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Problem is, the word of an addict is just that. A word. Nothing more.

Phury rubbed his eyes and turned away from the window.

To give himself a purpose, any purpose, he headed for Wrath’s study. Even though he wasn’t a member of the Brotherhood anymore, the king would want to know what had happened at the clinic. With Z busy with Jane and Bella, and the other Brothers helping out at the new clinic, he might as well make an unofficial report. Besides, he wanted Wrath to know the reason why he’d gone over there in the first place, and reassure the king that he wasn’t disregarding his pink slip.

And then there was the whole Lash issue.

The kid was missing.

The tally of heads at the new clinic and the count of the bodies at the old one had revealed only one abduction, and Lash was it. The medical staff indicated he was alive at the time of the raid, having been resuscitated after his vitals crashed. Which was tragic. The kid might have been a bastard, but no one wanted him to fall into the hands of the lessers. If he was lucky, he’d died on the way to wherever they were taking him, and there was a good chance he had, given the shape he’d been in.

Phury knocked on Wrath’s study. “My lord? My lord, you in?”

When there was no answer, he tried again.

He didn’t get any response, so he turned away and headed for his room, knowing damn well he was going to light up and smoke out and take his place once again in the wizard’s bleak kingdom.

As if you could be anywhere else, the dark voice in his head drawled.

Across town, at Blaylock’s parents’ house, Qhuinn was sneaked in through the back service entrance the doggen used. He did his best to limp along, but Blay had to carry him up the servants’ staircase.

After Blay left his room to go lie about where he’d been and what he’d been doing, John took up sentry duty while Qhuinn settled on his buddy’s bed with none of his usual relief. And not just because he felt like a punching bag.

Blay’s folks deserved better than this. They’d been good to Qhuinn all along. Hell, a lot of parents wouldn’t let their kids near him, but Blay’s had been tight from the get-go. And now they were inadvertently jeopardizing their station in the glymera by harboring a disowned, PNG fugitive.

Just the thought of it all made Qhuinn sit up with the intention of taking off, but his belly had other plans for him. A sharpshooter went through his gut, like his liver had picked up a bow and arrow and taken aim at his kidneys. With a groan, he lay back down.

Try to stay still, John signed.

“Roger . . . that.”

John’s phone went off, and the guy took it out of the pocket of his A & F jeans. As he read whatever it was, Qhuinn thought back to the three of them going to the mall to shop and him fucking that manager in the dressing room.

Everything had changed since then. The whole world was different now.

He felt years older, not days.

John looked up with a frown. They want me to come home. Something’s up.

“Take off then . . . I’m cool here.”

I’ll come back if I can.

“No worries. Blay’ll keep you looped.”

As John left, Qhuinn looked around and remembered all the hours he’d spent lying on the bed in this room. Blay had a sweet crib. The walls were paneled in cherrywood, which made it seem like a study, and the furniture was modern and sleek, not that stuffy antique crap all the members of the glymera collected along with ass-wrenching rules on social etiquette. The king-sized bed was covered with a black quilt and had enough pillows to get you comfortable without girling you up. The plasma screen high-def had an Xbox 360, a Wii and a PS3 on the floor in front of it, and the desk where Blay did his homework was as neat and orderly as all the cards to those gamers were. To the left, there was a dorm-sized refrigerator, a black Rubbermaid trash barrel that kind of looked like a cock, to be honest, and an orange bin for bottles.

Blay had gone green a while ago and was big into recycling and reuse. Which was so him. He gave monthly to PETA, ate only free-range meat and poultry, and