Change of Heart (The Potentate of Atlanta Book 3) Read online

  Mouth tight, she stepped into the streetlight. “Can we talk?”

  “Kind of busy here.” I indicated the sword. “Can this wait?”

  “You’ve been avoiding my calls, and you don’t use the lobby at the Faraday.”

  “I’ll watch your back,” Bishop offered to me then warned her, “Talk fast.”

  He drifted away, not that it made a lick of difference given his sharp hearing, but it did the trick.

  “This is all my fault. I’m the one who put the idea in Midas’s head that he had to choose.” She yanked a tired hand through her hair. “I warned him you were bad for the pack. I convinced him giving you up was the best thing for us all. It came from a selfish place, and I’m sorry.”

  This unburdening went a long way toward explaining that day in the lobby, and his comment.

  As much as it hurt to hear her say those things, I couldn’t let her keep thinking she was to blame.

  “Our breakup wasn’t your fault,” I assured her. “It was mine.”

  Ares wasn’t listening. Neither of us were. We were too busy shouting over one another to be heard.

  “Liz is pregnant. We’ve tried for years, years, and it finally happened.” She wiped her eyes. “I got protective, overprotective, and I let my fear get the better of me.” Her eyes pleaded with me. “I’m—I’m sorry. So sorry. Please, give him another chance.”

  “Congratulations,” I said, and I meant it. “You’re wrong, though. Trust me. I screwed this up all on my own. Midas doesn’t need another chance. He needs to forget he ever met me.”

  Bishop cleared his throat, and Ares deflated on the spot.

  “I have to go.” I backed away from her. “I really am happy for you.”

  Turning away from her, from that chapter of my past, I rejoined Bishop, and we plodded on toward our last stop.

  “Do you feel better knowing?” He angled his head toward me. “It was bothering you.”

  “Her opinion of me doesn’t matter anymore.”

  This gave me closure in the arena of our friendship, but that was about it. It didn’t help, and it didn’t hurt. Information in one ear and out the other, only passing through.

  “I haven’t had my heart broken in a good long while.” He kept a step ahead of me. “I had forgotten how utterly miserable love makes you.”

  I didn’t love him.

  That’s what I wanted to say, but I couldn’t speak through the tightness in my throat.

  I didn’t know him that well.

  Just enough I could see the hazy outline of a future together.

  He didn’t know me at all.

  Only better than anyone.

  A long shadow peeled from the darkness ahead and planted its feet wide across the mouth of the alley.

  Not to be outdone, Ambrose mimicked it. Mocked it, more like. Swelling himself to its size.

  The short man who walked up behind it wearing a lab coat and thick glasses squinted at us.

  “What do you want?” he demanded. “You’ve got the stink of fae and witchcraft on you.”

  Thanks to the sight, and the charms I used to conceal my identity, he wasn’t wrong.

  “Who are you?” I reached into Ambrose for my second blade. “Are you coven?”

  “Are you coven?” He pointed what I realized was a pen at me. “Have you come to steal from me too?”

  “I’m Hadley Whitaker.” I lowered my weapons. “The coven stole from you?”

  “The new potentate,” he said thoughtfully. “Prove you are who you say you are, and we can talk.”

  Aside from my debit card, I didn’t carry much in the way of ID. “What proof will you accept?”

  “Your word.”

  “I’m a necromancer,” I reminded him. “You get that my word isn’t magically binding, right?”

  “Oh.” His nose quivered. “Fair point.” He eyed Bishop. “How about yours?”

  “You have my oath that we mean you and yours no harm so long as you claim the same,” he said without hesitation, and magic saturated the vow. “My word is given.”

  “Best we do this inside.” He jabbed the shadow in the knee. “Eustice, come along.” He glanced back. “I’m Dr. Ronald Smythe, by the way.”

  The towering giant shriveled to the size of a large dog and loped beside the peculiar man.

  Ambrose, not to be outdone, reduced himself into a cat that pranced over to strop my ankles.

  Since he had been a good boy and leapt to defend us, more or less, I tossed him a salted caramel square.

