A Matter of Heart (30 page)

I look up from them. “What
the hell?”

“I guess there’s a reason
ol’ Trixie here never made the Guard,” Mac muses. He tsk-tsks. “Shoddy work.
What will Jens say?”

Trixie snarls, “I don’t know
any Jens.”

Etienne sighs and takes
another photo out from another pocket. It’s clearly Trixie and Jens Belladonna,
hugging.

My hands are shaking, I’m so
mad. “You . . . you!” I slap the photo of us at the drug store against my palm.
“I was buying tampons! When did that become a stalker-worthy crime?”

Trixie’s stare reeks of
defiance.

“Well now,” Mac muses,
dropping a hand on her shoulder. They look like Rocky and Bullwinkle, he’s so
tall and she’s so short. “What we have here is a nice trio of Council members,
Trixie. And even though we could do this with only one of us present, it’ll be
a consortium of sorts. See, if you dare to follow Councilwoman Lilywhite again,
we’re going to have to do something about it. Like . . .” He taps his chin.
“Councilman Miscanthus. What were you suggesting when we were observing Trixie
here watch Chloe just this afternoon?”

Etienne readjusts the
buttons on his charcoal grey wool trench coat. “I believe we thought we’d send
Trixie on an extended mission to the northern pole of her plane so she could
track animal migrations for us. Specifically long-tailed weasels.”

Trixie’s eyes widen
dramatically. If I weren’t so pissed, I’d have laughed.

Mac pats her shoulder.
“Don’t you feel privileged that the three of us have taken note of you, Trixie?
Isn’t it much better to have our attention than Jens’?”

She’s practically
immobilized under his hand.

But, like I said, I’m
pissed. I shove the photo at her. “Don’t come around me again. Don’t follow me.
Don’t even be coincidentally shopping in the same store as me again. If you see
me, go the other way. Understand?”

She nods like a puppet
master is forcing her to.

Mac murmurs, “Good girl.
Scurry on now. Let Belladonna know his sweet kisses will have to buy off
another Tracker, as you’re out of the game.”

Trixie bolts the moment his
hand leaves her shoulder.

I turn to face my friends.
“I’m . . . that’s . . . he’s
serious
about all this crap!”

“Of course he is,” Mac says.
“Belladonna has given his life to the Guard. Now he’s out, he probably figures
he has a lot to prove in order to save face.”

“Don’t worry about this
right now, though,” Etienne says. “I did extensive research on Grindledottirr.
She’s terrified of snow. She’ll do as we ask.”

And yet . . . “Why didn’t
you guys tell me sooner?” I demand.

Etienne hands me the
envelope. “We wanted to give you ammunition, princess, not mere suspicion.
Plus, we were waiting for some info on Grindledottirr from Alex. I am
positively outraged she isn’t a Council member. She’s brilliant at what she
does.”

My head throbs stronger than
the beat of the music around us. This has officially reached absurdity.

“We’ve also been in the
Council a bit longer than you,” Mac adds. “Sometimes you have to move your
pieces carefully across the board without giving too much away at the onset.”

A game. They see this as a
game. Does Jens?

As if he can read my mind,
Etienne says, “The Council has never portrayed itself as a benevolent entity,
pickle. It’s just as ruthless and politically charged as any other governing
body in the worlds we oversee. The sad truth is, somebody is always going to be
gunning for you. You’re powerful, you’re young, and you’re important. The first
tier always have to watch their backs.”

I shove my hair off my
forehead and massage my temples. “That in no way makes me feel better.”

Mac offers me his lazy grin.
“Oh, but it should. It’s flattering, isn’t it? Being so envied and wanted?”

“Two years ago,” Etienne
continues, “another Storyteller tried to discredit me with a series of lurid
rumors. Today, he brings me coffee at our monthly meetings. This too shall
pass. We just wanted to let you know that Belladonna is up to something; I have
no doubt you’ll be able to figure it out. We just thought to help a friend.”

Their faith in me is
refreshing. I thank them both with huge hugs. We chitchat for another minute or
so before Mac declares he better move on, as he doesn’t want to get into a
fight tonight. I glance back over my shoulder to find Kellan, now standing in
eye line of the hallway we’re in, glaring at Mac and Etienne.

Once they’re gone, and I’ve
re-entered the main ballroom, Kellan makes his way over to me. I ready myself
for the inevitable attack, but he stuffs his hands into his pockets and lets
out a breath. “I’m sorry, but we haven’t met—I’m Overbearing Asshole. You must
be . . .?”

A laugh escapes my lips. I
point to my chest. “Overly Defensive.”

He laughs now, too.
“Justifiably Defensive, I’m sure.” He sobers. “I am sorry, though. That was a
really dick move of me to do back there.”

My lips twist into a rueful
smile. Like I was any better, getting jealous of Sam.

“There you two are.” Jonah
appears, sliding in between two people to get to us. “This place is insane! Was
all of Annar invited? I’m surprised the Blaze Marshall hasn’t shut things down
yet.”

Kellan jerks a thumb over
his shoulder. “I believe he’s on his third saké bomb. We’re on our own if a
fire breaks out.”

Jonah chuckles. “You ought
to see Zthane and Karl. Moira is struggling to keep them upright.” He gives me
a lengthy study that goes from my head to my toes and back up again. “You,
though . . . no Mai Tais to be found?”

My cheeks warm. “Evil,” I
tell him. “You’re simply evil.” He waits, so I clarify, “But no. None.”

He laughs, and I love
hearing this music after everything else tonight. It’s a soothing balm that
makes me think maybe, just maybe, everything really is going to be okay after
all. The grin that stretches my mouth wide cannot be stopped.

