Page 123 of Winterfall Destiny

"Mary?" I swallow hard. "Or Maeve? Blonde hair, slightly shorter than me?"

Jamie jerks, hand tightening further and magic surges from him.

"You're looking for a recruit called Maeve? If the blonde weirdo was her, she'll be on the lists—crossed out," the guy continues.

The room lurches. What game is the First playing now?

"Excuse me," I say and blindly push my way towards the notices the vamp pointed at, breaking Jamie's hold.

I run my shaking finger along the names, and the mustiness in the catacombs fades towards an acrid smell, and a bitterness in my mouth as I land on a name, thankful for Jamie's presence beside me again.

Maeve Erste

Not Winterfall

Not Blackwood.

Or even Foster

"Never heard of that witch name. No phone coverage down here," mutters Jamie. "Or I could search."

"Coincidence? Or do you think the First came here?" I can hardly get the words past my dry lips.

"What the kids said about the girl sounds like she could be the First. The creature would want to keep a distance because even if the recruits don't know what the First is, they'd know something wasn't right about the girl's aura." He squeezes my hand again. "Any other Maeves on the list? Or Mary?"

I carefully run through every name. No. Nor is there a line inked through Maeve Erste.

"Jamie," I whisper, as I pull him out of earshot. "What if the First came to the catacombs and never left?"

44

TOBIAS

I take care what questions I ask Art, unsure how much the person I supposedly am would know about his specific operations. As with Natalie, I pull what I can from his mind as he speaks, but I've a thicker sludge to wade through. Art's heart beats slower too, and the vamp smells faintly of the new scent Andrei has—a sweetness hard to describe; one that touches your tongue.

Art contains the blood.

Still, I'm capable of navigating inside Art's head, although few others would possess the skill to push through. If Art notices my intrusion, I'll use the excuse that leadership requested I check up on him. I mentally flick away any suspicion Art has, but the guy already believes I am who I say due to the power in my aura.

I'm constantly confused why nobody knows our group's names or appearance. Art doesn't recognise me, but I'm not stupid enough to give my real name. I won't unless I walk away leaving behind an incident I want attaching to my name.

"What are our numbers currently?" I ask.

"Same as when I updated you lot two days ago," he says stiffly. "We can't work any faster."

"Are you remaining hemia focused?"

I make the request in a way that Art isn't sure which answer would please me. Was he instructed to recruit less or find more?

"Witches are trickier. Tell the boss we're doing our best, but finding and persuading those with the right magical mix takes longer than reeling in a hemia." He straightens. "Gabriella can't expect a large number by Friday. If she wants witch numbers to match hemia, she'll need to be patient. I don't understand her rush."

"Perhaps Confederacy are closer than we'd like?" I suggest and watch for his reaction.

"What?" he asks sharply. "You're supposed to have that situation in hand."

No mention of the First.

Of us.

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