Okay. I did care. And it pissed me off.

I replayed the scene over in my mind, trying to figure out why he’d even say such things about me. And then a thought occurred. He’d thrown me off the scent. Distraction Techniques 101. He’d known the right words to say to get me to stop the questions that had been gathering about him and Pendaran. How it seemed like the Druid knew Hank, or knew of him. That had to be it, because Hank being a jerk just for the hell of it didn’t sit well with me. The stuck voice-mod couldn’t have changed him that much.

Maybe his reputation in Elysia preceded him. Charbydons came to Atlanta for obvious reasons—their world was a hot, crowded, hellish place, and it was slowly dying. Elysians, on the other hand, lived in a heavenly paradise. Didn’t seem like a place anyone would want to leave, unless you were running from something, or wanted an escape, or your own territory, or were simply following leaders or loved ones.

I never really questioned why Hank had left Elysia.

Maybe I ought to start.

6

The minute I crossed the plaza where Mercy Street, Helios Alley, and Solomon Street converged, a huge sense of relief washed over me. Out of the drizzle, thank God. At least here in Underground, the darkness only rolled in via the fog when it rained heavily.

Underground was the largest off-world sector in Atlanta, with three main streets that divided the population. Elysians had claimed much of Helios Alley and a few areas Topside, just as the Charbydons had filled Solomon Street to the brim—the jinn, the Mafia of Underground, going so far as to carve out their own territory in the bedrock beneath the streets of Underground.

I headed for Mercy Street, the dividing line, the buffer between the two off-world factions. Mercy Street provided a nice balance of human, Elysian, and Charbydon businesses run and patronized by those who cared more about making money (or spending it) than old wars and endless grudges. Restaurants, shops, nightclubs, bars, spell shops, apothecaries—everything existed down here, and if your need was the slightest bit peculiar, supernatural, or off-world, you’d find it on Mercy Street.

As I strolled over the brick pavers that made up the carless street, my thoughts turned to my sister, Bryn. I hadn’t seen her in two days. And she hadn’t bothered to return my calls, though I knew from Aaron that she was okay. It was time for a visit.

I stepped around a sales cart on wheels that held an assortment of rough-cut off-world stones, and shook my head to the vendor, a goblin. For a second, my heart contracted. Auggie, one of my informants, had been a goblin—a bony, yellow-eyed, blunt-toothed, cash-loving guy with a penchant for spellmongering and gossip. I missed him calling my name from the shadows. In the end, he’d tried to protect me from three jinn warriors pushing ash on the street. He’d died for the effort, and I’d never forget him.

I went to open the door to Hodgepodge, my sister’s variety shop, expecting the tinkling of bells and to hear Gizmo’s squawk as he patrolled the comings and goings from his perch atop the bookcase by the door. I was slowly warming to the little gray gargoyle even though I held my ground on the fact that a spell and a gargoyle were no substitute for a real security system.

The door didn’t open.

Frowning, I pulled again, realizing it wasn’t stuck, but double-locked. What the hell? I tried my key, but it didn’t work. I cupped my hands and peered inside, then stepped back and noticed the small sign in the window.

“Closed until further notice?”

“Been closed three days now,” the goblin’s sandpaper voice called from his cart. Three days? My stomach dropped out, and he must have seen my alarm. “Oh, she’s fine.” He glanced up at the apartment windows over the shop. “See her shadow passing every once in a while.”

I stepped away from the door and approached the cart. “How often does she leave the apartment?”

He wiped the stone dust from his long, skeletal fingers, leaving shimmering gray streaks on his dark apron. “More information will cost you.”

The anticipation of money set his dull yellow irises aglow, and I smiled in spite of myself as I reached into the back pocket of my jeans with a brief second of hesitation. I was about to buy information on my own sister.

Bryn hadn’t been the same since waking up in the hospital after her forced ash overdose, and I was getting increasingly concerned.

“Here’s a ten.”

He licked his cracked lips and reached out, carefully pinching the corner of the bill. Once he had it, it went to his large nose, where he drew in a breath so deep that it sucked the ten against his nostrils. “It’s old.” He folded the bill and shoved it into his pocket.

“The new ones are for serious info. All I want to know is if she comes and goes and how often.”

“The Hodgepodge woman comes out once a day to take pizza delivery or delivery from Abracas.” He motioned to the popular restaurant and pub across the street. “No more, no less.”

Damn it. “Thanks.” I paused and turned back to the goblin. “What’s your name?”

His eyes went narrow, assessing, deciding if there was worth, a monetary future, in telling me. “Otto.”

I nodded and then walked past the shop’s main entrance, past the display window and a span of brick wall to the door that led to Bryn’s apartment over the shop. I had a key, but I didn’t use it. Juvenile, maybe, but I wanted my sister to get up, to show some fire, some interest in life. I pressed her buzzer and held it for a count of five. I was about to press it again when her voice came over the intercom.

“What?”

“It’s Charlie; let me up.”

“Use your key.”

“Just buzz me in.”

Silence. And then, “I’m busy …”

“What, taking the day off? If you don’t let me—”

The door buzzed. I growled, jerked it open, and then jogged up the steps. As I reached the small landing, she opened the door.

“Damn it, Bryn …” She was pale. Hair in unwashed tangles. Wearing boxers and an old Georgia Tech T-shirt. Dark smudges cradled her eyes. She looked … muted. Grayed out. My chest hurt.

A spark of annoyance lit her eyes, but she stepped aside, letting me into the gloomy apartment, the only light coming from the spastic blue glow of the television set.

Immediately I began opening the blinds for some street light as she plopped on the sofa and watched me with indifference before grabbing the remote and flicking through stations. Once the blinds were open, I grabbed a towel from the bathroom, dried my hair, washed my neck the best I could, and then replaced my shirt—since the collar was damp and reeked of hellhound breath—with one of Bryn’s clean, dry ones.

Her fridge held nothing but condiments and spoiled leftovers and a few bottled waters. I grabbed one, noticing the trash was overflowing with takeout boxes. Gizmo had curled his cat-sized body into an open pizza box on the floor and was snoring away.

I went into the living area and handed her the water.

Bryn opened the cap and took an angry drink, before leaning back into the cushions and drawing her feet up under her. I couldn’t stand it. I wanted to shake her, to yell because the change in her was so extreme and I had no idea how to help her. I wanted my sister back, the vibrant, auburn-haired, freckle-nosed earth mage who walked around in flowing skirts and tinkling ankle bracelets.

“Please make an appointment to see someone.”

She laughed. “Who would you like me to see, Charlie? I don’t think there’s a shrink who deals with forced drug addiction.”

“So?” I sat on the arm of the love seat. “The point is to talk. You used to love to talk. All the time. About anything.”

A snort came from her pale lips, and she scratched her dirty scalp. “Yeah well, that was before I became hooked on ash.”