Lifeblood (Everlife #2)(49)

“Yes, please, and thank you.”

We stalk down the yard, side by side, each of us clasping a weapon. I scan the area beyond the Buckler for any indication that Killian and Sloan have lagged behind, but I find none. Good. That’s good. If they threatened or hurt my friends...

If my friends threatened or hurt them...

Remain calm. Deep breath in...out...

When we reach the edge of the perimeter, Victor holds out his arms to block me. “You’re in charge, Ten, and you can go first, if that’s what you want, but I don’t like the thought of a Conduit in danger. Let me check things out per protocol? Just in case?”

“No. I would much rather place myself—”

“Thanks for understanding.” He pats my shoulder and rushes through the Buckler, gun aimed and at the ready.

Well. Irritation flares, but I tamp it down. Is this how I come across to Elizabeth? Pushy and relentless?

Sow and reap.

I have to start working with my team rather than bulldozing over everyone. They have more experience, collectively and individually. I can take a backseat...upon occasion.

Victor peeks through the glittery wall and smiles. “All clear.”

I remain on alert as I move forward, Clay at my side. Out of habit, I conduct a search of my own. No twigs snap to signal a coming approach. Up ahead, a jiggling rope is tied to the base of a tree.

“Over here,” I say, already running.

“Could be a trap,” Victor says. “Slow down.”

Clay almost passes me. Almost. Just before we reach our destination, a gorgeous white-and-ginger pit bull chases a butterfly around the trunk.

She spots us and wiggles her butt. There are no marks on her fur to suggest she’s suffered any kind of abuse, and she has meat on her bones. She’s been fed and cared for.

So happy I could burst—mission complete!—I crouch to scratch behind the ears. “Hey, pretty girl.”

I laugh as she licks my face. No wonder Dior missed her. This animal offers unconditional love. No judgment or snide remarks. No stinging rejections.

There’s a note attached to her collar, addressed to 10. Curious, a little suspicious, I unfold it.

You wanted the dog, you got the dog. You’re welcome. Now you owe me two favors, and I WILL collect. Yours, K

I snort.

“What’s it say?” Clay asks.

There’s a spy among you.

Killian’s warning sounds an alarm in the back of my head.

I trust Clay. Victor, too, for that matter. He is Archer’s brother, for goodness sake. But I’m not going to gamble with Killian’s life.

I stuff the note in my mouth, chew and swallow before anyone can snatch it. Shells are able to eat to better blend in with humans, but the food—or note, whatever—goes into a tube we have to empty later.

Clay regards me with a blend of annoyance and exasperation before cutting the dog’s leash from the tree. Victor eyes me quizzically.

I’m stuck on Clay’s reaction, though. Why annoyance?

Because he plans to report to Myriad?

I swallow a groan. Rampant paranoia would be a beautiful way for me to ruin my relationship with my team. What if that’s how I’m supposed to help Myriad?

Ugh. Now I suspect Killian?

No! My decision has been made. Instincts matter. I’m not changing my mind.

We walk Gingerbread to the farmhouse, each of us lost in thought. The moment we’re inside, the pittie scents Dior and whimpers.

At the kitchen table, Dior jumps to her feet. With a bark of delight, Gingerbread bounds over.

“Gingy bear!” Dior drops to her knees and opens her arms. She chants, “Thank you. Thank you so much” as she sobs into the dog’s fur.

The sight is balm to the scars on my soul. This is why I’m here. This is why I picked Troika. To help people. To make their lives better.

“Next up, your court date,” I say, blocking Killian’s other warning from my head. “How do we bypass the obstacles Myriad created and set a date?”

“There are twelve judges, and each presides over a specific territory in the Land of the Harvest,” Victor says. “In two weeks, we’ll present the facts to Dior’s judge, and he’ll decide if the case can go to trial.”

Time is measured in units of twelve—twelve hours equals half a day. Humans have twelve pairs of cranial nerves. There are twelve months in a year.

“Are the judges Troikan or Myriadian?” In other words, is there bias?

“They are neither. Like humans, spirits and realms, they were created by the Firstking for a specific purpose.”

Oookay. “If they aren’t human or spirit, what are they? What do they do when they aren’t being judgy?”

Stymied, he looks to Elizabeth. “How do we explain? They’re a mix of both human and spirit, I guess. And no one knows what they do after court. We only ever interact with them during a case.”

“Also, I believe I mentioned the injunctions Myriad has filed against us,” Elizabeth says. “We have to deal with those as soon as a Barrister is found.”

There’s so much I don’t know. So much I need to learn. “Barrister?”

Clay motions to Dior, who is now watching us avidly, her eyes filled with concern. “That’s a conversation for another day.”