Magic Tides (Kate Daniels: Wilmington Years #1)(12)

“You’ve done this before,” she said.

“On occasion.”

She studied the form. “Kate with no last name. Are you a merc?”

“Used to be.”

“Guilded?”

“Yes.”

“Which city?”

I really didn’t want to give her any more information than I had to. “Atlanta. Thank you for your assistance, Knight-Protector.”

“When I call Atlanta’s chapter, what are they going to tell me about you?”

She would call. I could tell by her expression. Claudia had a nickname in the Order. They called her the Badger because she was stubborn like one and once she got a hold of something, she wouldn’t let go.

“When you call, ask for Nick Feldman. Tell him Kate brought some kids in. He will vouch for me.”

Nick and I had our differences. He was almost a stepbrother, and Conlan called him uncle. He still thought that I was an abomination, but he and I talked before we left for Wilmington. He understood my reasons for leaving and laying low. He wouldn’t stab me in the back.

“Okay, Kate. Where are the two of you going from here?”

None of your business.

“To the Farm!” Nika piped up. “Where the undead things are! They are going to save Thomas’ son. He’s been kidnapped.”

Oy. When did she even pick all that up? Thomas and I said, like, two sentences about it, and we’d kept our voices low.

“How nice,” Claudia said. “Since you’re heading that way, will you deliver something to Barrett Shaw for us?”

I had intended to avoid Barrett Shaw like a hole in the head, but we were going to the Farm, and she would take care of the kids. There was no way to weasel out of it.

“Sure.”

Claudia rose, walked over to the small side room, and came back out with a bird cage wrapped with silver wire and covered with a cloth. She lifted the cloth for a second. Inside a small ball of light hovered like a fur pompom made of greenish glow. A will-o’-wisp. Nobody knew for sure what they were, but it took supernatural speed to catch one and a lot of knowledge to contain it. And carrying it around was a really dumb idea, because will-o’-wisps attracted all sorts of weird magical crap to themselves.

“I trust you to get it there safely.”

Kate Lennart, the Order’s errand girl, at your service. “I’ll make every effort to.”

I hugged the kids, said my goodbyes, picked up the cage, and Thomas and I escaped the office.

“You don’t look happy,” he observed.

“It could’ve gone better,” I said. “Will-o’-wisps are expensive, dangerous, and hard to catch. If some merc you didn’t know walked into your office, would you trust her to carry it across town and safely deliver it?”

“No. I’d get someone I knew to do it.”

“That’s what I’m thinking.” I strapped the cage into Cuddles’ saddle bag.

Had Nick called down to Wilmington and given them a heads-up to expect me? If so, what did this errand mean? Was she trying to put me in my place? Was this a show of trust from Claudia? Was this a message to Barrett intended to communicate that I was allied with the knights? I doubted Barrett would recognize me. I’d never met him.

Maybe I was overthinking this. Maybe Claudia felt that saving Darin was a good thing, realized that the Farm would hardly welcome us with open arms, and wanted Barrett to understand that she knew why I was showing up on his doorstep.

I climbed into the saddle.

“To the Farm?” Thomas asked.

“To the Farm.”

So far I’d run into the Order, and I was about to go and throw a stick into the undead hornet nest that was the People’s base in Wilmington. I would need to mind every P and Q because if they found out who I was, I would never hear the end of it.



ON PAPER, the Farm lay less than 5 miles away from the chapter, on the other side of the Cape Fear River. Since the Memorial Bridge was no more, the best and fastest way across the river was the ferry, which ran continuously during the daylight. If things went according to plan, we would get there in under an hour. Even in half an hour, if Thomas’ horse could keep up with Cuddles, who for unknown and probably abnormal reasons, had the gait of a Tennessee Walker and the speed of one, too.

Things didn’t go to plan.

Thomas squinted at the shady-looking captain standing by a small workboat. “What do you mean, the ferry isn’t running?”

The captain spat to the side. He wore a grimy gray sweatshirt, equally grimy khaki work pants, and old boots. A beige baseball cap with an embroidered American flag in a shape of a bass covered his hair, and a pair of ancient shades hid his eyes. He hadn’t shaved in about a week, and the dark stubble sheathing his narrow chin clearly had beard ambitions.

The workboat behind him looked about as worn and gritty as he did. A flat-bottom aluminum barge, it was about 30 feet long, with a sturdy railing along the flat deck and a narrow rectangular cabin at the stern, just big enough for the captain and maybe a couple of people. Pre-Shift, it would’ve likely hauled small cargo loads and would easily fit an average-sized truck. Today it was hauling passengers, and the deck had smears of horse manure on it.

We were on the dock, with the stubby remnants of the Memorial Bridge jutting over the river to the left of us. In front of us Cape Fear flowed, its blackwater the color of greenish pewter. A handful of boats braved the crossing, crawling to and from the other bank.