At first, it looks like the giant might be thinking about it, but then he yells, “Lies!” and lifts his hand like he’s going to hit me.

I quickly reach back into my tattoo and pull out a second flower. Maybe because Vander is so big, he requires more than one flower. I don’t remember telling the Crone that the person we were trying to break out was a giant.

Which turns Hudson’s eyes to blue fire. He starts to move in front of me, but Calder springs into action and gets there first. She lands right in front of me, then grabs one of the other flowers from my hand. “Want proof we didn’t cheat you, old man?” She shoves the flower in her mouth and eats it.

“Calder!” Remy yells, rushing over to her. “What have you done?”

“What I always do,” she says with a cocky grin. “I saved your ass…and looked damn fine doing it.”

“Yes, but—”

He breaks off as her eyes close, and she pitches forward.

I grab on to her, swaying under her weight even as I refuse to let her hit the ground. Hudson starts to take her from me, but he’s banged up so badly that he hisses through his teeth the second her weight lands against his injured side.

“Give her to me,” Flint says. “I’ll take her.”

“You’re drunk,” Remy snarls.

“Not that drunk,” Flint tells him. “Not anymore.”

He picks her up and shifts her weight until she’s lying over his right shoulder, imitating the fireman’s carry she used on him earlier.

“Well, that was…unexpected.” Hudson gives me a what the fuck look, but I just shrug.

“What do we do now?” I ask the group at large.

“Leave her here for the guards to find?” Vander suggests.

“She goes where we go,” Remy tells us, his voice brooking no room for argument. “We’re not leaving her.”

“Of course we’re not leaving her,” I say.

Hudson nods, even as he shoots a warning look at Vander. “That’s not even a question.”

“You were going to leave me,” Vander says, and I’m pretty sure he’s pouting.

“You’re twenty feet tall and went off half cocked,” Hudson snaps. “You caused all of this, so stop your bitching.”

Vander goes slack in shock, and I don’t blame him. I’m pretty sure no one has ever talked to him like that in his life.

“We still need to figure out what to do,” Flint says.

“I know what we need to do.” Remy sighs.

“Which is?” I ask.

“Plan B.” He turns to Flint. “And pass me a couple of those sacks of money. At this point, we’re going to need every penny to pull this off.”

“What about me?” Vander asks. “Should I come, too?”

Remy eyes him, then gestures to Hudson and says, “Maybe pass me all the sacks.”

137

The River

Stick-It-to-Ya?

To my surprise, Remy takes us back toward the cellblocks.

I thought the goal was to get thrown over the fence out of the prison, so going backward doesn’t make much sense to me. Then again, we have five people to get out and one flower to do it in, so I guess it’s not exactly surprising that Plan B involves something totally different after all.

I can’t help but be curious if my tattoo is part of this new plan, and I ask as much. “Are we going to try to use the tattoo?”

“Not yet, cher,” Remy replies. “That one’s an even bigger long shot. Besides, I still see myself leaving this shithole with a flower. If I leveled the prison with my magic, why didn’t I just use that to leave?”

“But I don’t understand,” I start. “Who cares how you get out as long as you are free?”

Remy pauses long enough to hold my gaze while he says, “Because, like I said, I’m not screwing up my sure thing. I get out with a flower. So that’s how I’m going to get out. And you don’t give me a flower unless you’re freed, so there is obviously another way to get you out.”

He doesn’t wait for me to respond to that. Just turns and starts heading down the road, his long strides eating up the distance between us.

Fine. I can sort of understand why he doesn’t want to risk his chance at getting out. If I were born here, maybe I’d feel the same.

I sure wish his Plan B didn’t involve going into the scariest, sketchiest area of the Pit yet. A quick glance at Hudson tells me he’s thinking the same thing—at least if the way his gaze is constantly scanning the alley is any indication. Not to mention how he’s studiously avoiding meeting my eyes, like he doesn’t want me to see how concerned he is.

