Glazunov shakes his head. No loud, profanity-laced outburst. I think he might be breaking.
“This is Jorreb,” I say, indicating Aren. “He has an . . . interesting magical ability. He can pry the information we want from your mind. I don’t want him to have to do that. It will hurt. You may not survive it.”
Those are the words Aren said to me the first time I met Lorn. They nearly broke me. Never mind that it turned out that Lorn’s mind-reading magic doesn’t work on humans, no one knew it at the time. I believed the rebels would get the information they wanted out of me one way or the other. Glazunov looks like he believes it, too. His gaze flickers to Aren.
This is going to work. If I didn’t know Aren, I’d be terrified of him.
“My patience is running thin,” Aren says.
“You have to talk if you want me to help you,” I say.
Glazunov stubbornly clenches his teeth together, but sweat glistens on his forehead.
Quicker than I can follow, Aren grabs the vigilante’s forearm. Glazunov squirms and the first signs of true terror shine in his eyes as he stares at the lightning on his skin, lightning he can suddenly feel.
“What’s wrong with the serum?” I ask.
Panic crawls across the human. He tries to pry Aren’s hand off his arm, and he starts shaking and scratching as if cockroaches are crawling over his skin.
I frown. I’m almost certain Aren’s not using any magic. Tiny edarratae would be flickering across his hand if he was, but there’s only an occasional flash of light when one of Glazunov’s . . . Oh.
I almost laugh. It’s Aren’s touch, the enticing, delicious heat of it, that’s freaking the vigilante out.
“Let go!” Glazunov screams.
“It’ll get worse the longer he touches you,” I tell him calmly. “What’s killing the humans? How do we cure them?”
Glazunov’s body lurches and a sob escapes him. “Please!”
A bright bolt of lightning strikes up Aren’s arm.
“How do we cure them?” I demand.
“You can’t cure them!” Glazunov screams. His shoes slide across the smooth ground as he tries to embed himself in the stone wall.
“That’s the wrong answer,” Aren says, grabbing the vigilante’s other arm.
“No. Listen. You can’t fix it because it is fixed,” he wails. “The serum is already fixed!”
TWELVE
AREN RELEASES THE vigilante’s arm. I’m not sure if he’s just ready to stop touching Glazunov or if he believes him. I’m not sure if I believe him. It’s too easy an answer to a life-or-death problem.
“You’re sure?” I ask, making my voice icy.
Glazunov curls into a ball, his left cheek pressed against the stone wall. “We changed the formula three months ago.”
The knots in my stomach loosen a fraction. Paige has had the Sight for around two months. I’m not sure when Lee injected the serum, but I think it was relatively recent as well. They might both be okay.
“So, if someone injected the serum in the last couple of months, they’re going to live?”
Glazunov’s gaze flickers my direction. There’s the slightest hesitation before he answers, “Right.”
Aren hears the pause, too. He leans forward, staring into Glazunov’s eyes. “I don’t believe you.”
A muscle in Glazunov’s cheek twitches.
“Tell us the truth,” Aren says, reaching toward the vigilante’s neck.
“I am telling the truth,” Glazunov says too quickly.
Instead of strangling the vigilante, Aren merely draws his finger down the side of Glazunov’s neck. It’s not anything close to a caress or gentle touch, but Glazunov throws himself on the floor, trying to get away from him. Aren grabs his arm, flipping him to his back.
“Okay. Okay, okay, okay!” Glazunov shouts, fists swinging wildly. When Aren merely stands over him, Glazunov splutters out, “We still have the old formula. Had the formula.”
“Keep talking,” Aren says.
“Some of the vials are missing.” He sucks in a shallow breath. “We don’t know where they went or who injected them. Only a few of us knew of the serum’s side effect.”
“Death is a side effect?” Angry, I step to Aren’s side.
Glazunov looks at me. “They took a pledge to eradicate the fae. They’ve lost people they love to the heathens. They all knew this wouldn’t be an easy or bloodless fight. You know it, too. Think about what you’ve lost. Your family, your future, your freedom. You’re their slave, but you could be free again. We can help you.”
What the hell?
Aren looks at me, a small smile playing across his lips. “I think he’s trying to recruit you, nalkin-shom.”
I roll my eyes at him.
“Their magics have erased your good judgment,” Glazunov continues. “We can restore it. We can cleanse you.”
That sounds entirely unpleasant.
“The serum,” I say, returning the conversation to where it’s supposed to be. “Is there a way to tell which one someone injected?”
Cautiously, Glazunov sits up. “I don’t know.”
“Does anyone else know?” I ask. I haven’t checked my e-mail or voice mails in more than a day, but maybe Lee’s found Bowman or another vigilante and is trying to get in touch with me now.
“Maybe,” Glazunov says. “You’ll have to talk to them.”
“Next question,” Aren says. “Who is selling the serum?”
I glance at Aren, but he keeps his eyes locked on Glazunov. I keep quiet and look at the vigilante, too, holding my breath as I wait for his response. In terms of the fight against the false-blood and his elari, the answer doesn’t matter. They already believe Lena has something to do with the serum. But in terms of the fae’s status on Earth? If the vigilantes are selling the serum to any random human who will pay . . . That could be a problem.
Glazunov’s expression darkens. “With Nakano dead, we were running out of cash. Selling the serum was discussed as a new revenue channel.”
“Discussed?” I ask.
“I told them we weren’t going to sell it,” Glazunov says. “That should have been the end of the conversation.”
“But it wasn’t?”
He shakes his head. Lena is going to be so pissed.
“Who decided to sell it anyway?”
Glazunov shrugs. “Any of them. All of them. I don’t know.”
I believe him. He doesn’t know, and he’s pissed about that fact. He was Nakano’s second-in-command. He’s supposed to be in charge now, but he can’t keep his people in line.
Aren and I ask him a few more questions—where can we find the person selling the serum, how much was produced, where is the research stored and backed up—but his responses aren’t very useful. There’s a reason Lee decided to go after another vigilante: Glazunov is a dead end.
When we run out of questions, we start to leave, but Aren stops beside the open door, turning back to look at Glazunov.
“One last thing,” he says. “You’re going to start eating. If you don’t, I’ll come back and spoon-feed you myself. Do you understand?”