Lead Demon

Hearing The Last of It?

Seven snapped back to the present, felt his treacherous face flush. The question was enough to slam him back into his body, though. It was enough to make him stop thinking of something better and focus on everything that had happened since.

“Because,” he replied. It was all Jarrett would get. At least for now. “Why did you?”

Jarrett shrugged. “I thought it sounded more commanding than ‘Glenn.’” He sighed. “Speaking of... I need to go talk to Cassandra. She’ll have learned we made it back, and she’s going to want to know that I found you.”

Suddenly, the past seemed entirely unimportant. In the weight of what was happening—Tomás and Leanna and Matthias—having this small connection seemed insubstantial.

“You still haven’t told me why you came after me,” Seven said. He tried to steel his voice. Water made it waver.

Jarrett hesitated. It was clear he didn’t want to continue talking. At least not about this. It was a trait Air users seemed to have in common—the moment things became emotional, they drifted.

“I already told you,” Jarrett said. “The Prophets sent us.”

Just like that, it was like a wall slid between them, all in the name of duty.

Anger boiled within Seven; how could the guy act nonchalant right now? They’d just witnessed a few dozen Hunters get murdered, had just confronted the most powerful necromancer Seven had ever encountered. Not to mention that Water still hadn’t calmed down, and they still didn’t have an answer as to why.

“How can you be so calm about it? Matthias is still out there. People died. They died for me.”

“Thousands of people die every day,” Jarrett said. His voice was cold, distant, and Air glowed faintly in his throat. “That’s the world we live in. That’s the world we’re trying to change. Four years ago, all I could think of was going to college and getting high and playing video games. Now I’m in charge of one of the largest human outposts in America. I’ve sent hundreds of my comrades to die, and I’ll probably send hundreds more.” He closed his eyes. When he spoke again, his words were softer, almost a whisper. “If Leanna wants you, you’re dangerous—either to us, or to them. Either way, I’m going to keep you from them. It gives me a purpose—that’s why I’m calm.”

Seven couldn’t even begin to process what Jarrett was saying. It was all bullshit. He didn’t believe in any Chosen One prophecy. He didn’t hold the key to ending the Kin’s reign. He was a fighter, and only because he had to be. Only because not fighting had cost him everything.

“But why me?” Seven asked, deflated. He hadn’t actually meant to say it, but the words spilled out against his will.

Jarrett studied him for a moment before answering.

“I don’t know,” he finally said. “But I plan on keeping you around long enough to find out.”

Jarrett continued down the hall, and Seven followed close behind. His head was spinning. He was in Outer Chicago, standing beside the city’s second-in-command. He’d been pursued by Howls and necromancers and, now, the most powerful mage alive. In a way, it sounded like a fairy tale.

So why did it feel like a nightmare?

“All our rooms are underground,” Jarrett said, leading him through a tunnel that definitely hadn’t been part of the building’s original construction. The walls here were bare stone, smooth and shining and dotted with doors; Seven knew Earth magic when he saw it, and this place had been carved out by Earth mages. Flickering lamps dotted the walls, making the entire place feel like some archaic dungeon. “Hopefully you’re not claustrophobic. We had to put some apartments up top for the Air mages.” Jarrett looked back and grinned—apparently, the seriousness from before had passed. “We’re not so good with being buried alive.”

Jarrett stopped and opened a door, gesturing inside. “Home sweet home.”

It was stupid, but despite everything, seeing the room sent a small wave of relief through him. Inside, lit by a hurricane lamp, was a single large bed, a sink and a dresser. Just one of each. Which meant he wouldn’t have to sleep with a dozen others snoring or yelling in their dreams. And, if he was being honest, a space this far underground made him feel safe. Secure. Ever since last year, when he’d been attuned to Earth, the closer he was to the soil, the happier he felt.

“What am I doing here? I can’t just sit around and wait for them to find me.”

“No one’s going to find you here, Seven. I promise you that.” Jarrett reached out and put a hand on Seven’s shoulder. Once more, the current connected, and Seven found himself wanting to lean into the gravity. “I’m going to go talk to Cassandra. She’s the one in charge. Once we figure out our next move, you’ll be the first to know.”

Seven bit his lip.

“Hey,” Jarrett said. He moved his hand to Seven’s cheek. “Don’t worry. I’m looking after you. I won’t let anything hurt you.”

Seven wanted to say he’d been looking after himself just fine. He wanted to feel a fire of indignation. But the way Jarrett was looking at him...it didn’t make him feel like he was being talked down to. It made him feel kind of nice. To not have to be the only one watching his back. To know that he didn’t have to figure this out on his own.

“Thanks,” Seven finally managed.

“Of course. I’ll come find you after the meeting’s done. Bathroom and showers are down the hall. Rest up. You’ve earned it.”

When Jarrett left, though, Seven didn’t feel like showering. Didn’t feel like taking a break. Because the moment Jarrett walked away, Seven’s thoughts and doubts returned.

And then, all he could think about was how much he felt like bait.

The room was simple, clean—smooth earthen walls that shone like marble, a worn Oriental rug, a few lamps and candles and a large bed. It had made him feel guilty at first, having his own space down here while the rest of the city seemed to live all squashed together, then he’d remembered the news from New Orleans: a civilian had helped smuggle his fiancée-turned-bloodling into a camp, sure that she would never, ever kill like the other monsters. The ensuing bloodbath had been proof enough that Hunters and civilians needed to be kept apart. Hunters were few and far between, even when they weren’t being murdered in their own beds. Not to mention, Seven had a sinking feeling that Caius and his ilk would be more than happy to do “God’s good work” in the dead of night.

He sat on the bed in the suffocating silence and stared at the wall.