  “We’re safe enough.” Bishop allowed me to take the lead. “He’s a minor fae.”

  “What’s that thing with him?”

  “No clue.”

  Ambrose, in a plea to get more chocolate, volunteered that the shadow and the man tasted the same.

  “All right then.” Like a sucker, I dropped another chocolate into the void. “Let’s be alert, shall we?”

  Hurrying to catch up to the man, we met him at the entrance I had detected just yesterday.

  “You’ll have to forgive the mess.” He flushed. “I don’t often get visitors.”

  “You’re fine,” I assured him. “You should see my place. It looks like a bomb went off in there.”

  Bishop shut his eyes, as if my sense of humor caused him physical pain, then shook his head.

  Laughter was a great coping mechanism. It was also a great defense mechanism. I tended to joke, a lot, with varying degrees of success.

  The doorway I’d discovered opened smoothly once our host found the right key, and he ushered us inside then sealed us in. He had been right to warn us. His place looked worse than my apartment, and that was saying something. Since, you know, the bomb thing had been literal.

  A living area occupied the left side of the space, and it was tidy in the way of unused rooms. A lab cluttered the right side, and it was utter chaos. Potions bubbled in honest-to-goddess caldrons suspended over the hearth. Vials of liquids oozed vapor onto the aged-wood countertops. Aquariums teeming with all manner of creatures lined the back wall, most of them insectoid or amphibian.

  “I expect you’re here about the periplaneta compressa. That’s what the coven stole from me.” He indicated a tufted couch and claimed a chair across from it. “Poor darlings.” He clucked his tongue. “They’re so misunderstood.”

  “We’re here about giant cockroaches that infect live hosts, control them while they mature, and then explode out of them to start the cycle over again.”

  “Miraculous creatures.” Reverence seeped into his voice. “The mechanics of it all...”

  “Did you hear the live host part?” I pressed. “Or do you just not care?”

  “They feed on insects,” he said slowly, his eyes shining. “Oh! Are you a fellow entomologist then?”

  “Hold on.” I raised my hand. “You’re saying these things you created preyed on fellow insects?”

  “That was the whole point, my dear, yes.” He grew animated. “A hybrid of predator and prey. One might call it the ultimate hunting machine.” He laced his fingers. “I hypothesized that, using modified radio waves, I could control the minds of the infected hosts. Can you imagine?”

  Roaches that listened to this guy? No. Not really. “How does that work if they don’t have ears?”

  “Well, that is to say, I…” He flushed. “To ensure the success of the project, you understand, I made a few slight modifications.” He shoved his glasses up his nose. “The alpha hybrids’ reactions to radio waves weren’t quite as promising as I had hoped, so I modified them. I gave the beta hybrids the superior ears of the katydid, Copiphora gorgonensis, which are almost mammalian in their complexity.”

  I had known the Martian Roaches could hear, but I hadn’t been sure how much of that was based on their current host’s faculties, and, honestly, it was all so gross I skimmed a lot of my reading material.

  “Initial testing proved the beta hybrids were viable,” he continued, “their hearing flawless, but then there was
the break-in.”

  “How did they find your…” I wavered on what to call this place, “…facility?”

  “I haven’t the foggiest.” He patted his thigh, and his shadow dog padded over to flop its head onto his lap. “Eustice and I don’t get much company. The occasional investor, naturally, comes to check on the progress of their order.” He rubbed the creature’s ears. “The corporation behind the hybrids was furious when I reported that my notes and the specimens themselves had been stolen.”

  “You got paid for Frankensteining the hybrids?”

  “I am, sadly, forced to work. I must earn money to fund my less glamourous projects.”

  Nothing came to mind less glamourous than breeding roaches, so I kept my mouth shut.

  “I hate to tell you this, but the people who stole your hybrids mutated them with magic and set them loose on the citizens of Atlanta.”

  Eustice whined and leaned against his master’s leg. “What sort of monster would do that?”

  “A witchborn fae coven out to seize control of the city by wiping out anyone who opposes them,” Bishop told him. “And it gets better.”

