Page 43 of Kingdom of Chaos
Titus lets out a low whistle and glances up at Talon. “Are we going to war?”
Talon responds with a grim look. “Take what you’re comfortable using.”
I get up from my seat and cross the room. Ensley and Titus are already bent over the duffel bag, rifling through the contents.
“Seriously, Talon?” Ensley says, holding up a spiked metal ball attached by a foot long chain to a small rod. “Who’s going to use this?”
“That would be mine,” Imogen says as she plucks the medieval looking weapon from Ensley’s hand.
I peek over Ensley’s shoulder and see a cache of various weapons. Some of them I recognize, like knives, daggers, and crossbows, but there are others I don’t. Titus grabs a pair of daggers and matching sheaths. He steps away from the bag, not bothering to get anything else.
After a few more minutes, Ensley throws her hands in the air. “I don’t know how to use any of these weapons. I’d probably do more harm to myself than someone else if I try to use any of it.”
Reaching over, Titus sifts through the weapons and pulls out a small dagger that’s safely tucked in a leather sheath and hands it to Ensley. “Here, at least take this. I know you can protect yourself with your powers, but we might not want to reveal ourselves when we are there by using them.”
She eyes it with uncertainty, but eventually puts it in her bag and steps back.
I bend over the duffel, gazing at the different options.
I may not have magic, but I’ve spent years turning my body into a weapon. A glint of gold catches my eye and I reach into the bag, pulling out a pair of brass knuckles. I’ve never used them before. With the right aim, they can do serious damage, the kind of brutality I’ve always tried to avoid. But something tells me that’s about to change in this new world.
“I thought you might like those,” Talon says with a smirk. “Take this too,” he says, reaching into the duffel and fishing out a dagger. The blade is wavy and roughly a foot long. I can’t help but notice how similar it is to Shadow Striker. I look at Talon as I take the weapon with a question in my eyes.
“You need to learn how to use it.”
I balk. “Why?”
Talon shrugs. “Just in case.”
I shake my head and try to give Talon the blade back. “No. I never want to touch that cursed dagger again.”
He glances down at the wavy-bladed dagger but doesn’t take the weapon. “We don’t know what’s going to happen over there. You should be prepared.”
“Prepared to face Kerrim?”
He looks up and his blue-gray gaze is piercing. “Maybe. Shadow Striker is rightfully yours. I think if we find the blade, it will recognize you as its wielder.”
I drop the weapon at Talon’s feet, shaking my head. “I’d rather die than touch it again.”
“You may not have a choice.”
Talon and I have a silent faceoff, neither one of us willing to budge. It’s only when Imogen interrupts us by reaching over, snatching the blade and saying, “Well, if you don’t want it,” that I realize just how quiet the room has gotten.
Embarrassed, I turn and grab one of the backpacks, busying myself with storing the brass knuckles and pretending to look through the contents even though I know all the packs have similar items inside.
The mood turns somber after that. Talon and Imogen finish off the last of the cold pizza, then we all turn in. We’ve rented adjoining rooms. Talon and Titus take one, and us girls the other. Ensley and I share a double bed. Imogen may be small, but neither of us wants to sleep next to her. I even insist we keep the door between rooms open. I’m not comfortable being in an enclosed space with her. Imogen’s just as likely to slit my throat as look at me. That might be extreme, but I don’t trust the morally ambiguous vampire who clearly blames me for everything.
It’s a long time before sleep takes me, but when it finally does, it pulls me under, sinking its dark claws into my mind and latching on, making me wish I’d never succumbed.
Sloan’s dineris busy as usual, the booths filled with patrons, their chatter a steady hum in the background. The scent of grilled onions and stale coffee hangs in the air as Becks, sitting beside me, cracks a joke that makes me smile. The jukebox in the corner hums with an old rock ballad, and Ensley steals some of Becks’ fries when he’s not looking and passes one off to Titus.
I’m happy. My chest full of contentment, like everything is exactly as it should be. I’m with my friends. We’re having a good time. We’re all safe.
And yet, even as I think it, a slow unease begins to coil in my gut. A sense of wrongness that grows more insistent with each passing moment.
Ensley’s laugh is too loud. Beck’s smile too bright. And Titus has never come with us to Sloan’s. Why is he here now?
My own smile falters as the unease curdles into dread.
