A Matter of Heart (29 page)

“You think he’s cheating on
you?” I ask, but she smiles and shakes her head.

“I know he’s not,” she says,
and then Jonah leans into me and says he and Kai will be right back. I do a
double-take as they walk away, realizing Sports Guy is actually Sushi Guy as
Cora continues, “For all of Raul’s swagger and game, he’s as trustworthy as a
person gets. He’d never hurt me by cheating.”

She is confident with this
assertion, which is a good thing as there’s some waifish Elf with wavy hair
floating like a halo around her, throwing her head back to laugh, her hand on
Raul’s shoulder.

“I’d never be able to
forgive him if he ever did that to me,” Cora says, and when I go still, she
sighs. “Foot, meet mouth. Sorry, Chloe.”

“It’s not like Jonah and I
are poster children for cheaters,” I snap.

She appears genuinely
contrite. “I’m just saying.” Which, as it so happens, does not actually
sound
contrite.

Jonah texts to tell me he
and Kai met up with a few old friends, so I follow Cora over to where Raul is.
While Cora asserts herself in between her boyfriend and the model wannabe, I
turn to say greet Mac, who’s flirting with someone who is definitely not
Izadorna.

It’s Sam, the Guard with
violet streaked hair that tried to pump me for info in the hospital as I was
recovering from the mission from hell. And even though I’m sure she’s a
perfectly nice girl, she still irritates me, as she’s now a Belladonna lackey
in my mind. Because why else would she’d been at the hospital? But Mac is
oblivious to this as he pulls me in for a hug. “I was hoping you’d come,” he
grins, and I have no doubt he’s had his fair share of saké tonight thanks to
his overly shiny eyes.

Saké ought to be the
official drink for people trying to escape their problems.

A Dwarf with a huge tray
filled with filled glasses offers me one. Good lords, do I want one—especially
on the heels of the drink Cora ordered me—but I politely decline.

“Hi Chloe,” Sam says to me.
I give her a smile, but it’s thin at best. She takes the hint and excuses
herself to go talk to somebody else nearby.

“Sam thinks you don’t like
her,” Mac says to me, amused.

Sam thinks right. I ask
delicately, “Where’s Izadorna?”

He sighs heavily and rubs at
his forehead. “Is it wrong that I don’t care?”

I don’t answer that. “I had
no idea you were friends with Raul.”

He glances at our mutual
pal. “Yeah, he’s good for some fun, you know? We went sky diving earlier today.
That psycho dared us to pull our cords at the very last possible minute.” My
eyebrows shoot sky high, and he chuckles. “No worries, though. I only broke my
ulna. Should’ve seen your fiancé’s brother. Broke his collarbone, dislocated an
arm, and shattered a kneecap.”

WHAT?

“It’s a good thing we get
Sam to come along,” he continues, oblivious to the dismay I must surely be
showing. And then he lifts his shirt and runs a finger over a series of notches
carved into the leather of his belt.

I fear I already know the
answer, but I ask anyway. “What are those?”

His sighs and drops his
shirt. “Distractions.”

My eyes slide over to Sam.
Several people are chanting her name as she downs glass after glass of saké in
rapid succession. So. Sam must be a Shaman, then? And apparently one of the
group Kellan hangs out with that Jonah disapproves of, which I now can totally
understand why. It occurs to me that maybe she might’ve come to the hospital
more out of friendship than on Belladonna’s orders. Even still, knowing what I
know now, my opinion of her hasn’t changed. If anything, it’s only lowered.

She enables them. They can
go crazy and try their hardest to destroy their bodies out of some kind of
twisted love of adrenaline, and she’ll be there to put the pieces back
together.

“You know, Sam never gets
drunk,” Mac murmurs, also watching. “It’s one of those Shaman things. Her body
is always trying to correct whatever is wrong.” His fingers scrape over the
stubble on his chin. “Poor girl.”

Does that mean Sam is trying
to escape from something, too? And if so, if this is a requisite of this group
of Guard, what does Raul need a distraction from? A quick glance over at the
Spaniard and Cora shows only typical Raul—exuberant and flirtatious. Even Cora
is happy.

