Source Born (Half-Blood Chronicles #3) (The Half-Blood Chronicles) Read online

  It shouldn’t have happened. Had I been wrong about the Source gift I’d grabbed?

  But I didn’t have time to wonder what had gone wrong. Somewhere, past the ringing in my ears, I could hear the sound of distant sirens.

  I got to my feet and started for an alleyway I knew cut through to the next street over. I was still dizzy, and nearly stumbled into a pile of trash.

  I stumbled out the other side of the alley. As I tried to remember where I’d stashed my little flip-phone, I heard the angry honking of a car.

  I looked up and saw a maroon sedan swerve around a double-parked truck.

  Nash’s car. I breathed a sigh of relief as he pulled up beside me.

  “Geez, Kes. What happened?”

  I shook my head—and instantly regretted it. “Just go. We need to get out of here.”

  He nodded.

  After a few minutes later, I was feeling marginally better—though I was afraid to look in the mirror.

  I crumbled a burnt piece of hair between my fingers and swore.

  Nash glanced over.

  I sighed. “I should’ve known better.”

  “I’m guessing things didn’t go so well with your dad.”

  “No—I mean, yes. But forget about that. The whole thing was a set-up.”

  “By your dad?”

  I snapped, “Don’t call him that.” I took a moment to collect myself. “No, he had nothing to do with it. Someone brought the two of us there.”

  “Why?”

  I shook my head. Maybe the better question was how I’d fallen for such an obvious trick.

  Because you wanted to.

  “So who do you think it was? Task Force, or—”

  He didn’t finish the sentence. Neither of us was superstitious, but saying The Alliance out loud felt like it was just asking for trouble.

  “I don’t think it was MTF. That note from Jonathan—it just seemed too…personal.”

  “Did you see your attacker?”

  “Sort of.” I described the guys in the alley, adding, “They’re toast now.”

  Literally. Ugh.

  “Did they have magic?”

  “Probably, but…” I told Nash how my magic hadn’t worked right. First nothing—then complete and utter chaos.

  “You sure you, uh, grabbed the right magic?”

  I shot him a look.

  I mean, I was pretty sure. I’d been practicing with Melantha’s ring for over a year now. By now, it was practically second nature.

  We slowed. Up ahead, there was a line of cars backed up down the street.

  I sat up straight, suddenly alert.

  “I thought you were going to avoid the checkpoints.”

  “This one is new.” He frowned and pulled into the far lane. But there was no way to bail out now. “Damn it.”

  We were blocked in—and headed straight for a police roadblock.

  Chapter 3

  I swore under my breath. “What do we do now?”

  Nash smiled grimly. “We go through it.” He studied me for a moment. “But maybe—fix your hair first? We don’t want to give them any reason to be curious.”

  With a sigh, I pulled down the visor and checked my reflection in the tiny, dusty mirror.

  It wasn’t pretty. But I did my best and hoped whoever was up there wouldn’t look too closely.

  The checkpoints had started a few months ago. They were part of the reason I no longer left my neighborhood.

  Official word was that they were there because of the uptick in crime around our area. But everyone knew they were there to keep an eye on the magic-blood population.

  Some people even believed that they had Sniffers on hand, and that they catalogued everyone by their Source gifts.

  The car slowed, and Nash rolled down his window.

  A uniformed officer leaned into the car. He took a good, long look at me, and I thought I saw his nose wrinkle. I probably smelled like I’d fallen into a barbecue pit.

  “What’s your business here?”

  “We live here.” Nash sounded annoyed.

  I winced. Nash probably thought that his attitude made him seem less suspicious, but I wasn’t sure this was the best technique.

  The officer withdrew and muttered something inaudible to his partner, who smirked.

  When he returned, his face was all business. “Technically, this area is still under curfew after seven o’clock.”

  It was just past five. I was pretty sure we wouldn’t take two hours to go the handful of blocks to our apartment.

  But Nash smiled, as though this were useful information. I guess he’d decided his new technique wasn’t working. “I understand, officer.”

  We were a block away before either of us spoke.

  “Well, that was a lot of sweating for nothing,” I joked, trying to lighten the mood.

  Nash didn’t smile. “That’s the third new checkpoint in a month. I don’t like it.”

  “I don’t like it either, but what are we supposed to do? Write a letter?”

  “They’re paying more attention to this neighborhood.”

  “Can you blame them? I mean, just look at this place.” I gestured out the window.

  As we got further from the checkpoint, the neighborhood changed. More boarded-up windows, bars on front doors.

  There were no police cars here. I doubted even the MTF came into this neighborhood. It was not the kind of place most non-magical outsiders would even consider venturing into.

  But it was the safest place for someone like me. Which meant that for now, it was home.

  I looked back at Nash, who was still scowling.

  “Okay, whatever it is, just say it.”

  His jaw tightened. “Might be time to move.”

  I let a beat pass. “Where?”

  He glanced over. “I hear they’re still looking for help in Seattle…”

  We’d had this conversation before. But it seemed to come up with greater frequency, lately.

  “Great. So we move some place where we can put a giant target on our backs.”

