Jax’s eyebrows shot up, but he grabbed the hand that Kerry stuck out and yanked him to his feet. Either Kerry was looking to distract Jax, or he really was weak enough to need the assist. Watching how he was stumbling around without his usual athletic grace, I went with the latter.
Looking over Mira’s car, I saw it wasn’t leaking and the tires weren’t flat, so we muscled it out of the ditch and got it onto the shoulder. The passenger side was a mess of rumpled metal and the side mirror was smashed, but all of the lights still worked. Miracle of miracles, when I turned the key, it fired up.
I told Chance to drive. We’d get there slower, but we’d get there, which we might not do if any of the rest of us drove. Since the passenger-side doors were jammed, I slid under the wheel and over to the passenger side and Chance climbed in next. Jax and Kerry did the same in the back seat, then we were off.
“You were right.” Jax held up his phone. “Heading toward the Big Apple. Let’s hope Gigi’s battery—or mine—doesn’t die.”
“Good.” Kerry grunted. “I know the guy in charge of the pens. He has a code of honor. Long as we get there before any other buyer, we’ll get them back without a hitch.”
Knowing the chances of that, I turned my face toward the dark window and tried to keep hope alive.
4. I’ve Seen Some Things
Tara
John, Travis and I hadn’t wasted any time getting started on the assignments Kerry had doled out before we’d all parted company.
Having Gina and Hank Bishop on our side opened a lot of doors. We were given free range of the Archives and the Repository, with the exception of the Vault, which made it easy for us to dive right in.
We brought Kyo Yumi into our confidence, too. Since he knew so much about Amanda and the situation in general, it would have been foolish not to. John said Kyo had a good heart and, since John could detect lies and deceptions even without his power, I trusted his judgment.
One task proved more difficult than I would have thought. I don’t know if Clem was shielding her, the Council was interrogating her, or her own preference for privacy was keeping her in seclusion, but I was fended off every time I tried to contact Amanda Greenaway. When I griped about it, Kyo volunteered to try, and I was happy to have that off my to-do list.
I had my own mission. I was determined to find out how Aspen Abernathy had gotten her hands on a gun, somethingthat was not a common item in nephilim communities. She had been enthralled by Reilly Argaud, a former classmate, for several months and, while I understood why that may have driven her it, I needed to know how she got the gun she used to commit suicide.
I ruled out a drive into the bigger cities that probably had gun stores. Most residents rarely left the Sanctuary, unless it was for holiday shopping trips. Those events were hard to arrange for those of us still in high school and dependent on our wardens, although there were usually a few bus trips around Christmas time and then again during summer vacation.
Still, I didn’t think she would have gone that route. For one, how would she have hidden it from her warden or the ones chaperoning the bus? For another, how would she have purchased it? All underage nephs were given an allowance, but the spending was tracked. And human gun stores couldn’t legally sell to minors.
That left me with two theories. Either there was a black market on weapons here at the Sanctuary, or someone gave it to her. I doubted it was the former. It would be super-hard to keep secret, someone would have to be the supplier, and there would be incidents of gun violence. According to Travis, there hadn’t been a weapons-related crime or reported accident here in more than a century.
So who would have given her a gun, and why?
I was fairly certain it was Reilly Argaud, but how had he hidden it and kept it secret at his trial?
When I talked it over with John, he brought up an even more disturbing question: What had happened to it after Aspen killed herself?
That’s where I decided to start. I went to her warden, Ms. Fey, who was not one of my favorite teachers, and made themistake of flat-out asking her if she knew how Aspen got the gun she’d shot herself with.
“Andwhywould it be any ofyourbusiness, Ms. Moore?” she all but sneered at me.
And that was the end of that conversation.
I decided to try Hank and Gina Bishop next. I tracked them down at the Street of Gold Cafe one afternoon, and she invited me to join them for a cup of coffee.
I almost hesitated to bother them after taking a good look at Hank. Deep lines scored his face and there were purplish bruises under his eyes. He was tearing a paper napkin into long, even strips, but stopped long enough to give me a curt nod.
“Ms. Weatherbee— I mean, Mrs. Bishop—”
“Call me Gina outside of the classroom,” she invited with a smile.
I told her what information I was looking for.
“Hmm. I don’t remember it coming up at Argaud’s trial.” She looked at Hank, but he was tearing up napkin number two.
Or maybe three, judging by the pile next to his coffee cup.
“Seems like a lot of things didn’t come up at that trial,” I complained.
