Feathers and Fire Series Box Set 2 by Shayne Silvers

Author:Shayne Silvers [Silvers, Shayne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Argento Publishing, LLC
Published: 2019-10-13T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 30

I sat in a booth across from Cain at a greasy diner. The adjacent table of twelve was cheerfully singing a birthday song to a child who cared only for the birthday cake and candles placed directly before him.

Cain stared back at me, his face aghast. “Callie!”

I nodded. “Yeah?”

“Put the goddamned Spear away!” he hissed, leaning forward. I flinched to find I was holding the Spear of Destiny propped up beside me on the floor. I focused on it furiously, wondering how no one had yet pointed it out. It winked out of existence a moment later, just as the waitress rounded the corner, meeting my eyes.

“Oh, I didn’t see you there, hon,” she said with a genuine smile. “Sorry for the noise. Coffee?” she asked, holding up a pot in her hands. I nodded woodenly, and she deftly poured us each a cup.

“Just the coffee is fine,” Cain said hurriedly as the waitress pulled out a notepad to take our orders. I mumbled my agreement and she shrugged.

“The coffee is free—”

“Perfect,” Cain interrupted impatiently.

The waitress narrowed her eyes. “If you order,” she added, frowning. “Let me know if you change your mind,” she sighed. Then she left to check on the birthday party. The kid was crying about wanting a larger piece, and then crying harder when he was told he was supposed to share the rest of it.

Cain leaned forward, wrapping both hands around his mug of steaming, black tar heroin. I took a contented sip, meeting his eyes. “What. The fuck. Was that?” he hissed.

I shook my head, feeling on the verge of hysteria. I remembered being in Rome only a few minutes ago, fighting for my life against a possessed Conclave. I had watched my best friend die, and I had felt nothing. And…I couldn’t remember how we had gotten there. Or what the fight was about. Couldn’t even remember ever being a Shepherd…

“Where are we, Cain?” I whispered nervously, dialing back my paranoia and deciding not to share it with Cain. He was already on the edge and didn’t need a shove. Especially since I was on the edge with him and we were holding hands.

“Let me hold the doors, my dear. It’s chilly outside,” I heard the waitress say from across the room. We both glanced up sharply, something about her words catching our attention. She was holding the doors open for a little old couple shaking snow from their boots. I frowned, not recognizing them. Then my eyes settled on the doors and I felt a slight pinch between my eyes.

“It’s cold enough outside to rob me of my last breath,” the old man chuckled, thanking the waitress, and ignoring his wife’s indignant squawk at such a macabre joke.

I gasped as my coffee slopped over my wrist, the memory hitting me like a truck. We were on a quest, a game. The Song of Solomon.

“Last Breath,” I said, turning back to Cain.

“Doors,” he hissed back, his eyes wide. Then we were both scanning the room, searching for any sign of threat.

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