  Nash was silent. Probably remembering the last time we’d been in Seattle.

  “We’re going to have a target on our backs no matter where we hide.”

  I bristled. “We’re not hiding. We’re surviving.”

  “We should be fighting.”

  “Who?” I gestured at the window, back toward the checkpoint. “Those guys? They don’t even know what they’re dealing with.”

  We passed under a now-familiar billboard, and I looked away. The Sotheby Foundation seemed to have sprung up out of nowhere. Now it seemed to be everywhere.

  And while they claimed their goal was to foster understanding between magic and non-magical people—their most high-profile division was called Partnership for Peace, which always made me laugh—I knew they had to have a more sinister purpose.

  After all, Galen Sotheby ran it.

  “At least in Seattle, there was work.”

  Well, I couldn’t argue with that. Junie had let us work in the coffee shop she owned, and there were plenty of odd jobs of the (mostly) non-criminal variety.

  Here, we had only the dwindling cash we’d saved from our time there, and the pittance the Council had thrown us in the beginning.

  Whenever Nash came home with extra cash, I knew not to ask how he’d earned it.

  But I wasn’t about to go back to Seattle. Not after that last meeting with Junie. Nash knew that.

  I said, “The Sourceblood Council…”

  Nash scowled. “Useless.”

  I said nothing. On that, at least, we agreed.

  We parked the car on a side street a few blocks from our place and headed home.

  The argument was over. Now was the time to be alert, and neither of us wanted to make ourselves into an easy target.

  Technically, we had nothing to worry about. We were half-bloods, after all. But being inside the bounds of a no-go zone for police had attracted certain elements to the neighbor
hood.

  It was one of the reasons that we’d replaced the dilapidated truck Marcus had helped me get with an aging sedan that wasn’t much better.

  A better car, in addition to being outside our price range, would have attracted the wrong kind of attention.

  Not that we were easy targets. Between my ring-enhanced powers and Nash’s status as a more-than-competent Striker, we could hold our own in a fight—if it came to that.

  But we were trying to keep a low profile, and fighting might draw another kind of attention.

  So far as I knew, the Alliance hadn’t tracked me down. Maybe they weren’t even looking for me. But other members of the Sourceblood Council had disappeared over the past year.

  Nev still hadn’t returned from her last mission.

  And so, as much as the Sourceblood Council had disappointed me, they weren’t wrong.

  For now, our job was to lay low. Wait. Survive.

  Our apartment was at the rear of an aging, three-story row house that looked as though it had survived several wars. We were on the first floor, and most of our windows looked out onto an alley filled with trash.

  We might have had a better view on the top floor, but Nash hadn’t been willing to compromise on that. He’d always insisted we might need a quick exit.

  There was a flyer tucked under our door. I stooped to grab it, then grimaced as I caught sight of the telltale Sotheby Foundation logo—a pair of hands intertwined in the universal symbol of goodwill.

  I crumpled the flyer. Nash pretended not to notice as he unlocked the door.

  I was starting to mutter something under my breath when I felt Nash go still.

  Through the half-open door, I saw it—and understood.

  The kitchen light was off.

  When we left, it had been on.

  Beside me, Nash tensed, ready with his Striker magic. I started to feel around the ether—anything would have been better than nothing.

  Of course, if the same thing happened as before, we’d have a problem. I really didn’t want to blow up our apartment.

  We stepped inside, Nash going toward the kitchen, and me staying well outside his line of fire.

  A shadow emerged from the kitchen. A portly, diminutive shadow.

  Of course, that didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t dangerous—

  But as the figure stepped into the waning afternoon light of the living room, I relaxed.

  I knew this guy—though the last time I’d seen him, I hadn’t been happy with him.

  I held up a hand. “It’s okay, Nash. This is Mr. Bartleby. He’s from the Council.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  Mr. Bartleby—whose name I was sure was completely made up—gave an awkward cough. Dressed in a worn sports-coat and faded pants, he gave off the air of an eccentric professor. “Well, are you going to invite me in?”

  “You’re already in.” Nash’s voice was flat.

  “Have I done something to offend you?”

  Nash shot me a look. Has he?

  I suppressed a sigh and shook my head. Then addressed Mr. Bartleby directly. “Why are you here?”

  “I need to ask a favor of you.” His smile, though, suggested that he was going to do me one.

  I’d met with the Sourceblood Council only a handful of times since learning of their existence. Each time, I’d walked away disappointed.

  The last time, I had demanded to know what they were doing about Sol. And Melantha. And Nev. The Alliance seemed to be picking us off one by one.

  The answer was always the same.

  Rescue is simply not an option. The Council cannot afford to draw the notice of the Alliance.

  The last time I’d heard that, I’d spat back angrily, Don’t you think it’s a little late for that?

  I hadn’t expected to see them after that.

  “A favor.” I repeated the word, trying to make sense of it. “What kind of favor?”

  Mr. Bartleby was still smiling. “How would you like to save the world?”

  Chapter 4

  He was joking. He had to be. “I don’t understand.”

  He eyed the kitchen. “Then why don’t you invite me in for tea, and I can explain it to you?”

  I exchanged a look with Nash.

