I smiled. “We?”

Max rolled his eyes. “I need my lead guitarist back. And if helping you look is what it takes … well, that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make for our adoring fans. Besides, the D.O.P. are separate from the Everneath. It’s not like anyone in the High Court would know if we were researching Forfeits.”

I had to fight the swell of gratitude bursting from my chest at the knowledge that I wasn’t alone. “I could kiss you right now.” Okay, obviously I wasn’t fighting it enough.

He snorted. “Let’s save that till after we’re successful.”

The D.O.P. was a worldwide organization, and the nearest distribution center was located in Los Angeles. Yes, they really did call them “distribution centers.”

Max and I instructed Gavin and Oliver to stay and work on the Dead Elvises’ new tracks and then we left for the airport, headed to Southern California.

A car met us at LAX and took us straight to the address Max had dug up in our own D.O.P. records. When the driver came to a stop, I gave Max a confused look. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. The building looked compressed and bare compared to the skyscrapers that surrounded it. Maybe that was the designer’s intention.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” I asked.

Max opened the door and slung his bag over his shoulder as he stepped out. “The D.O.P. has no reason to hide its records from us. From other Forfeit organizations, yes, but not from us. Our relationship with it is too important. Like any good business, it depends on consistent customers. It’ll help us.”

I shrugged and followed.

Through the glass doors, we could see one lone woman manning the reception desk. Why would they even need a receptionist? There was no signage anywhere on the building, so I couldn’t imagine random people from the street stopping by.

We opened the doors and walked up to her.

“Can I help you?” she asked, her eyes narrowed.

Yep. Not used to visitors.

“Hi”—I glanced at her name tag—“Nancy. We’re members of the Dead Elvises.” Given the D.O.P.’s long-standing business relationship with us, I assumed she would recognize the band’s name.

The change in her demeanor was immediate. Her frown relaxed into a semismile, her cheeks took on a flushed hue, and she blinked rapidly.

“Oh. Well. This is a pleasant surprise. What can I help you with?”

Max put his elbows on the counter. “We’d like to look at the records the D.O.P. keeps of every Forfeit.”

Nancy’s frown returned. “I don’t know where you heard this, but we don’t keep records.”

Max and I exchanged glances. “Sorry to disagree, Nancy,” I said. “But yes, you do keep records. Everyone knows this.”

She shook her head slightly, but it came off more like a nervous twitch. “How do I know you’re really the Dead Elvises?” she said.

I raised my eyebrows. “Seriously? Try the leather pants, for one.” I gestured to my legs, but she wasn’t about to take her eyes off my face. This woman was scared. And she didn’t become scared until we mentioned the records.

“I think you should leave,” she said, her voice shaky. I stepped closer to the counter, and she visibly flinched.

Under normal circumstances, we’d feed on her in an attempt to manipulate her emotions, but it was sort of an unwritten rule that you didn’t do that to the providers of Forfeits outside the Feed.

Max put on his most charming smile. “Look, I’m sure you’re confused. We’re not here to hurt you. We just want to take a peek at your records. Now, which way is the vault? Is it this way?” He pointed toward a hallway and took a tentative step.

In a quick move, she flipped open a panel on her desk, revealing a red button. She held her finger over it. “I’ll call security.”

I couldn’t believe it. Here we were, so close to getting our hands on information, and this woman was going to stand in the way.

“Look, Nancy, just get us the records.” I leaned over the counter even farther.

“I’m telling you we don’t have any,” she said.

“I know that’s a lie!” The words came out more forcefully than I’d intended. She only hesitated a fraction of a second before she depressed the red button.

I threw my hands up. “What the hell?”

Lights flashed round and round in the entryway, hallways, and above every door. Sirens wailed.

We rarely resorted to violence on the Surface, partly because physical strength was not the strongest of our gifts and partly because violence drew attention to us; but at this moment, something inside me snapped.

I vaulted all the way over the desk and grabbed the woman by the collar. Her eyes went even wider, and I half expected her to faint on the spot.

I twisted her collar in my fist and got in her face. “Where do you keep your records?” It came out in a growl.

“We don’t have any!” Tears welled up in her eyes.

“Don’t lie to me! Where are they?”

A sharp sting hit my neck. My hand flew to the spot, and I felt a thin needle poking out of my skin. I plucked it out and brought it to my eyes, neither of which seemed to work anymore.

As the darkness closed around me, I had just enough time to hear the receptionist say, “I knew you weren’t the Dead Elvises.”

Nikki’s fingers wrapped around mine.

“I won’t lose you,” she said, tears brimming in her eyes, about to spill over.

With my free hand, I ran the backs of my fingers lightly down her cheek. “We don’t have a choice,” I said. “Please, Nik. Let me do this for you. I have to do this for you.”

She didn’t respond, but she lifted my hand to her lips, kissed my fingers, and then used my own hand to slap my face.

Hard.

“Ow,” I said, rubbing my cheek.

I opened my eyes. Max was there, hand raised, poised to strike again. Beyond him, I could see we were in a giant room with very little furniture beyond a metal desk and three chairs in the center. Empty bookshelves lined cinder block walls. There was only one steel door. No windows.

Max’s hand flinched.

“Enough!” I said.

He eyed me suspiciously. “What were you dreaming about?”

“That depends on what you heard,” I said, rubbing my eyes with the palms of my hands.

“You said, ‘Please, Nik.’”