“So,” Kellan asks a few
minutes later, after the three of us have miraculously found a place to sit,
“what did those two guys want to talk to you about earlier?”

It’s weird, but I don’t feel
like telling them about Trixie Grindledottirr tonight. Not after rediscovering
laughter. Tomorrow will be soon enough.

“What guys?” Jonah asks.

I wonder if Kellan has
mentioned Mac to Jonah yet, their way. I tell him, “Etienne Miscanthus and
Maccon Lightningriver. I sit near them in session?”

Sure enough, there’s a hint
of disapproval at Mac’s name. And I realize that maybe I haven’t ever mentioned
to Jonah that I’m friends with Mac before. Not that it matters, not that it
changes anything, but it’s strange, this reaction.

Mac is a good guy, all
things considered. I mean, he just went out of his way to help a friend.

To Kellan, I say, “Nothing.
Just Council business.”

Which is the truth.
“Anything important?” Jonah asks me.

I hope I’m not lying when I
say, “Nothing I can’t take care of myself.”

“Hello, Chloe.” The voice is
frustratingly polite. “I thought it time for us to talk, just you and I.”

I shove the rest of the
hotdog in my mouth and eye Jens Belladonna suspiciously. He has, after weeks of
personal surveillance, finally approached me now that I’m out by myself. I
guess I thought it’d be under better circumstances than me gorging myself in
public, but that’s the thing about an ambush. If you could predict it, it
wouldn’t be a blindside.

A small bit of disgust
flares in his eyes—over me and my supposedly murderous nature or my gluttonous
exhibition, I don’t know. “Shall we sit down?” He points to a bench nearby.

I swallow my overly large
bite and nod. Caleb orders me to stay in full view of the hot dog cart; the
Gnomes running it know me well. Once we are seated, Jens says, “I do love Annar
at this time of year.”

My head tilts towards him in
amazement. He wants to talk about the weather?

“There’s change in the air,”
he continues. “The turning of seasons. So subtle at first, yet before you know
it, one has left and another is upon us, and the two are nothing alike. So
similar to life, is it not?” He smiles, but it’s not a friendly one. It’s . . .
indulgent. Calculated, even.

“If you’re talking about you
losing your job,” I begin, but he talks over me.

“I ran the Guard for a long
time, Creator. It’s who I am.” His smile grows. “The Council doesn’t truly
understand the Guard, I’m afraid. Whereas you are part of a political beast,
the Guard is more of a . . .” He considers his word choice. “Family. Nobody can
come in and banish a member of a family. Our ties are strong.”

“You accused me of
murder
.”
I’m angry, more so than I’ve been in a long time. “You don’t even know me,
spoke at most ten words before today, and you accused me of doing something so
horrible that—” I cut myself off. How can he think that of me?

“That, what?” Jens asks
mildly. “That your kind isn’t capable of such atrocities? Let me ask you
something. How many Techs do you know of who’ve gone on killing sprees?”

The truth is, I have no
idea, but I’m not going to clue him in on my ignorance.

He rattles off a dozen more
crafts before saying, “The point being, murder within our community is rare.
There are isolated incidents over the years, true—but there’s a pattern with
Creators. No other craft can claim such a thing.”

Damn him for being smart
enough to do his homework before jumping me. “Two do not make a pattern,” I
grind out.

“No,” he agrees. “Two do
not. But when Creators are so rare, and five have been found guilty of
murdering their own kind over the last thousand years, I’d call that a
pattern.”

FIVE? But, Etienne told me
about two . . .?

“I understand it, you know.
We call you Creators, but you are also Destroyers. Think about how many things
you have destroyed over the last year alone for the Council. It’s . . .
alluring, I suspect, to wield such power. To have such control over something,
someone’s
existence.”

I am horrified by his logic.
“Destroying atolls and abandoned hilltop cities aren’t the same as killing
people!”

He leans back against the
green slats of the bench behind us. “Tell that to the people in the locations
you obliterated.”

My mind goes splinter still
for a moment. Is he accusing me of killing nons, too?

“Did you know that there
were hikers in the Gnomish cliff dwellings that you destroyed?” he asks in a
terribly conversational tone. “Two. They died of injuries sustained from the
cliff’s collapse days afterwards.”

Caleb tries to calm me down,
but it’s no good. I am outside, and there is not enough air to pull in my
lungs. “I . . . I . . .” I turn and face him. “I had no idea they were there.
The cliffs were supposed to be deserted!”

“Fifty-two nons died over
the years at the hands of Kleeshawnall Rushfire,” Jens continues. “Intentional
or not, those deaths are his responsibility.” Jens’ elegant fingers tent in front
of his chest for several seconds. I watch them, so still. He is so sure.

“Other crafts . . . they
cause deaths. Hurricanes, earthquakes, volcanoes—” My voice cracks. This can’t
be. He has to be lying.

“I’m not saying they don’t.
I’m simply pointing out that your protests of innocence are worthless in light
of how you’ve already caused the deaths of two nons in less than a year.”

I’m beyond queasy. My eyes
flood with bitter tears. Why did no one tell me this? Even worse, how could I
not know instinctually? I should
know
if someone’s life was extinguished
because of me.

Shouldn’t I?

I should have scouted the
locations personally before destroying them. I should’ve—

“Nividita’s wedding was
supposed to be two days ago,” Jens continues, unrelenting. “Did you know that?
Or that Harou’s best friend just had a baby, and he was to be godfather? Or
that Earle recently lost his husband, and was struggling to reclaim normalcy in
his life?”