  Poor thing, he actually brightened with hope. “Better?”

  “He was being sarcastic,” I apologized. “They’ve also synthesized its saliva as the base for a street drug they’re calling Faete.” Might as well get it all out there. “We’ve also been made aware they’re selling their parts for various medicinal purposes.”

  The man slumped against the back of his chair, and his eyes filled with unshed tears. “The poor dears.”

  “You said the beta hybrids were flawless.” I leaned forward to get his attention. “Do you think you can do your Pied Piper thing on them?”

  “I’m not sure.” He stared at the ceiling. “What a corruption of all things good in this world.”

  Again, I bit my lip. I had smushed too many roaches in my day to fully appreciate his grief.

  “We’ve got a live one,” Bishop tempted him. “Would you like to see it? Test your control, maybe?”

  “Yes.” He shot upright, and Eustice yelped. “Oh, yes.” He stroked his pet. “Please.”

  Trusting Bishop to know what he was doing, I let him bait his trap.

  This guy was valuable. He could be the cure to both the roach and the drug problem. Finally, we were getting somewhere.

  It wasn’t enough to make up for losing Midas, yet, but it put me one step closer to making peace with the trade.

  Twenty-Two

  As luck would have it, Reece had finished his sample-taking and observation period earlier in the week. I just hadn’t crawled out of my misery long enough to notice. He had surrendered the Martian Roach to the cleaners, so my worries about revealing HQ to a total stranger proved unfounded. We crashed the cleaners’ lab instead, using Reece’s friend as our in.

  Siobhan was tall, a redhead, and in possession of a faint accent. She was also dead serious about her job.

  “I can give you twenty minutes.” She led us through the compound. “More than that, and I’ll get fired.”

  “Hear that, Smythe?” I eyed his arsenal. “Twenty minutes.”

  Bishop, proving he was the smart one, set a timer on his phone.

  “I’ll have to pinpoint the proper frequency and then test a variety of sequences,” Smythe pleaded his case. “It’s a delicate process that requires finesse.”

  “Finesse it all you like,” Bishop said, “as long as you don’t take more than twenty minutes.”

  Smythe grumbled under his breath about the integrity of science, but he nodded.

  The room Siobhan led us to was filled with cages for an assortment of creatures. The one occupied by our friend the Martian Roach was enormous. It hissed at our approach, and Smythe rushed to its side. Had I not rushed a bit faster and caught his hand, he would have lost it to the roach’s scissoring pinchers.

  “It wouldn’t have hurt me,” he protested. “It was merely curious.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “If you taste like chicken.”

  “Look at that face. What a beauty.” Unshed tears turned his eyes glassy. “I wonder if it remembers me.”

  “I’m sure it does,” I lied flatly. “Look how its antennae quiver when you’re around.”

  Spirits buoyed, Smythe unpacked his laptop, brought up his synthesizer program, and began testing harmonies.

  Siobhan, Bishop, and I withdrew after extracting a promise from Smythe to keep his hands to himself.

  “This creature will save a lot of lives,” Siobhan said. “Thank you for allowing us to run our tests.”

  Unlike most cleaners, who preferred their own company to that of anyone else’s, Siobhan had a soft spot for Reece. Their working relationship, or whatever it was, had benefited us time and time again.

  “The local packs have lost enough.” I tried not to dwell on what the news had dubbed The Mendelsohn Massacre and failed. “They’re the ones being targeted hardest by the coven.” I tried not to dwell on the Atlanta gwyllgi pack and failed even harder. “The OPA is happy to share our resources with anyone willing to help us secure an antidote.”

  “I heard the gwyllgi have teenagers on life support.” She rubbed her arms. “Is that true?”

  “It was the last I heard.” I killed that line of inquiry. “Have you made any progress?”

  “Anything we have, we put in DORA.” She exhaled. “We’re not holding back. We’re just at a loss.”

  Reece and Doughty were still in Savannah with the antidote, but I wasn’t sure if information flowed both ways between her and Reece. I figured it was safer if I kept my reassurances that the best people in the state were on the problem to myself. For now.