I’m about to ask Mac about
Raul when I notice whom Sam has decided to drape herself across. It’s Kellan,
looking pretty gorgeous himself in a messy, I-don’t-give-a-damn way. He’s
laughing, and so is she, and so are all the people surrounding them.

When did he get here?

A myriad of emotions hit me
too many directions. I’m incredibly disturbed by what Mac just revealed to me,
horrified by what Kellan is putting himself through. Curious about Raul, who
I’ve only ever known to be happy. Irritated by Sam for too many reasons, petty
and possibly justified, while sympathetic, too. And pissed off she’s got her
hands all over Kellan, and that he’s allowed it.

Even though I picked Jonah.

I toss out a random excuse
to Mac and bolt in the opposite direction, away from these things that can only
bring me trouble. Undeterred, he’s hot on my heels, asking what’s wrong, but my
feet, my Conscience tell me that I need to go.

“Chloe, wait.” Mac grabs my
arm, and I collide with a couple making out. They shoot us quality death glares
before resuming their efforts at tonsil hockey. “What’s going on?”

Being an Informer and
working in politics all the time, Mac is often too savvy for his own good. Even
drunk. I attempt to tug my arm free, but he’s got a good grip. There’s way too
much concern in his eyes, and I just can’t deal with it. Not now. Not if I’m
going to make it through tonight.

I need Jonah. Where is
Jonah?

Mac’s arm is suddenly yanked
away. Kellan is standing there, no longer laughing. “Want to explain to me what
you’re doing?” he asks in a low voice that somehow manages to rise above the
music.

Mac blinks in surprise, but
recovers quickly enough to show his annoyance. “What’s your problem,
Whitecomb?”

Okay, this is going nowhere
good and fast. I shove myself in between them. I cross my fingers and hope that
a hastily erected shield to block my emotions will hold. “Kellan! When did you
get here?”

His focus remains on Mac,
expecting an answer. Mac, though—Mac looks like he has no plans on answering
it.

So I offer up a big smile,
the stupid cheerleader smile Kellan knows all too well. “Mac and I are good
friends. We’re just talking.”

The tension in Kellan’s
shoulders eases. “Where’s my brother?” He doesn’t let me answer, though. He
glares at Mac, asking, “Do you mind?”

“Actually,” Mac begins, but
Kellan cuts him off, telling him that Sam is looking for him.

Which is a total lie; both
of us know it right away. But Mac relents. “Don’t think you’re getting off the
hook that easy. Talk later?” A quick kiss is pressed against my cheek before he
leaves.

“You let Maccon
Lightningriver kiss you?” Kellan asks after a long, uncomfortable moment.

He should talk. Some
beautiful girl was practically climbing all over him minutes before. “We most
certainly were not kissing.”

Is that . . . jealousy I
see? “Does Jonah know about you and Maccon?”

Now I’m flat-out
exasperated. “There isn’t a”—I flash air quotes here—“me and Maccon. We are
friends
.”

Kellan laughs at this.
“Right. And I’m sure you are perfectly aware of just what Maccon Lightningriver
and his”—he has the audacity to mimic my air quotes here—“
girl
friends
happen to do with one another.”

You’ve got to be kidding me.
I practically hiss, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I wish I were,” he says. “I
happen to know that just last night, he went home with three different girls—at
the same time, mind you. None of whom were his fiancée.”

I repeat, more forcefully,
“You’ve
got to be kidding me.”

“As I know that Jonah thinks
Mac is a terrible influence on me, and has told me more times than not that I
need to find myself some better friends, I’m going to go out on a limb and say
he has no idea you two are so close.” He takes a step closer to me and I
bristle. The shield around me cracks and falls away, but it’s okay. Kellan is
more than welcome to feel what I’ve got to offer right now.

