Chapter 42: The Meeting of the Minds

Devika rose to give Kitara a hug while Alasdair and Storm stepped aside to talk amongst themselves. Zayne and Declan hadn’t arrived yet.

“Are you okay?” Devika murmured as Kitara sat across the table from her.

“Yeah. Could have been a lot worse.”

Devika snorted. “You and I have very different definitions of ‘worse.’” The Historian glanced between her and the silverblood across the room, her dark eyes scrutinizing. “What is going on with you and Storm? You two seem—”

“Civil?” Kitara offered.

“Different,” Devika countered. “Closer.”

“He is my handler.”

No matter what Cornelius says.

“Sure, but…it feels like more than that. He didn’t want to let you leave his room last night. What was that about?”

“Nothing happened,” Kitara whispered defensively.

“I didn’t say anything did.” The Historian grinned. “But you proved my point, thinking that’s what I meant. He basically ordered you to stay with him, and you agreed. If there wasn’t something going on between you, you would have told him off.”

Kitara shifted in her seat, casting a sideways glance at Storm, who appeared immersed in his conversation with Alasdair. “It’s been a crazy twelve hours. I just needed a minute to…breathe.”

“The kissing’s that good, huh?”

“Oh my god, you’ve spent too much time with Declan,” Kitara said with a laugh, but a blush heated her cheeks.

“Who’s spent too much time with me?” The aforementioned Guardian walked in with Zayne at his side. “Dev?”

Devika’s eyes crinkled with amusement at her friend. “We’ll talk about this later.” She looked up at Declan. “No. Reading comprehension beyond a first-grade level is required to hang out with me.”

“Hey, I can read just fine, I just choose not to,” the Guardian replied good-naturedly, suggesting it wasn’t the first time the joke had been made at his expense. “I leave all the words to you nerds.”

“How are you feeling, Kitara?” Zayne asked, taking a seat across from her while Declan pulled up a chair next to Kitara.

“A little sore, but otherwise fine.”

Declan shot Storm a grin as he sat down on Kitara’s opposite side. “Sore, huh? Glad somebody finally ended his eight-month dry spell.”

Zayne shook his head. “Why do you even know that?”

“Gross,” Devika muttered.

“Perhaps it escaped your notice, Declan,” Kitara said dryly, “but I nearly died last night.”

“And I’m not a fan of necrophilia,” Storm added as Alasdair sat beside Devika. “I prefer my sexual partners to be willing participants, thanks.”

“Oh my god, you’re all terrible,” Devika groaned.

“So sweet and innocent,” Declan teased.

“I know things that would make your hair curl, Declan Seanste,” the Historian grumbled.

“Okay, I’m exhausted and not interested in anyone’s sex life, thanks,” Alasdair interrupted, to Kitara’s immense relief. “There’s a lot going on outside this office, so I’d like to get through what Storm and Dev found in Myragos, then get some sleep, if it’s all the same to you.”

Devika side-eyed him. “You need a vacation.”

He snorted. “Sure, if Ostragarn ever takes one.”

Zayne cleared his throat. “So what, exactly, are we doing here?”

“I’ve been reading up on the Ninthëvels,” Devika said, pulling her tablet closer. “Reading and re-reading the stuff Storm sent over, trying to figure out what it was about them that scared everyone so much. And while I can’t think of anything else they might want with the Fallen formula, I want to make sure we have as much information as possible to present to the High Council.”

“That’s the plan then?” Declan asked. “Taking it to the High Council?”

Storm nodded. “If Ostragarn’s figured out a way to synthesize the formula to work on Earth, then yes. They need to know so they can prepare.”

“There’s another explanation,” Kitara said quietly. “Maybe they’re trying to reverse-engineer the Fallen process…to use it.”

“What do you mean, Kit?” Storm asked.

“We know Valëtyria didn’t expect it to backfire,” she continued. “But if AIDO immortals suddenly couldn’t use their abilities and Netherlings could…”

“Stars,” Alasdair muttered. “We’d be doomed.”

“The perfect kind of revenge,” Storm added.

“It would take a lot more than restoring the Fallen to do that,” Devika pointed out. “Even if we were all Felled, we still have highly-trained Guardians and Warriors who can fight without extra abilities. We have defensive technology that, to this day, they haven’t figured out how to circumvent.”

“Their tech may have advanced in recent years, and we shouldn’t underestimate them,” Zayne countered. “Especially if they’re integrating human tech, it could have implications we haven’t even thought of.”

“Another Ninthëvel situation,” Devika muttered. “Storm and I couldn’t understand why Myragos would resort to something as drastic and destructive as this Fallen formula, but…I think I’ve found out why. If Itzal has developed technology anything like what the Ninthëvels could do, we’re…well…” The Historian entered a few keystrokes on her tablet. “I understand now why Myragos felt they needed to completely incapacitate them.”

“What did you find, Dev?” Zayne asked, leaning forward with interest.

“This passage sums it up the best,” Devika said, pulling up text on her screen. “ ‘Some Ninthëvels, like Shyamal, could bend the very fabric of the world to his will, creating and reshaping matter like he possessed infinite clay. Conversely, his brother, Cadfael, could unravel matter into its elemental components or destroy it completely: a mirror of his twin.’ ”

Only Kitara’s immaculate training kept her from visibly reacting to her father’s name, but her face paled. Storm glanced at her, his eyes clouding with concern, and she attempted to give him a reassuring half-smile.