  “Yes,” Smythe shouted, triumphant. “I’ve done it.”

  We all turned to find the man doing what might be loosely interpreted as a dance in some circles. That wasn’t the interesting thing, well, except in the way of train wrecks you can’t look away from. No, what sparked his booty-shaking fit of euphoria was the roach balancing on its hind legs with its forelimbs over its head in a mockery of fifth position in ballet.

  “I can do it.” Smythe whirled toward us. “I can do it.”

  The guy’s enthusiasm was catching, I had to admit. “Can you help us lure them all out of the city?”

  “I know just the place.” He snapped his fingers. “It can be a sanctuary.”

  Bishop stepped on my foot before I made the colossal mistake of telling Smythe we couldn’t allow them to live.

  “We’ll arrange for a contingent of sentinels to help us herd them,” Bishop told him. “Give me the coordinates for the area you have in mind, and we’ll make it happen.”

  “Time,” Siobhan called. “You’ll have to finish your scheming via text or video chat.”

  Extricating Smythe from his new true love proved difficult, but he got with the program after I hooked my arm through his and dragged him from the room. Unimpressed with me, but unwilling to pick a fight, the shadow dog trotted at his master’s side.

  “I know it’s the height of rudeness to ask,” I started, “but what is Eustice?”

  As the not-so-proud owner of my own animate shadow, I was curious how a fae ended up with one.

  “Questions are always welcome.” He beamed. “It’s fascinating, really. I was attempting to cure multiple personality disorder in a friend’s carpenter bee when I mixed up the enzyme for its treatment with that of another project and accidentally ingested the formula.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” I already regretted asking him. “Yes, fascinating.”

  “I haven’t told you the best part.” He patted Eustice fondly. “The enzyme reacted to a spell an associate cast on me later in the day to remove boils and voila. My shadow split from me into its own sentient being. Totally harmless of course, but great company and excellent at spooking the riffraff.”

  “That is fascinating,” I said again and meant it this time. “Do you think you could duplicate the results?”

  “I tried, for
the friend I mentioned in fact, but no such luck.” He deflated a bit. “I suspect there to be a species component to it. He was a witch, and his shadow remained firmly stuck to him. Who is to say it wouldn’t work on another witch or another faction? I haven’t tried again. No time and no funding. And, to be honest, it’s not my area of expertise.”

  A dybbuk wasn’t the same as a simple shadow, not even close, so it was ridiculous to get my hopes up for a miracle cure.

  Once we tucked our scientist friend safely behind his wards with his promise to be ready for a full-on roach assault at dusk, um, I mean, our eco-friendly and totally humane roach relocation program, Bishop and I called it a night.

  “Don’t even try it,” Bishop warned. “I’m walking you home.”

  I don’t have a home almost popped out, but I kept a tight lid on the pity party.

  With my apartment a smoking crater and my personal life a disaster movie, I had trouble remembering why it was so important to keep on keeping on. This was the sequel, after all. I had lost my home, my friends, my family once before.

  “Suit yourself.”

  I hadn’t decided yet if he was worried that I might keep walking one night, right out of the city. Just walk until I got tired and start a new life wherever the blisters on my heels burst. More than likely, he feared I might get cornered by citizens who’d learned my identity and wanted a piece of me. Dybbuks exist outside Society laws. We’re the product of a broken rule. Therefore, they don’t much care what happens to me.

  Halfway to the Faraday, I got tired of the silence and engaged. “You’re not going to let the man have his roach sanctuary, are you?”

  “Do I look crazy to you?” He pointed a finger at me. “Don’t answer that.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it, but yes.”

  “I have plans.” He rubbed his hands together. “Big plans.”

  Oh goddess. “Make sure you clear those with Linus.”

  “You are the boss.” He cackled. “What Linus doesn’t know won’t hurt me.”

  “I have been considering a lengthy vacation, somewhere tropical, without roaches.”

  Or friends who got that certain glimmer in their eyes when the opportunity for mass destruction arose.