The Curse (Belador #3)(68)

She tapped her forehead, drawing together all the bits and pieces she’d gleaned and adding those to Grady’s information. “I’m confused. If the Svarts believe they’re capable of taking down the North American division of VIPER, which I hope can’t happen, why would they wait on anyone else to pave the way?”

“You ain’t listenin’. Svarts do exactly what they contract for. If they’re holdin’ off callin’ in more trolls, it’s probably because the folks the Svarts made a deal with are the ones that are gonna take down VIPER, not the Svarts.”

Pieces of the puzzle started flying at her, demanding to be put into place. “Who could possibly think—”

“You ain’t lookin’ at the big picture.”

That wrenched her attention back to him. “How much bigger should I think beyond seeing this world destroyed by a bunch of trolls led by seriously dangerous ones?”

Grady gave her an indulgent look and switched into his all-knowing—and much better educated—teacher tone, which popped up at the most unexpected times, hinting at a past that contradicted his homeless persona. “What’s the backbone of VIPER, the strongest force within the coalition?”

“The Beladors.”

“Right, so it stands to reason that whoever made a deal with these ugly cannibals may have a plan to take down the Bel-a-dors,” he stressed as if he spoke to a slow student. “If that is the case, then maybe the Svart only have to accomplish whatever their mission is, then wait for their client to destroy the Beladors, which would gut VIPER. Once that happens, the Svart can call in their other buddies and turn Atlanta into Troll Central. Then the whole US of A.”

Could he be right? Could this be about the Beladors? And, if so, that would make the Svart client … “The Medb could be behind this.”

“That’s what I’m thinking.”

She flexed her fingers in and out, ready to get moving. Grady had put together a lot of information. “Did you figure out all that on your own?”

He scratched his neck, jumping back into his street persona. “Naw.”

“Got anything else to tell me?”

“Only that those things are huntin’ you.”

Just like Storm had told her when he’d followed a Svart’s trail to her bike this morning while she met with Quinn. “So that’s why you came to find me.”

“Had to since you ain’t got sense enough to stay outta trouble.” He cut his eyes at her with intent. “Next time, you best have a bottle if you want to trade.”

Grady knew some places to hunt for her, but he wouldn’t have known to locate her bike in this deserted parking deck. “How did you find me?”

“That Injun tracker came lookin’ for me by the hospital.”

“Storm? What did he want?”

“Said he was worried about you. Somethin’ about the Svarts and some other woman he had to keep you away from.”

“Adrianna?” Evalle’s fingers curled into a fist instinctively.

“Naw. Wasn’t her. Some witch doctor.”

Ah! The woman Evalle had agreed to help Storm find in exchange for his helping her hunt Tristan weeks ago. And Evalle still had to make good on her part of that deal.

Grady tsked at her.

“What?”

“That Injun told me about the Svarts huntin’ for you. Said you were in danger but you didn’t want his help. What’s wrong with you?”

She didn’t have enough hours in the day to do justice to that question. Making a hand motion to move this along, she said, “I’ll catch up with Storm and find out what he knows. But don’t tell anyone you saw him, okay?”

“I know that. I told him I wouldn’t say nothin’.”

“Just tell me what Storm told you about the Svarts.” She had a tough time following Grady sometimes.

Did attention deficit transfer to ghoul form?

“Said he’d been trackin’ them things around town and smelled a Svart not far from Oakland Cemetery that had a tainted odor … like a demon.”

“A demon? Two different kinds of Svarts?” She could use some good news anytime now.

“Maybe. Or might just be he stank.”

“We need Storm to find these things before this gets any worse. Maybe that’s what I sensed earlier when I got out of Isak’s Hummer. I felt a wave of energy over there.”

Grady looked around, peering in the direction she’d pointed. “Naw, that wasn’t a Svart ’cause that Injun slipped into the dark over yonder right before you showed up with Rambo.”

What? Her mouth turned cotton dry. “Grady … do you think Storm—”

“Saw you smoochin’ Rambo? Yep.”

Evalle slapped a hand over her eyes. This was catastrophic. “What was he doing here?”

“I done told you. That Injun’s a tracker. I talked him into findin’ you for me.” Grady looked around at the empty parking deck, mumbling. “Should be thankin’ me, but you got a bottle or french fries? No.”

“Grady, please.”

Evalle had to find Storm, but how?

Wait a minute. As she lowered her hand, Evalle’s heart started thumping at one possibility, a slim one. Storm had said he’d put his address in the e-mail draft he’d set up for them to communicate. Without that, the chances of finding him were less than locating one specific grain of sand in an hourglass.