“Unraveling matter?” Zayne asked. “Bending reality? Shit, no wonder Valëtyria wiped them out.”

Devika nodded. “The passage goes on to say those kinds of abilities were the exception, not the norm, but even the average Ninthëvel could hide in plain sight, invisible to eyes or

technology—”

Declan straightened, suddenly alert. “Invisible?”

The Historian glared at him, not appreciating the interruption. “That’s what it says.”

“’Hide in plain sight?’ ” Declan repeated.

“Would you like me to use smaller words?” Devika drawled. “I can, if you don’t understand—”

Declan waved her off. “Give me a minute.”

Devika muttered something under her breath about brainless meatheads.

“What is it, Dec?” Zayne cocked his head.

The Guardian studied the table. “Something’s been bothering me…about the night we went to the dark strip.”

Kitara tensed, touching gentle fingers to the trigger under her cropped hoodie and turning to face him.

“What, you getting stabbed?” Storm asked, an edge sharpening his tone.

“No, before that.” Declan glanced askance at Kitara. “How did you hang around the dark strip until we were thrown out, then follow us and a pack of demons without anyone realizing you were there?”

“It’s not my fault you weren’t paying attention,” Kitara responded tersely. “I’m very good at what I do.”

“So am I,” Declan retorted. “And it’s my job to pay attention.”

“Took you forever to realize the pack was there at all,” she pointed out.

“I knew they were there the minute we left the bar.”

“Shit, really?” Storm murmured.

Kitara blinked. If that was true, he was better at his job than she gave him credit for. “But then, why…?”

Declan leaned forward on the table, on the fringes of Kitara’s personal space, and she fought the urge to shift away. “Because if we tried to take off then, it would have drawn the attention of every other Netherling in the area. Because I’d hoped if we seemed unaware long enough, it would take them by surprise when we bolted—at least enough for us to get a solid head start. And if the head start wasn’t enough, I expected a little distance would give us an edge to take them on. Storm’s got a pretty impressive long-distance weapon if you didn’t notice.”

Storm rolled his eyes. “Really?”

Declan scowled at him before returning his attention to the Sleeper. “This time, I’m not joking.”

“All right, Dec, I give up, what’s your point?” Alasdair asked, a note of impatience in his voice.

“I’m getting there, calm down.” Declan didn’t take his eyes off Kitara. “You followed us in the air. I don’t care how good you are: I would have seen you, because otherwise you couldn’t have stayed close enough to know where we were headed. Then you appeared out of nowhere when I was stabbed. Scared me half to death, I’m man enough to admit it.”

He crossed his arms. “It’s been bothering me for weeks. How you found us so fast. How Storm took out the rest of the pack without getting stabbed himself. How I could possibly have missed you showing up.”

“Dec, what are you implying?” Zayne asked slowly.

Declan nodded at Kitara. “I think she can do it. The…invisibility thing Dev was talking about.”

Kitara’s thoughts spun as she tried to conceive a plausible excuse for that night. “You were stabbed, Declan,” she reminded him. “With something slicked in a poisonous paralytic. You probably just didn’t—”

“My mind was clear the whole time, Kitara,” he snapped. “It froze my limbs, not my brain. Some other things haven’t added up either. Storm’s mom, a Myragnar, trying to save a Netherling family. Storm’s dad seeming unable to tolerate even the idea of you. Why your wings are gold, not brown or black.”

Déjà vu struck hard.

“…Most Fallen have dirty-looking wings…nothing like yours…”

Out of instinct, Kitara turned her head as if to look over her shoulder. “The color of my wings? That’s what you’re basing this on?” she drawled. “Gold is a bit of a stretch. They’re black too.” Her wings tumbled out of her shoulders, and she flourished one practically in his face. “My primaries.” She pointed at the longest feathers on her wings’ fringe.

“Semantics,” Declan snapped.

“You know what, he’s right.” Zayne straightened in his seat. “I hadn’t ever considered it before, but…he’s right. I’ve never seen anyone with wings like yours: not Valorn, not Fallen. And I’ve studied the Fallen plenty.”

Alasdair didn’t comment, but his brow furrowed as he put the pieces together. The three of them watched her with intent expressions.

“Kitara?” Devika’s voice was small.

Kitara’s gaze flickered to her friend’s pale face, then to the silverblood who watched her as intently as the others.

The warmth of Storm’s aura enveloped her even as concern laced his private words to her. «I’m sorry, I had no idea Declan was obsessing over this.»

«It’s not your fault,» she replied. «I suppose it was inevitable, given the Ninthëvels’ involvement in the Fallen’s origins.»

«What are you going to do?»

Of all the people to put two and two together, Kitara would never have bet on Declan.

«Even if I successfully lie, Declan’s going to be suspicious,» she said. «He’ll be waiting to catch me doing it again, or anything else that might point to what I am. And if he doesn’t understand the full story, he might go to the High Council…»

Storm ran a nervous hand through his dark hair, sending it sticking up in all directions. «Which might end up with both of you executed.»

«And possibly the others too. I have to explain, otherwise you all might be at risk.»

«Stars and hellfire…»

“Kitara?” Devika said again.

The Sleeper sighed heavily. “Yes. Yes, I can do it.”