REVERIE
The Hellgate Chronicles, Book 2
CHAPTER 1
Somewhere outside Bellingham
November 2015
“This isn’t the way home,” Allison pointed out, her voice tinged with confusion as I pulled onto the freeway ramp for I-5 heading south.
She’d been pretty quiet since we left the basement of Ziya’s childhood home. Normally, her silence would’ve worried me, but my plate was already overflowing with troubles. Unless she was gushing blood or spontaneously combusting, her issues would have to take a number.
From her spot next to the window, Sam chimed in. “Are we taking Mom back to Elysian?” Once she’d woken up fully, her questions had come at us rapid fire. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I mean, they’re the ones who lost her to begin with.”
“We’re not taking her back,” Allison said. Her eyes fixed on me with that all too familiar We Need to Talk look.
Bianca gave me a similar look.
I gave both of them my Yeah, No Shit look.
We couldn’t talk about anything right now without Sam hearing. If Allison had told Sam the truth, we could’ve had a real conversation instead of relying on coded glances and hand gestures. But crammed into my truck, that wasn’t happening.
The bench seat barely fit three adults on a good day, and now there were five of us squeezed in—me, Bianca, Sam, Ziya, and Allison, all packed together tighter than sardines. Ziya’s frail body was propped between Sam and Allison, her head lolling against Allison’s shoulder, while Bianca pressed against me.
As we drove south, the city lights bled away into darkness. I checked the rearview mirror, watching my last chance for food vanish in a blur of neon. My stomach gnawed at itself. Hours without eating, and my emergency donut stash had already met a grim fate at Allison’s hands.
Didn’t matter. I had bigger problems. Cole was coming.
After what happened on Allison’s front lawn the last time we saw him—her magic knocking him and Ben out cold—yeah, there was no way he was letting that go.
The Pack had people everywhere, and I’d probably racked up more violations of Territorial Law in the last twenty-four hours than most people managed in a lifetime. He’d be watching—my motel, Allison’s house, Bianca’s condo. Even the damn Burger Shack.
We had to get off the road. And there was only one place left to go.
“Bianca,” I said, keeping my eyes on the road. “I need you to make a call.”
“Who am I calling?” Bianca squeezed in next to me, pulled her phone from her purse.
“A friend.”
“You don’t have any friends except—unless you mean your friend friend, the one who works nights? Calling that friend is a mistake.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“I’m serious, Meg.”
“Do you have a better idea?” My nerves were already frayed, and Bianca’s nagging wasn’t helping.
“No.”
“Then shut up and dial this number.”
Bianca huffed but obeyed, punching in the unlisted number I rattled off from memory. I hadn’t used it in twenty years, but it came back effortlessly, like muscle memory.
“Hello, this is Bianca DuBois, calling on behalf of Meg Walker.” Her voice took on that smooth, practiced tone she used when trying to sound important—or at least more important than the person on the other end of the line. “Who am I speaking to? Hightower?”
I shrugged when she glanced at me. Hightower? No clue.
“Yes, I got this number from Meg Walker. Yes, she’s sitting right here.” Bianca shot me another skeptical glance. “She needs to speak to Mr. Li. It’s urgent.”
She pressed the phone to my ear, giving me a look that said, This better work.
I took a deep breath, listening to the faint rustle on the other end of the line.
I owed Liam a heads-up before we landed on his doorstep. It was the polite thing to do. Which, honestly, was ridiculous. There was nothing polite about this. Showing up unannounced with a group of fugitives in tow wasn’t exactly neighborly. It was an invasion. And I knew—knew—it would complicate his life in ways he wouldn’t appreciate.
If he turned us away, I wouldn’t argue. I’d keep driving. Leave Bellingham behind, head east toward Boise, and keep going until Pack territory was nothing but a memory in the rearview. From there, we’d figure it out.
The line clicked. No greetings. No formalities. Just a calm, familiar voice saying, “I’ll be waiting.”
Three words. That was it. I didn’t even need to ask.
A breath I hadn’t realized I was holding slipped out, the knot in my shoulders loosening, just a little. For the next fifteen minutes, I could pretend everything would be fine. After that? I’d have to explain everything to him.
If I ignored the bloodstains on my jacket, the ache in my ribs, and the ghost of dried sweat and fear still clinging to my skin, this was a normal road trip. Almost.
I’d never been to Liam’s house.
I knew it was somewhere south of Bellingham, perched on a cliff overlooking the San Juan Islands. I’d looked up the address once, years ago, more out of curiosity than anything. What kind of place does someone like Liam live in? Not a cabin, not a cozy two-story in a cul-de-sac, not an apartment tucked into some city high-rise.
The phone number wasn’t the only thing Liam had given me back then. There’d been an address too, written on a sleek black business card in his neat, precise handwriting. My twentieth birthday present. I think even then he knew I was going to run.
That card had followed me through every disaster, every close call, every bad decision. It had lived in the same battered wallet I never let out of my sight, surviving rainstorms, near-death scrapes, and months of living rough. Until it didn’t.
Until the night Ziya had contacted me from thousands of miles away and said, **You can’t come home, Meg. If you do, someone you love will die.**
I’d almost called Liam that night. I’d been sitting in a dingy, hourly motel room, heartbroken, homeless, and more lonely than I’d ever been in my life. I’d wanted to hear his voice. Wanted him to send someone to pick me up. Wanted him to fix it.
But instead, I’d lit the card on fire and dumped it in the trash can.