“I wasn’t aware that I
needed your brother’s approval on who I can be friends with.” I shove my hand
out, preventing him from coming too close. “And if I don’t need his, I most
certainly don’t need yours. Besides. Isn’t he
your
friend, too?” I don’t
give him room to answer. “Somebody you like to break bones with?” I grab at the
hem of his plaid shirt and lift it. Sure enough, there are notches in groups of
five on his belt, too.

More than Mac’s, that’s
obvious. It makes me sick.

He’s doing this because of
me. Because of our Connection.

He shoves my hand away and
lowers his shirt. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I wish I didn’t.

I need a drink. Where’s the
waiter when you need him?

A hand drops onto my
shoulder; I whirl around to find Etienne Miscanthus. “There you are!” he says,
and like Mac before him, presses a kiss against my cheek in greeting.

I point into the crowd,
ignoring how Kellan has to cross his arms to hide clenched fists. “You just
missed Mac.”

“Persimmon, can we go talk
somewhere?” His violet eyes settle on Kellan. “Do you mind if I steal your
lovely, Jonah?”

Amazingly, Kellan does not
correct him. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

Etienne is taken aback by
this. I laugh; it’s shrill. “He’s kidding of course. Etienne, this isn’t—”

Etienne cuts me off, though.
“It concerns what we discussed in my office earlier.”

Which must mean . . . Jens
Belladonna?

“Go and find Sam or
something,” I tell Kellan. “Isn’t there something
she
can kiss and make
better?” And then, before he can say another word, I link my arm with Etienne
and practically drag him away.

“That was . . . tense,”
Etienne says to me.

But I don’t want to talk
about that. “What’s up?”

He leads us over to a wall.
I can see Kellan in the distance, in the spot I left him, arms still crossed,
eyes practically boring holes into Etienne’s back. Like he has a place to
disapprove. “I don’t know how to say this other than just put it out there. I
wanted to let you know that Belladonna has been doing a lot of digging in
Creator histories,” my Storyteller friend says to me as quietly as he can.
“Despite the Council’s rebukes, it doesn’t appear that he’s going to let this .
. .” He lets out a hard breath. “Insanity go.”

I sigh. “He’s been following
me.”

“Have you told Jonah?”

I shake my head.

“He’s got one of his goons
tracing your family line, too.”

I bite my lip and consider
this. Mac rematerializes by my side. Where in the worlds did he come from? “You
tell her?”

Etienne smiles thinly. “And
finally, he’s got a Tracker on you at all times.”

My mouth falls open. “Excuse
me?”

Mac’s words are crisp and
precise; there is no indication of his former drunk status. “It isn’t anyone
from the Guard, just some woman he knows. But yeah. There’s a Tracker following
you everywhere you go. Even missions.”

They’ve got to be kidding
me. I’m on a prank show or something. That’s what tonight is. Some kind of
giant joke.

“Go get her,” Etienne tells
Mac. The Goblin nods and melts into the crowd.

“We were concerned after our
talk with you,” Etienne continues. “So, Maccon and I have done some digging of
our own. Your friend Alex has been exceedingly helpful.”

I close my eyes for a
moment, try to make sense of this all.

Etienne leads me around a
corner, where we wait in tense silence before Mac reappears, practically
dragging a very gaunt and unusually tall Gnome by the upper arm. “Are you out
of your mind?” she shouts as he shoves her towards where Etienne and I are
standing. “You can’t just drag me around like some primitive thug!”

I’d clearly been mistaken in
my previous assessment that Mac was drunk, as he’s smirking with narrowed eyes
that still manage to be razor sharp. “Chloe, meet your official stalker. I
believe her name is Trixie Grindledottirr.”

Trixie Grindledottirr rips
her arm out of his grip. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Etienne extracts an envelope
out of his trench coat’s pocket. “Is that how you’re playing it, Tracker?”
Several photos are slipped out and held so we all can see them. The first shows
me at a drug store, buying tampons and conditioner; Trixie is two cashiers
over, watching. The second shows me and Kellan at the park, eating hot dogs.
Trixie is on the other side of the fountain with a notebook. I snatch the photos
from Etienne and flip through them. Me, doing mundane things. Trixie, watching.
There must be twenty photos in Etienne’s collection.