Shit. “I dreamed I was begging Nikki to leave me alone.”

He looked skeptical, but then a metal clanging sound came from the steel door at the end of the room. A woman with tall red hair heaved the door open, crossed the room with long strides, and took a seat at the steel table in the middle. In one hand she carried a clipboard and in the other a pen, which she clicked open as she sat down.

Max helped me up, and we took the two chairs opposite her.

She gazed at us with eyes rimmed in stark eyeliner. “I’m Jane St. Thomas. You’re half of the Dead Elvises. I’m sorry for all of the confusion. What happened?”

I grimaced. “We came here because we wanted to look at your records. And then the receptionist went all James Bond on us. What the hell?”

She made a note on her clipboard. “What records were you after?”

I glanced at Max, confused. “The famous D.O.P. archives. The copious logs of every Forfeit. How come this is so confusing? And why did you tranq us?”

Ms. St. Thomas sighed and put down her pen. “We ‘tranqued’ you because we thought you were a threat. The last people who demanded our records meant us extreme harm. And this is confusing because the records you’re referring to were lost long ago. We now encourage each D.O.P. family to keep records of their lineage within their own home.”

“Lost? Lost how?” I asked. “Your records were legendary.”

“Too legendary,” she said. She gestured to the room, the empty shelves, the filing cabinets that had tipped over. “Take a look around. This is what’s left of the records vault. We were cleaned out decades ago.”

“You mean they were stolen.”

She nodded.

“Stolen by who?” I said.

“Those who long for all the information. Delphinian Scholars.”

Delphinians. At the mention of the name, I could feel my blood turn cold and drain from my face, down my back. Ms. St. Thomas must not have been there that night, because I’d never heard of anyone who had come face to face with a Delphinian and lived to tell about it. Some Everlivings were even too scared to say their names. I glanced at Max, who closed his eyes.

“The Delphinians were convinced that we had more records we were hiding. They threatened to return one day for these ‘missing’ papers. We haven’t seen or heard from them since, and nobody else has shown interest in our records. Until today. So you can understand why Nancy was a little … suspicious.”

I let out the breath I’d been holding. Max shook his head and shrugged, obviously believing that now that the Delphinians were involved, our mission was over.

“So the Delphinians still have the records?” I asked.

Max jerked his head toward me.

Ms. St. Thomas looked thrown. “I … I don’t know.”

“Cole,” Max said in a warning tone.

I ignored him. “Look, Ms. St. Thomas, you’ve obviously dealt with the Delphinians. They have the records we want. What can you tell us about them?”

Ms. St. Thomas gave me a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me look. “You want to know what I know? Fine. I know you can’t just ask for them, like the two of you did here, because they’d never give them up. I know there’s no way to fight them, because the Fates can see the future. I know there’s no way to outsmart them, because the Scholars know everything.” She closed her eyes as if she was remembering something painful. “I also know we had twelve people working here the night the Delphinians came for the records. None of them survived.”

Silence filled the room.

I leaned forward, placing my elbows on the table. “So are they still in Los Angeles?”

She shook her head, bewildered, and stared at Max. “I tell him there’ll be an army waiting for him, and your friend is only concerned with the color of their uniforms. What’s this really about?”

Max shrugged. “A girl.”

I glared at Max. “Dude. Shut up.”

FOUR

NOW

Back in Park City.

Max and I argued during the cab ride to LAX airport, the cocktail service on the plane, the drive to Park City, and even up the stairs to our condo.

And yet Max wouldn’t give in. Every discussion ended with him declaring, “I don’t want to die.”

As we walked inside, I was in the middle of reminding him—again—of how this was our chance to rule the world—or at least the Underworld—when he interrupted me by saying, “I will not declare war on the Delphinians.”

Oliver was sitting on the sofa jotting down notes on some sheet music. “Who are the Delphinians?”

Max gestured with his hand for me to explain, as if he wanted no part of it.

“The Delphinians used to rule side by side with the queen and king of the Everneath. They acted as a senate. They were made up of brilliant Scholars and prognosticating Fates, having abilities that helped them rule. But they grew in power. The queen became threatened. She heard the Delphinians were planning a coup, and she decided to order a preemptive strike. So she amassed a clandestine army of Everlivings and harnessed a secret weapon: enchanted fire. The queen banished the surviving Delphinians to the Surface. They should’ve died without access to the Everneath, but the Delphinians found a way to survive through a small gateway to the Everneath. Believed to be located in London.”

Max snorted. “Don’t forget the best part. They’re insane. They live on recycled energy from the Everneath. They were deformed by the enchanted fire. They’re a fringe of a splinter group, and you don’t want to mess with them.” He glanced at me. “Wait. I take that back. Cole wants to mess with them.”

Oliver raised an eyebrow.

“They have the records we need,” I said.

“And therefore you’re ready to declare war,” Max said. He shook his head and stomped into the kitchen. “I’m brewing coffee.”

I blew out a deep breath and threw my backpack toward the hallway. Max was right. Any attempt to go to the Delphinians would be suicide. I sank into a chair, leaned my head back, and stared at the ceiling.

Oliver scribbled a few notes, his pencil scratching against the sheet music. “You know,” he said, “I lived through the Civil War. I know a few things about war.”

I closed my eyes. “You were three.”

“Yes, but I studied Sun Tzu’s The Art of War.”

“We’re not declaring war on the Delphinians.”

“I’m not talking about declaring war. I’m talking about forming a strategy.”