Living With the Dead (Otherworld 9)

Rhys had been right about the Cabal operating the kumpania. That was the real reason he'd taken the job with Irving Nast - hoping to prove his theory. The Nasts and the kumpania had been linked from the beginning, centuries ago in Europe. It was a secret pact between the bulibasha and the Nast CEO, which is why neither Sean nor Irving knew about it, leading Irving to negotiate with Adele.

The Nasts protected the kumpania from threats, including other Cabals. In return the kumpania provided them with clairvoyants. In fact, they'd been negotiating to provide one in the next year. The last clairvoyant had been a disappointment, so Niko had promised Thomas Nast the brightest star of the new generation: Adele Morrissey.

Detective Findlay took Robyn to the station. Hope stayed with her as long as she could. The detective swore Robyn would be fine and he'd get her to the hospital as soon as he could.

When Hope and Karl left the station, Rhys was outside waiting.

"I'll walk with you to your car," he said, falling in beside them.

"How's Thom?" Hope asked.

"Confused. Angry. I had to sedate him." He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. "It'll be a big adjustment for both of us. We're flying tonight to a supernatural hospital. I wanted to touch base with you two before I left. First, Karl, I didn't get a chance to say it earlier, but you were right to leave Irving Nast alive. A better plan than mine."

Rhys braced, as if expecting Karl to sarcastically thank him for his approval, but Karl only nodded, knowing Rhys's admission wasn't easy - or necessary.

"Also, I have a business proposition for Hope. Well, for both of you, since I assume it's a package deal. All the better, because I know I'd never have a chance of hiring you otherwise, Karl." They turned the corner before he continued. "Earlier today you called me a mercenary, Hope. I could argue the nuances of that, but it is, in essence, what I am."

"I already - "

" - work for the council. I respect that. I respect the council and what they do, though I meant what I said about them not being as effective as the supernatural world needs. That's the nature of the beast. A body of justice cannot afford to slide into gray areas. That's the arena of other organizations."

"Like yours?"

"I'd like the chance to make my case, Hope." He handed Hope a card with a phone number. "A pressure-free pitch. What you're doing for the council is great, but I think you can do more." His eyes met hers. "I think you might need to do more."

Karl and Hope stood on their hotel room balcony. She leaned against the railing, watching the line of cars below, a parade of lights slow-marching to the beat of overamped music and horn blasts. Two motorcycles weaved through the traffic, leaving glowing trails like lightning bugs.

"I have a decision to make, Karl. A tough one."

"I know."

"I'm not sure that the council is where I belong anymore."

"I know."

Hope crossed her arms, still leaning against the railing, face averted, fists balled where he couldn't see them.

"Karl... ?"

"Hmm?"

"About us..."

She felt him tense, a jolt of chaos escaping before he reined it in.

She turned around. "Karl, I need..." Her throat closed there, refusing to let the next words out, only letting her reverse and repeat. "I need... I need..."

He took a slow step toward her, struggling to keep those chaos vibes in check, hands lifting as if he wanted to stop whatever she was going to say. A foot from her, he halted, hands going into his pockets.

"Hope... whatever..." A surge of chaos, then he blurted, "We'll work it out."

"I-I hope so."

A rush of breath. "All right then. Tell me what you need."

"You." Hope's voice was barely audible even in the silence. "I need you. Too much."

He put his arms out and she moved into them, his hands going to her back, her cheek against his chest, and that was easier, so much easier, resting there, listening to his heart, where she could feel his response but didn't have to see it. Cowardly, maybe. But it was the only way she'd get through this.