Page 62 of Crown of Tides and Fury

Another head shake. “He kenned nothing of my relationships there.”

Kitch sighed. “Then it has to be in Muirsglen.”

“When he kenned it would burn--”

“What did he say?” Brian looked as if inspiration had hit. We were familiar with the way his eyes lit up when he had a new thought. It gave me instant hope. “That he’d make allowances for the fire. Now, did that mean he’d remember about the fire to come? Or that he would makeprovisionsfor the fire to come?”

We were back in Muirsglen within the hour. Alexander was not allowed to come, though Alwyn insisted on joining us. We’d all wanted to return and look for survivors, but every debate ended with the acknowledgement that we couldn’t risk it. When we were all thirsty for revenge—dying of that thirst—we’d had to settle for hunting the beasts in twos and threes, along the meridians.

But circumstances had changed. Going back was worth the risk if the book was there, and if it gave us the names of theThirdswho held the naming powers.

Wickham popped us in on a hillside where we were able to take a “big picture” view of the town. It looked like a completely different place from the first time I’d seen it, the day Wickham and I had met Sarah, drank her encouraging tea, and learned about her eight dolls. And with a sparkling blue sky, void of smoke, it had little resemblance to the battle zone we’d abandoned weeks ago.

This was the set of a dystopian movie. Any second, the Mockingjay was going to step out of the rubble, kiss her fingers, and put her hand in the air.

The large buildings were mere castle ruins, with one or two walls still standing. Black had eaten around the edges and turned them into inedible burned toast, the stale taste of which settled in my nose when I inhaled.

Could be worse, I reminded myself, if all those bodies hadn’t been burned. But then again, we’d only burnt the ones along our path…

The suburbs to the north were half gone. The section to the east, where I’d pulled the girl from the fire, had a little more to it. Huge trees had prevented the flames from spreading like the wind.

Wickham pointed off to the north, halfway between housing and the hill where we stood. “Popping again,” he said, and we grabbed for each other.

We stood on a street I remembered. Wickham had paused the truck there, then driven away when two old women came running after us. Out of the entire Tudor structure, two black boards leaned against each other, refusing to go down, and I wondered if, somehow, these were those sisters.

Wickham stood perfectly still. Maybe he was listening for monsters, or maybe he was just seeing monsters from his past. He still hadn’t told me much about the year he’d spent “in training” for hisSeanair-ship, but the snarl on his face when he spoke about the old man led me to believe the experience was as unpleasant as facing Orion’s dogs.

We waited for him to move. After a minute, the spell was broken, and he marched toward the pile of ash and rubble. The rest of us stopped at the edges, waiting for direction. Only Wickham had been inside the house and knew where we should be looking.

He moved to one side, to a pile of large stones that had once been a fireplace. When he started removing them, we hurried to help, passing the stones away in a line, bucket-brigade-style.

Somewhere, down the road, a bird whistled, over and over again. When nothing answered, it gave up.

The stones were heavy, but the black ash covering them provided a better grip than we might have had otherwise. And for a while, we moved in a steady, mindless rhythm. We were finally doing something, whether it led to answers or not. The physical burn in my arms felt good.

“Wheesht!” Wickham froze in place, listening.

There was no breeze, no more bird calls, and no buzz of insects.

Silently, I set down the heavy stone in my hands and pulled my weapons from my belt. We inched closer to each other in case Wickham decided to pop us out of there.

“We need to move,” he said softly. “Can’t let them know we’re searching here.”

I glanced around at my friends and chuckled. We were covered in soot. No mystery what we’d been doing. “We either have to pop out or kill them all. I vote we kill them all.”

I heard it then—the strange sound that Wickham must have heard.

Eerie. Silent, but not. Like a hundred monsters breathing in our direction, moving close, making no other sound.

I glanced up, to see if they might be coming from the sky. There was a flash of disappointment when I realized Griffon wouldn’t be up there, hunting for me. A little part of me wished there really had been some sort of connection that told him where I was without the need for a certain little pinfeather that lay on my bedside table, on a little green, footed plate meant for holding rings.

The sky was clear.

Wickham signaled, then popped us out into the street, soot-covered faces and all. We listened, turned and listened again. They were coming from east and west, surrounding us. And still, we saw no movement.

Persi waved for Wickham’s attention, pointed east, then disappeared. I heard the patting of her soft boots as she ran off down the street. Kitch took a few steps as if he might go with her but stopped.

Urban and Everly faced est, ready for an invisible attack. I bounced on my toes, stretched a little, wishing the bastards would come and get it over with. We had more interesting things to do.

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