Page 134 of Skalterra By Nightmare
“Fine. But if he doesn’t want to come to the memorial, don’t force him, and don’t make him feel bad. He needs to grieve in his own way.”
“It’s not grieving if Riley—”
“Wren.” Gams frowned, a deep sadness pulling on the wrinkles of her face. “It’s okay. Find Liam.”
She stood on tip-toes to peck my cheek and then hurried back down the dock.
I stopped upstairs in the apartment to grab a jacket before I headed in the direction of the bagel shop. When Liam didn’t answer his phone, I quickened my pace and tried to push Sarah’s words away.
Liam was fine. He had to be. He wasLiam.
The bagel shop’s windows were dark, and I skirted around the building to find the door to the second-floor apartment. Even though Olive had given me a key to their home, I felt like I was trespassing as I fumbled with the doorknob.
The stairwell on the other side of the door was lined with family photos. Most of them showed Riley with his parents, or Riley in children’s sports uniforms. He got older as I climbed, and near the top of the stairs, Liam joined the family portraits.
“Liam?” The living room window overlooked the street. Townspeople walked past on the sidewalk below, dressed in their most solemn blacks. Light from the window lit the living room and kitchen. It looked recently renovated, with white marble countertops and tile flooring instead of linoleum, but the apartment had the same salty, musty smell as Gams’s living room.
The hallway beyond the kitchen sported more family pictures. These ones included images of Liam when he was younger, as well as two other adults. The woman looked just like Olive, if Olive had darker hair, and I figured she must be Liam’s mother.
“You better not jump out at me if you’re in here.” I shivered and tried to pull my jacket tighter, still unable to shake the cold. Maybe Gams was right about me being sick. “I’m serious, Liam. If you scare me, I might punch you in the throat, and it won’t be my fault.”
I pushed a bedroom door open. Light filtered in through slatted curtains, sending striated shadows across the two twin beds that pressed against opposite walls. Neither looked slept in. Liam had spent so many nights on Gams’s couch recently.
A phone sat on one of the bedside tables, and I crossed the room to poke at it. Several missed calls and texts populated the lock screen. The most recent notification was from “Wren Coworker”.
“Shut up, you know my last name, idiot.” Despite my irritation, my stomach clenched with nerves. Liam clearly wasn’t home, but he’d left his phone by his bed.
“Wren Warrender!”
I yelped and spun around at the thundering voice, but I was alone. Galahad was back in my head.
“It’s the middle of the morning!” I spat. “I’m busy!”
“I’m sorry. If I could spare you, I would.”
“Spare me?”
“Wren Warrender, I command you to return to Skalterra!”
I opened my mouth to protest, but a flurry of snow blew in my face. I coughed and stumbled backwards. The frame of Liam’s bed smacked against the back of my knees, and I fell, landing in a field of white stained with blood.
Galahad lay on his side, bleeding into the snow.
“Galahad!” I crawled to his side, fighting through the sideways flurry to press my hands against the wound in his flank. “The others, where—”
“Behind you!” Galahad shoved me off him and pointed into the white gloom. A figure glowed orange in its depths, and I could feel Ciarán’s rage needling at the back of my mind. A smaller figure struggled in his arms, and my stomach dropped.
He had Fana.
32. Ballroom Dance III
Snow blew sideways on the bitter wind that rolled over the field, but I charged through the gale. Galahad’s power roiled through me, and I made myself faster, stronger, denser to launch at Ciarán.
Fana shrieked in his arms, and I reached out to grab Ciarán by his face and forced him to the ground beneath me. A burst of green signaled Ferrin’s arrival at my side, and he pulled Fana out from between me and the Grimguard. Orange and black eyes glowed up at me from between my fingers, full of loathing.
“They ambushed us halfway across the lake.” Ferrin threw Fana onto his back. Snow dusted his hair, and a light ice had frozen his coiffed hair in place.
“They?” I repeated. Blue hair whipped around me in the wind, and Ciarán’s muffled scream of frustration reverberated against the palm of my hand. “Another Grimguard?”
