Page 117 of Shades of Silver City

“What ever is the matter, dearest butterfly?” he whispers. It’s so quiet, I almost don’t hear it over the voice blaring from the loudspeaker.

“—the owner of Mesmeric Laboratories and the newest challenger for High Chancellor, Arlo Osiander!” the voice yells out.

The crowd roars, and the man before me bows, offering a few dramatic waves.

Before the significance of what I’m seeing can fully sink in, Archer reaches me. “Tasia, we need to go.” His voice is a low rumble. His chest rises and falls as if he’s been running.

I frown, glancing back at Arlo, who winks at me.

“What’s wrong?” I ask Archer.

As he opens his mouth to respond, the lights flicker on, a bright fluorescent replacing the red glow. The crowd groans collectively. The man on the loudspeaker apologizes—says something about technical difficulties. I blink a few times to let my eyes adjust. All around us, various colors waft around the many bodies.

My stomach turns into a ball of nausea, reminding me that I hate crowds for this very reason.

“We need to go,” Archer repeats, interlacing my fingers with his and pulling me away from Arlo and the majority of the crowd.

“Stop,” I say. “What’s going on?”

When he faces me again, he’s pale. “I smell death.”

A high-pitched wail rips from the crowd.

Lawful Challenge and Succession Protocol

Silver Edict #24

“The High Chancellor shall persist in power until formally contested; the challenger must secure the endorsement of eighty percent or more of the Ministries to initiate a legitimate challenge.”

CHAPTER 27

ARCHER

“We can’t just leave them!” Tasia yells, yanking free of me and stopping in her tracks.

I growl, running a hand through my hair to avoid doing something stupid like throwing her over my shoulder. We both know I’m not above doing that.

“I’m not. I’m getting you out of here.”

“I’m not fucking leaving you, idiot!”

“Are we seriously having our first fight right now?”

“It’s not our first fight.”

I sigh. “Tasia.” I shoot her a pleading expression. “Something’s going on. I smell death. A lot of it. I need to get you—”

Another scream rings out behind us, and the people in the crowd begin jostling each other, panicking and searching for an exit.

“You need me,” she says. “I can pinpoint grey soul-shades.”

The sickeningly sweet scent is overpowering—more than I’ve ever smelled at one time. It rouses the magic deep in my gut. Something dormant, wild. Something I’ve never wanted to awaken.

Gritting my teeth, I bite down on my initial response. We’re wasting time, and she’s right. If I didn’t feel the way I do about her, I’d let her help. It’s not fair of me to stifle her and refuse to let her help because my heart beats a little harder for her than it does on its own.

“Fine,” I say. “But stay close.”

Focusing my mind, I quickly locate the mental tether leading to my hellhound.

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