  Nash said, “We don’t have any tea.”

  That, at least was true. I suppressed a smile, in spite of my foul mood.

  I offered Mr. Bartleby one of the mismatched chairs at our small second-hand table. “We might have some instant coffee.”

  Maybe I would regret this. But I didn’t have anything better to do.

  For fun, I reached into the ether, just to see what was floating around.

  Well, that’s interesting.

  The second I reached for my magic, I ran into a wall. I was completely blocked from using my magic. Mr. Bartleby had a Damper nearby.

  It was an understandable precaution. But it was really going to piss off Nash.

  I glanced at him. He was hovering in the kitchen doorway, watching with narrowed eyes as Mr. Bartleby made himself comfortable at our table.

  Yeah, he definitely knew about the Damper.

  I found the little tin of instant coffee and started the electric kettle.

  It occurred to me that I was hosting the head of the Sourceblood Council. After Nev’s disappearance, Mr. Bartleby had taken over.

  I brought him his coffee in a mug that said World’s Sexiest Grandma. Another thrift store purchase.

  He eyed the mug a moment, then said, “Let me get straight to the point. The Alliance has been busy. They have six of the seven Relics.”

  I had been in the process of setting down my own mug, and nearly spilled it.

  I had been expecting something like this…but not this.

  The Alliance had all but one Relic.

  Someone was behind me. Nash had detached himself from the doorway and was leaning across the table, which creaked ominous. “Please tell me the Council has the other.”

  Mr. Bartleby smiled thinly. “Unfortunately, no.”

  “And you came here to tell us the good news.”

  I glanced at Nash. I had a sinking feeling I knew where this was going.

  I really hoped I was wrong.

  “The other Relic…You’re talking about the one Sol took to Outlaw City. The one Hades stole.”

  He cocked his head. “Yes. I forget sometimes…you were there.”

  Yes. I still got a twisting feeling in my gut when I thought of how Sol had shooed me away, told me to run—while he faced down Kronos.

  “At any rate, that Relic ended up in the possession of Liberatus Sforza. Not entirely a surprise, considering Hades’s…loyalties.”

  Meaning: Hades was, and always had been, a giant suck-up.

  “Okay, so Sforza has the Relic. The last Relic.”

  Nash said, “Please tell me he’s on our side.”

  Mr. Bartleby blinked. “We don’t know.” Then he shook his head and seemed to reconsider. “No, it’s worse than that. We’ve heard rumors that Sforza had brokered a deal with the Alliance. The seventh Relic, in exchange for—well, we don’t know. Perhaps he imagines he would earn himself a place of privilege and security in the new world.”

  “The new world,” I repeated. “You’re talking about after they unite the Relics and…”

  Magical Armageddon, Sol had called it.

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  His unflappable demeanor was getting to me.

  I said angrily, “When Outlaw City blew up, the Alliance had no Relics. Now they have all of them except the one Sforza stole. What have you guys been doing all this time?”

  He looked at me with those mild brown eyes. His expression seemed to say, Well, what did you expect us to do?

  “I thought the whole point of the Council was to stop this from happening!”

  At least, that was what Sol had told me.

  “Yes, that is all correct. In fact, we anticipated it.”

  “You knew this wo
uld happen?”

  He smiled. “The Alliance’s resources are superior to ours. One might even argue that they have the stronger motivation for finding them.”

  He spread his hands. Was it just me, or did he seem almost…pleased?

  “It made perfect sense that they should do the heavy lifting.”

  I took a moment before answering. I was sure I was misunderstanding him. “You let them get the Relics?”

  He nodded.

  I felt my control slipping away. “And you didn’t think there might be a downside to this plan?”

  “We understood there was risk involved. But as long as we could retrieve the seventh Relic before they did, then everything would work to our advantage.”

  For a moment, I was speechless. The arrogance of it.

  I wanted to laugh. Or cry.

  I shook my head. “You just assumed they could get six…but not seven?”

  “We invested our resources in keeping tabs on Sforza. We assumed he would end up making a bargain with the Alliance. At which point, we would step in and take all seven from them.”

  Nash said, “So what’s the problem? Sounds like he did make the bargain with them.”

  “Yes. He did.” Mr. Bartleby’s smile was slightly strained now. “Unfortunately, he seems to have disappeared.”

  I felt my jaw drop. “Disappeared?”

  But it wouldn’t have been the first time. For the better part of last year, we’d all thought that Sforza was dead.

  Nash snorted.

  For the first time, Mr. Bartleby’s smile faltered. “At first we thought the Alliance had grabbed him…but, well—”

  “The world didn’t end,” I supplied.

  “Indeed. Perhaps he suspected they would come after him…and disappeared before they could do so.”

  I was starting to get a headache. “I don’t know what you expect me to do.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Bring us the Relic.”

  “Let me get this straight. You want me to track down Sforza. Bring back the seventh Relic. All while the Alliance is looking for the exact same thing.”

  “More or less.”

  “And you thought I was the person for the job?”

  “No. Not at first.” His smile had an edge to it now. “But we’re running rather low on other options. We’ve sent other Council members out on this mission. They didn’t come back.”