance with Mother Sun and a front-row seat for my mother’s kidnapping.

Yes, I’ve tithed to Friar Fear enough for a dozen lifetimes.

But the damn mendicant keeps demanding even more.

And right now, he’s sure as hell getting it.

As in, slicing it directly out of my body as we cover each new mile into downtown LA. When he’s done hacking off all the flesh, he starts siphoning it from the middle of my heart. I barely notice—or care. Like Reece—and I’m pretty damn sure like Lux too—my concentration is funneled on only one giant gouge in our world. The open wound in our family, healable only when we get back our missing members.

If we get them back.

“We’re going to do this.” And there he is, right on time. Inside of three seconds after turning his attention from the lights of Figueroa Street to my face, my husband sees the penance I’m still doling out to fear and the words I crave for him to say. “This isn’t a maybe thing, Velvet. This is a yes, this is happening thing.” He lays a solid kiss across my soft-smiling lips. “Got that memo now, Mrs. Richards?”

“Yes, Mr. Richards.”

He keeps his head low and turned in, pressing even closer now. “Then why do your eyes still look like you’re getting ready to run through a brick wall at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters?”

“Or entering the castle courtyard to confront she-who-shall-not-be-named?”

“Eh, why not? The elder wand ended up in the right hands.” The cocky shrug he uses as punctuation makes him suddenly irresistible. Suddenly? All right, honesty time. In spite of my complete terror, he’s been irresistible since emerging in his most stunning Prada tux, after ordering me to change into the vivid pink Scervino number I’ve had sitting in a bag, waiting for a special occasion for its debut.

This was not the occasion I had in mind.

“We’re not talking about a magic wand here.” I run an impatient hand over the multiple layers of the dress’s dreamy skirt. All the panels are only four inches wide, creating an edgy-flowy look when I walk. I felt like a kicky, cool punk princess when I first tried the dress on. Now, I feel a little more than ridiculous. While Reece’s thinking is sound—arriving in our battle leathers will have the impact of the Matrix gang impinging on a Hallmark movie set—I’m still thrown off by the theming conflict here. Reiterating the mission goal feels like a good idea, especially now. “Especially because we’re not after a fictional nose-less wizard.” I tug on his luxurious lapel, wishing more than anything that we were actually bound for a glam night at the ballet, maybe followed by drinks in the penthouse and then some electric sex in kinky places… “We may end up having to kill the bad guy here, Reece.”

And just like that, even with his hardening jaw and knife-blade gaze, the man has to go and look even more like the towering, steel-clad knight that I crave to climb like a horny, pink-swathed princess. “Not a bad guy, my gorgeous Flare,” he growls. “The scheming, treacherous, soulless bitchzilla who stole my brother’s spunk and used it to create a pair of humans for the sole purpose of bending to her will.” His irises have transformed into pure, livid lightning—but his rage doesn’t prevent him from dragging in a breath on unsteady hitches. “The monster who wanted to steal the same shit from me.”

My eyes pop wide before my shock catches up with my mouth. “Excuse the hell out of me?” I have to coil every muscle and grit my teeth until they ache to keep the exclamation to an enraged rasp. Though we’re tucked back in the Rover’s third row, everyone’s nerves are already pumped full of high-octane tension, and there’s no need to add to that vibe.

“It was when she had me trapped at the Rancho Palos Verdes compound.” He reaches up, pressing his palm to my cheek. “I’m sorry I didn’t ever tell you about it, but—”

“It’s all right.” I grab his hand and kiss his palm. “I understand.” And pull him in for a seal of sincerity, tenderly meshing our lips. “Those aren’t easy memories for me either.”

Reece softly shakes his head. “Nothing worse than recalling the sessions from the Source.” The storms in his eyes diminish into slate-colored mists. He expels a baffled huff. “I didn’t really talk about what happened, because frankly, I was confused by it. The nutcase went on and on about how my seed would create perfection and how she’d be the mother of a god.” A guttural rumble rolls through his chest as he swivels to face fully forward again. A mixture of shadows and street lights flows across the beautiful cliffs of his face, making the next phase of his confession more of a surreal entity. “To be honest, I had no damn idea what she was talking about. And I figured she’d jacked my IV full of feel-good juice so I’d get hard without her having to work too much for it.”

It’s sheer hell to work my next gulp down my throat, let alone bring up the question I hate worse than “How long is this Droughtlander going to be?” Much, much worse.

“So…did she?” I finally blurt. “Get you…up to…” Another torturous swallow. Another round of ordering my lips to form awful words. “Performance level?”

“No.” Reece is all too ready with the response. “Thanks to you, bounding into that lab like Annie Git Yer Sun Guns, the Bolt boner was saved from indentured servitude that day.”

He’s going for the humor with intentional gusto this time, and it works. In half a second, I’m kicking Brother Fear to the curb as a mass of snickering giggles have me feeling like we just brought a half-rack to an AA meeting. The awesomeness is all mine—for one full minute. At that point, dread hitches a full ride back onto my senses as I watch the back of Angie’s head turn from a gentle nightlight of pink and turquoise to a fiery ball of gold and purple. She lurches in her seat, turning to grab the cushion behind Wade’s head, and he slows the Rover even though we’re in the middle of a block.

“Ang?” While keeping one hand on the steering wheel, he arches the other back to grab her fingers. “What is it, gorgeous? Talk to me.”

“Talk to us.” Reece’s urgency nearly pushes it into the realm of an asshole snarl, but he checks himself as soon as I curl my arm beneath his elbow. We’re not going to win this one by goat-hooking all of them into our vat of terror. They’re all here to help. Patience feels impossible but has to be a necessity.

Angelique shivers. Lux, sitting next to her, enfolds her free hand between his tiny glowing ones. At once, her stress calms from all-over shaking to just the heavy breathing beneath her thrumming skull. It’s hell to watch her thoughts and feelings—literally—chasing each other across her mind, but those neurons, boosted by her special power, are another part of the team effort that’s going to give us an edge over Faline here.

“Sh-She is close,” Angelique declares. “Very close.” As that spills from her, we turn the corner onto First, and the glittering spectacle of the fully lit Music Center appears ahead.

Reece, leaning forward, peers at every pedestrian on the sidewalks. “Are the girls with her?” he demands.