“We’re almost there,” Remy tosses over his shoulder, and I hope he knows what he’s talking about because I can’t see anything. Most of the shops in the Pit have started to close up, as time is running out for prisoners, many of them already heading back to their cells early—probably not to risk accidentally being late and getting a month in the Chamber. If we weren’t hell-bent on our plan to escape, I know I’d be doing the same.

As the streetlights don’t seem to run this far south, I’m trying not to totally freak out. I comfort myself with the reminder that Hudson and Flint can see, but considering neither of them is in tip-top shape, I’m really hoping that Remy knows what he’s doing.

We finally make it to the end of the alley, and Remy punches the buttons on a control pad—the only lighted thing in this whole place. Which seems weird in and of itself, considering we’re standing in front of a brick wall. No doors, no windows, nothing but this bizarre-ass intercom hanging out in the middle of it all.

“State your name and business,” comes through the speaker loud and clear.

“You know who it is, and unless your network has broken down, I’m pretty sure you know why we’re here.”

There’s a laugh at the other end. “Do you have enough?”

“You mean you haven’t heard about our recent windfall?” There’s definite mockery in his tone, but the guard—or whoever it is—on the other end of the exchange just snickers.

Which reminds me again of how different Remy is treated here. I’ve seen enough in the six days we’ve been in this prison to know that anyone else would be missing a throat—or at least a limb—for mocking one of the windigos that way. But Remy simply gets a laugh. It’s strange to realize that they really do love him in their own way.

“He’s busy right now,” the guard tells him. “Come back later.”

“I’ve got four hours left, and he knows it. There is no later. Just now. So open the door and let me see Charon.”

Charon? I glance at Hudson to see what he thinks of the name, and in the dim light, he looks as puzzled as I feel.

“Like the River Styx Charon?” I ask. I mean, normally Greek mythology would be a huge stretch of the imagination, but I am currently standing in an alley with a vampire, a dragon, a warlock, a giant, and a manticore. Reality as I knew it fled the building a long time ago.

“Hell no,” Remy answers with a laugh. “He gave himself that name, which basically tells you everything you need to know about him.”

Right. If you’re going to make up a name for yourself, shouldn’t it be something a little less grim than Hades’s ferryman?

For several interminable seconds, nothing happens. No response, no crackling of the intercom, nothing. And then, when I’m least expecting it, a massive rumbling sound fills the air.

“What is that?” I ask, instinctively tucking myself a little closer to Hudson. He grins at me like I just gave him the best Christmas present on the planet and wraps an arm around my shoulders—the one that isn’t still lugging several sacks of money.

“It’s okay,” he tells me as he nods straight ahead. “Look.”

I follow his gaze and watch in shock as the brick wall in front of us splits in half to reveal a long, well-lit corridor patrolled by three very large windigos.

Remy moves forward to speak to the guards, the bags of money clutched in his hands. Behind me, the blacksmith rumbles almost as loudly as the cogs moving the wall, and honestly, I don’t blame him. I’ve been here six days, and I want nothing to do with those windigos. He’s been here a thousand years.

“It’s okay,” Flint reassures him…and the rest of us. “Remy’s got this.”

“He does,” Hudson agrees, and as the bags of money change hands, I can feel him relax against me.

He even goes so far as to glance over at me—and my uncovered arm. “I like what you did to the jumpsuit,” he teases.

Normally I’d pay him back with a soft elbow to the ribs, but he’s so banged up that I’m afraid to do anything but roll my eyes at him.

His grin softens, and he leans down and softly whispers in my ear, “I like the new ink even more.”

A shiver works its way down my spine courtesy of the whisper and the words. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” His mouth is even closer to my ear this time, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of my lobe while his warm breath lights up every single nerve ending I’ve got. “It’s really sexy.”

“You’re really sexy,” I tell him, the words slipping out before I even know I’m going to say them.