A shiver traveled through Connor’s limbs. “Point taken.”
Connor regarded Ren for a minute, then said, “I can’t believe Logan would put his stamp of approval on this conversation. So forgive the turn of phrase, but how did you get off your leash?”
“I’m getting the hang of this ghost thing,” Ren told him. “Learning via trial and error. At first I could only go where Logan sent me, but sometimes where he sends me lets me cross paths with people other than those he intended me to see. I figured out that, once someone has seen me, I can go back to visit them at will. You saw me earlier. So now you’re on the list.”
“Lucky me.” Connor went to the wall and took down a long sword. Brandishing the weapon, he asked, “So you want me to save your sister. Can you tell me where she is?”
“No.” Ren watched Connor cut the air with sweeping strokes of his blade. “But she already has.”
Connor stopped swinging the sword. “You’ve got some misinformation there. Adne didn’t leave a note. She just left.” He could hear the resentment in his voice.
Ren managed to give Connor a sympathetic look. “We’re dealing in subtleties, man. I’m talking about clues, not a sign in neon lights. Think about what Adne’s been going through. What she’s done recently. The choices she’s made. Follow Adne’s lead and you’ll find her.”
“Do all ghosts talk in riddles?” Connor asked. “Or do you just like pissing me off?”
“I like pissing you off,” Ren answered. “But the riddles aren’t my choice. I’m toeing the line here, but I can’t cross it. If I could tell you everything I know, I would. But I’m not free.”
“Sorry,” Connor muttered, passing the sword hilt from hand to hand.
“Don’t be,” Ren said. “You should get angry. It will help you find Adne.”
“Has Logan hurt her?” Connor asked. He didn’t want to voice the question, but suddenly it was there and he couldn’t hold it back.
“Logan isn’t the real threat to Adne,” Ren replied. “She’s a danger to herself in ways she doesn’t realize. We’re losing her.”
Connor wheeled around and ran the punching bag through with the long sword.
“Oh, good,” Ren said as Connor jerked the blade free. “I was worried that bag was going to take you.”
“I am not losing Ariadne,” Connor said in a voice sharper than the sword edge.
Ren nodded, then flinched as if something had hurt him. “I have to go.”
“Go where?” Connor looked at the space around Ren, hoping that he might see or sense whatever force was affecting the spirit. But Connor found nothing.
With a brief nod of understanding, Ren said, “See you around.” And he was gone.
THOUGH GENERALLY disheartened by all that had transpired in the past hours, days, even months, Sarah tried to focus on the small and very recent improvements in her circumstance. She had graduated from bed rest to a rocking chair and she’d been moved from Adne’s room to her own. Taking the stone off too soon, it turned out, had been a bad idea. Disrupting the draw of the curse from her body had allowed it to take hold again. Now Sarah’s blood felt like sludge and the Elixirs had her drinking a tea that tasted like dirt. Sarah half suspected that they could have just used a stone again but that the dirt-tea was retribution for failing to follow their original instructions.
When the door to her room opened, Sarah expected it to be Tristan returning. Instead, a group of heavily armed men stomped into the room and took up sentinel-like stances on either side of Sarah’s rocking chair. Another man entered a moment later, and while he wasn’t boasting the same amount of steel as the others, this last man had a more imperious bearing.
“Sarah Doran?” the man asked Sarah.
Sarah set down her cup of tea. She didn’t like the way her hand had begun to shake. “Do I know you?”
“My name is Holt,” he said. “The Pyralis Guide.”
“It’s an honor to meet a Guide,” Sarah said, out of sheer politeness. “And yes, I’m Sarah Doran.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to come with us,” Holt told Sarah. “You need to answer the charge that has been brought against you.”
“The charge?” Sarah couldn’t believe that she’d heard him right.
“Treason.”
Sarah didn’t know what was worse, the word itself or the way that saying it had made Holt smile.
ETHAN WAS EYEING Connor with suspicion. “Something’s different about you. You seem . . . like you.”
Connor barked a laugh. He hadn’t realized how far from himself he’d been until Ren forced him to face it head-on.
“I had a close encounter,” Connor told Ethan.
They were taking inventory of armor and weapons while they waited in Haldis Tactical for Anika to arrive.
“You had what?” Ethan asked.
“A close encounter,” Connor said. “With a ghost.”
“Close enounters are with aliens,” Shiloh interjected as he stowed a pair of short-handled sickles boasting wickedly curved blades in his pack. “Not ghosts. You’re mixing up your paranormal beings. That’s sloppy.”
Ethan grinned at Connor. “I like this one.”
“Just don’t forget that he’s taller and better-looking than you,” Connor reminded him.
“Excuse me?” Shiloh said.
“And he’s really cute when he blushes,” Connor added. “Just look at that. Can you blush like that?”
“Leave him alone,” Sabine chided Connor. “Or you’ll be one Striker short on this mission.”
“He can take it,” Connor told her. “Can’t you, Shiloh?”
“I couldn’t say,” Shiloh said. “I’m too busy being cute while blushing.”
“Yeah.” Connor looked at Ethan and nodded. “I like him too.”
“Shut the door!”
Connor looked up and saw that Anika, Tristan, Tess, and Mikaela had run into the room. Tess slammed Tactical’s door and brought down its heavy wooden bolt, sealing them in.
Tristan glared at Anika, spewing curses. “I have to go back!”
“And do what?” Anika shouted at him. “Tell me how you can help your wife by storming the stockade alone.”