Page 179 of Fallacies

She hands it to me without a second thought, and I pivot to the tray, filling the final glass with what’s left of the wine.

The door to the kitchens swings back open a moment later, and the Umbra emerges with a bright smile on her face. As she passes, I hold the glass out to her, and she takes it without even looking at who poured it.

The Umbra is far too focused on the Hound.

“There you are,” he drawls, laying the charm on thick. It’s fascinating really, the way he’s able to slip into such a casual confidence.

The smile he puts on is alluring, as if he and I weren’t up until dawn plotting the downfall of everyone in this room. As if in a few hours the sky outside won’t be burning and at least four people in this room won’t be dead.

No, he doesn’t seem to care at all as he raises his glass to the dinner guests and the Umbra grins back at him, lifting her drink in his direction.

“I’d like to thank you for your hospitality,” the Hound says, gesturing to the table. “Though I doubt I’ll be back.” He delivers the jab with a smile, eliciting some uncomfortable laughter and an unimpressed snort from the Countess.

“I wish you all a myriad of things,” he continues, “but mostly I wish you luck.” Salem raises his glass, and I bite the inside of my cheek. “Lots of it.”

The following clink of glassware is eerie. The only sound in the room.

Mr. Fairbourne has already signed his death certificate, downing nearly half his wine at the conclusion of the cheers.

Vance takes a generous sip of his too, and the Umbra goes for a second, her lips red with the wine as she continues to admire the Hound.

Salem, however, is watching the Countess, who is still swirling around her drink.

My heart begins to pound as they stare at each other.

To his credit, his calm demeanor doesn’t shift in the slightest. He’s confidently drinking his wine, and he doesn’t look worried at all.

Panic squeezes my lungs, crawling up my throat, and just as my pulse nears fatally erratic, the Countess lifts her glass.

“To never coming back,” she says with a satisfied smile, then presses her red-painted lips to the Espervane.

41

Callan

The stars blink to life slowly, dotting the darkened sky, and adrenaline beats through my bloodstream. Steady. Potent. Heavy with anticipation.

About a million things are running through my mind. A million different ways this could all go wrong, but I’m eager and satisfied in knowing that in a few short hours, the monsters that have been parading around Streatham for the last twenty-something years are going to lose one of the last things they have on us:

Our people.

I bet they won’t even see it coming. I bet they’ll wonder how we got in—how we managed to get past their ward. How, for the last twenty years, while they’ve held our people, we’ve held a grudge. A massive one. One that’s been festering and multiplying to the point that now there’s nothing that can be done to sate it except for justice and revenge. The brutal kind.

I shift on my feet, double-checking my uniform, then turning to check Devon’s too. He’s standing as still as a statue, his expression calm considering the rigidity in his posture.

It’s his pre-fight ritual, finding calm while letting his body charge. He fills his limbs with the depths of his power until it buzzes beneath his skin.

Looking back, I triple-check that Hunter and Easton are still where they’re meant to be, and I’m relieved to find them still standing by the bunker. Their uniform-clad silhouettes shift back and forth, looking out to where Devon and I wait by the border into the city.

They got back a little while ago, and they reported that Pirn is as ready as they’ll ever be. The infirmary is clear and stocked, the Hearths have a surplus of food ready, and everyone else is just…waiting. Patiently anticipating who will come through the Banyan. Ready to see people they’ve loved and lost.

All we have to do is get them back.

Simple.

I return my attention to Streatham, the Estate a tall, shadowy mass against the black sky. Stars glitter around it, none blinking in the way I need them to, but I’m itching for Lucina’s signal to get started.

Rubbing my hands together, I keep myself warm as the night gets darker, midnight passing, and still nothing.