Of Blood and Bone (Chronicles of The One #2)(100)

“I hear something now. It’s not clear.”

“Can you see?”

“It’s indistinct.”

“Take my hand.”

It cleared for her.

Men, women, in trucks, on horseback, incredibly in tanks. Heavily armed, Lana noted, all in dark clothes with faces blackened against the glow of moonlight.

A night raid.

“Purity Warriors,” Fallon told her. “And some Raiders. They’re likely in this for the bounty as much as the killing. Maybe the PWs paid them to join for this.”

“I know that road.” Fear squeezed at Lana’s throat. “It’s going to take them straight into New Hope. God, that’s one of the Mercers in the lead truck. He hasn’t aged well, and that’s a horrible scar on his face, but I know it’s one of them.”

“Lou Mercer. Don’s already dead. And this one got that scar in the explosion, the fuel tanks. He’s very pissed off. I have to go.”

She turned, picked up the sword she’d left on for hand-to-hand.

“This is coming, it’s yet to come, so there’s time to warn them. Time for them to get ready.”

“I’m going with you.”

“I need you here. I still can’t go through without the split. I need you to stay with what’s here. I need Will. Will Anderson.”

She put a hand over the globe, brought Will’s image into her head. And into the globe.

“Oh God, it’s Will!” Lana grabbed Fallon’s arm, looked closer. “And Katie. That’s Katie. Oh my God, look at them.”

She saw the woman with dark curly hair—and the eyes she’d passed down to her son—sitting at a table with Will.

“Where are they?” Fallon demanded.

“I’m not sure, I … The kitchen, in the house where Katie and Rachel live. Or lived when I was there. And Jonah. He moved in with Rachel. They’ve painted it, but that’s the kitchen. I can’t hear what they’re saying. I can’t hear clearly.”

“I have to go through.” She turned to her mother. “I have to warn them what’s coming. Two nights—it’s in two nights. I know where the house is. You told me, and even if I didn’t, the crystal would take me. But you have to stay here.”

“Tell them … just tell them I saw them.”

“I will. Stay here. Stay with me.”

Once more she put her hands on the globe, and this time, put the image of the house, of the kitchen into her mind.

And she slipped through the crystal.

She smelled something burning just before she completed the split. She drew her sword as Duncan swung around with his.

Steel clashed bright to steel.

“That’s a good way to get disemboweled.” He lowered his sword but didn’t sheath it.

“Don’t you bother to look before you attack?”

“Defend,” he corrected. “It’s my house you just popped into.”

“I’m looking for Will Anderson.”

“He doesn’t live here.”

“I know he doesn’t live here, but he was here. You’re burning something.”

“Damn it.” He grabbed the skillet, and now with hands full, turned off the heat with a flick of his head.

“Don’t blame me.” Clearly, by the look in his eyes, he did. “It was burning when I got here.”

“I like my grilled cheese crispy.” He flopped it—one side certainly crispy, the other definitely blackened—onto a plate.

“Just tell me where to find Will so I … It’s night.”

“Yeah. It just likes to follow day.”

When she gripped his arm, the urgency in her slammed into him. “What’s the date? What day is it?”

“March twenty-ninth. Or thirtieth, technically, as it just hit midnight. What do you want?”

“Will.”

“Well, you got me. Spill it,” he began, then got a good look at her sword. Now he gripped her arm, and lifted it. “Light,” he said, reading the engraving.

“How do you know what it means?”

“One of my instructors at the academy was visiting relatives in Boston when the Doom hit. He ended up here. He teaches Irish.” His gaze, that deep, deep green, shifted from the sword to her face. “So The One answers the call, opens the Book of Spells and, taking all it gives, travels into the Well of Light. There, from the fire eternal she lifts the sword and the shield.”

He let her go. “I get that right?”

“I don’t have time for this. Where does Will live? Here, with your mother?”

“No. Jesus. Man, he’s married and all that for, like, a million years.”

“To who?” Fallon could’ve torn her hair out—or Duncan’s. “My mother will want to know.”

“Arlys.”

“She’ll be glad of it, but I can’t get distracted. Are they in the house where Arlys lived? I know it.”

“No, and you’re not going to bother Will at midnight. He’s worn-out and half-sick.”

“He’s sick? I can help.”

“It’s just a crap cold, and he’s been treated. He needs sleep—that’s from the healers—medical and magickal—so no-go on waking him up.”