Thirty-Eight

Quell

All the confidence I felt at Hartsboro abandons me as Jordan marches toward the elevators of the swanky hotel housing Dragun Headquarters. Yagrin visited here, wearing my mother’s persona. Was that before or after she was…I stop. The world swims.

“Ma’am?” The attendant behind the desk stands.

“She’s fine, Joel.” Jordan’s foot taps. “Quell, this way.”

I don’t move. I can’t. Then my knees go out from under me. Jordan’s jaw clenches.

“What are you playing at?” He tugs me up and I snatch my hand away from him.

The concierge watches, his smile waning.

“What is wrong with you?” Jordan asks.

“I need a minute.” I blow out a long, slow breath and bury any thoughts of my mother. I need to focus on finding out how to get the Sphere’s magic into something else. Something in my possession.

Jordan stares, brows cinched, and his hand hovers near his chest.

I ram the call button for the elevator and it takes an eternity to show up. If he knew what I really wanted to do with the Sphere’s magic, he’d put that dagger through my throat. “So what do you know about Beaulah’s plans so far?”

“Let me worry about Beaulah.”

I scowl. The elevator doors open and we step inside, along with a few others. We ride in silence. More join us, and Jordan and I end up wedged together in a corner, far too close for my comfort. His scent assaults me and it kindles memories of when I used to love being close to him like this. Memories that should be long dead. Our eyes meet. The knot at his throat bobs. I look away until, finally, the elevator doors open and the car empties again. We put as much distance between us as possible. Jordan slides a key out of his pocket and a hidden button appears. The elevator plummets.

“Do you know where you want to start tracking?”

“I’m still thinking. You could also show me everything you have on Beaulah and the Sphere. You look like you could use all the help you can get.”

The elevator car reaches the ground. Jordan presses a button to keep the doors closed.

“My brother will be coming with us.”

“I’m sure the brotherhood has no shortage of Draguns to supply, but—”

His brows dent, then his gaze widens.

“What?”

“Nothing. Get me a list of the resources you need and I’ll take care of it. Figure out where you want to start. Once we have the Dragunhead’s approval, we cloak at dusk. Now turn around.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m going to secure you with restraints so that you appear within control. I brought you in through the front doors on your own, out of respect for our partnership.”

“If this is a trap—”

“It’s not a trap. It’s a formality.” He pulls a metal circle from his pocket and shifts it into some kind of handcuffing contraption with three ovals: two smaller and one larger. I offer my wrists begrudgingly. He fits the cuffs on one wrist first, then the other. When he grabs my hips to fit the third brace, his fingers graze my belly, and my body betrays me, tingling at his touch. When he finishes, my arms are rigidly straight, held in place at my sides. I can hardly move my hands. I couldn’t spool toushana in them if I wanted to.

The elevator doors open to a busy office full of Draguns, coins glimmering at their throats. A mousy secretary in orange heels shuffles toward us. Heads swivel in my direction as Draguns greet Jordan. His grip on me tightens.

“Maei, I need to see the Head immediately. And prep prisoner 23821 for release.”

Her blue eyes dart from me to Jordan. She clicks a pen on her clipboard. “I—I don’t think that’s going to be possible, sir.”

“Maei, we’re not doing this today.” He walks me into a glass room where there is a maze of desks. Maei follows and hands him a file. Jordan casually flips through it and I catch a glimpse of something about the Sphere.

“Get me in with him, Maei. Now.”

Their words are drowned out by the growing chatter as more Draguns come and go. But my gaze is still glued to the folder in Jordan’s hands.

“Wait here,” he tells me, setting the file on his desk before marching across the lobby toward a closed office door, with Maei on his heels. They disappear inside. Everyone’s attention moves back to their own work and I graze my fingertips over the folder. Moving is impossible in these cuffs. But after a couple of tries I manage to flip it open.

Inside is a compilation of ripped papers, scribbled notes, sketches of the orb, calculations, and folded pamphlets about the Sphere. Curious eyes flick in my direction. I lean on the edge of Jordan’s desk, loitering as nonchalantly as one can in handcuffs tethered to a harness. Once their curiosity moves on, I shove some of the papers around and read. Travel logs show that someone named Francis Clemon Hughes traveled to Aronya dozens of times in 1781. Stamped in red on each document is the word Research.

Aronya…The name is so familiar, but I can’t place it.

I pull the folder closer to the edge of his desk so I can better sift through its contents. Beneath it all is a photo of human remains in a garden beside a cement house. A shiver slides down my spine when I realize Jordan is standing nearby.

“That file is confidential.” He is collecting the papers I’ve mussed up, when I spot another note about Aronya on a paper that fell to the floor. It appears to be a list of items, which— As I squint to read, Jordan snatches the list.

“No!” I stomp on his hand, craning for a last look.

He growls in pain. Lumen. Decibel. Strength. A list of enhancers, like the ones I folded into my blade for Second Rite. Along with all manner of resources: herbs, various types of petals, peckle leaves. That’s where I know the name. The caves of Aronya, where enhancers are mined, are an internship option for débutants. I remember my grandmother talking about it.

Jordan snatches me away from his desk.

“Those notes could’ve included things that help me sun track. I shouldn’t have to sneak behind your back.”

“And yet you did.”

“If we’re going to do this, you have to trust me. At least a little bit.”

His jaw works.

Maei eyes us warily, clicking her pen faster. “The Dragunhead wants to see her, sir. Should I have her taken to the Shadow Cells? He can visit her there.”

Jordan rubs his injured fingers, then pulls me by one of my cuffed wrists and smooths his magic along the metal. The contraption shifts into a thin silver ribbon and falls to the floor. Now that I’m no longer restrained, he hands me the file folder. But when I grab it, he doesn’t let go.

“You will not defy my authority again.”

A million ways to cut him with words flit through my mind. But I swallow them all. Beaulah. My focus has to be on Beaulah. That’s how I avenge Mom. Before I can think of what to say back, I realize we have an audience.

The Dragunhead has joined us.