Thorne cupped the back of his neck and held his gaze in a hard stare. “Stannett has critical information about the war straight from his most powerful Seer. All right? If you pull another stunt like this one, I’ll have to take you out of here, but the bottom line is that Stannett requested your presence.”

Medichi frowned. “He did?”

“Yeah. So, how about you pull it together.”

“Yes, Warrior Medichi,” Stannett said. “I have news that concerns you as well as the woman, the mortal-with-wings.”

Medichi grew very still as these words settled into his brain. All the previous jumping and twitching melted away along with his urge to pound his fist into Stannett’s pretty face.

“We good now?” Thorne asked. He commanded the Warriors of the Blood for a reason. He was damn powerful. Then Thorne smiled, a little off to the side of his mouth. “Yeah, I want to kill him, too, but we can’t do it just yet. Not if he knows anything that will help us keep Greaves from taking over Second Earth.”

Something inside Medichi finally let go. His next breath came from way down deep, and his shoulders settled down. Shit, they’d been tightened into a pair of bowling balls.

He glanced at the High Administrator of the Superstition Seers Fortress. “Sorry, Stannett. Lost my head.”

Endelle decided to enter the conversation. “Why don’t you just tell Medichi what you told me.”

Stannett drew in a deep breath. “One of my Seers witnessed something in the future streams about the mortal-with-wings, the woman Parisa Lovejoy, the one with the amethyst eyes. Is this the one you are missing?”

“Yes,” Medichi barked at the same time as Endelle.

“For three months now, Stannett,” Endelle said. “You’d know that if you didn’t spend all your time in that Seers Fortress of yours with your balls in one hand and your dick in the other.”

Stannett’s left brow rose and he appeared to swallow, bile maybe, or maybe his rage. Endelle could be hard to take.

“Maybe this was a mistake,” he said, his right arm rising in the air, the universal signal that he intended to dematerialize.

“Now, now, Stannett, come off your high horse,” Endelle said. “We’re here and we’re listening. But what I really want to know is why you’ve broken your silence after all these years. That’s not like you, which means there’s something else going on, something you may or may not want to tell us. In fact, I think it chaps your hide to even be standing here in my office.”

A dozen thoughts streamed over his face, quiet messages of frustration, anger, maybe a sense of being torn. Finally, he smiled, that oily false smile of his. He lowered his arm then waved the hand as though the visit were casual. “We need to be better friends than this, Endelle. I’ve always thought so.”

“Hard to be friends with a python.”

For some reason, Stannett laughed. Medichi had the impression that Endelle could hurl a thousand insults at him and it wouldn’t matter. He’d made up his mind about something.

He settled an elbow on the mantel of the fireplace, which drew his leather jacket open. Medichi scowled. He wore a red leather vest cut low to reveal a lot of black curly chest hair. He was a strange man, affected, weird. Just looking at him made Medichi uneasy.

“Spit it out, Owen,” Endelle said.

“Very well. I shall speak plainly. The future streams have revealed an impending battle, a very big battle.”

A wind suddenly flew around the room and struck Medichi in the back before moving on. What the hell? His gaze landed on Endelle. Her arms were held aloft and power streamed from her but in no particular direction, just a wind that flowed around the room. It hit him again. Damn. So much power. Yeah, she was a little upset.

“What do you mean, a big battle.” Endelle scowled and punched at the air with two fists. “Like army-to-army?”

“That’s exactly what I mean, except—” He broke off. He looked serious.

The flow of wind hit Medichi again.

Endelle’s nostrils flared. “Except what, Stannett? Would you spit it out, for Christ’s sake. We’re not children here.”

“The prophecy is all tied up with the mortal-with-wings and the possibility of her death. Apparently if she dies you lose big-time, and Greaves gains everything.”

“In what fucking way can this woman, a mortal, not even ascended, be critical to the outcome of a war?” Endelle’s thick black hair was writhing around her shoulders. Medichi had seen her temper a dozen different times, but he’d never seen her hair display her rage before. That was considered a Third Earth ability.

Stannett looked grim, his mouth a tight line. “The future streams rarely reveal the why of anything. You know that, Endelle. What I can tell you is that more than one of my Seers has recently predicted a major battle, as well as the failure of your administration, if the woman dies.”

Medichi couldn’t let this go. “And what kind of accuracy rate does the Superstition Fortress have anyway, you motherless piece of shit? And why should we believe anything you have to say. You haven’t helped us in years. Why now? Why would you give a good goddamn fuck now?” He couldn’t bear the thought of his woman dead while the man stood there like he was reading an article on how to make headcheese.

Endelle turned to face Medichi. She shook her head at him and mouthed a couple of curse words then sent him another blast of wind, this one with grit attached. He breathed the wrong way and drew some of that grit into his lungs. He bent over and hacked like he’d swallowed half a dozen fur balls. Okay, he got the point: He wasn’t helping.

“My warrior makes a lot of sense, Stannett. Accuracy is always a problem with Seers, the future being as unpredictable as earthquakes.”

“My prime Seer has a ninety-three percent accuracy rate.”

Silence hit the room. Endelle froze like she was a figure at a wax museum. She wasn’t even breathing.

Holy shit. Medichi looked at Stannett from his hinged position. He coughed again.

Time resumed. Endelle’s eyes bulged. “That’s not possible.”

“It is with this one.” His gaze skated to Thorne, held for the space of two long seconds, then shifted back to Endelle. What the hell did he mean by staring at Thorne?

Endelle took a step toward Stannett. “Tell me this, Owen. Why haven’t you come forward before this? I know you’re an ambitious man, but did it ever occur to you that I might be a better ally than no ally at all?”

For all Stannett’s frivolous clothes, hair, and even his affected manners, his face suddenly looked made of steel and his gray eyes glinted. “I will never be beholden to anyone, Endelle. That’s how I got this gig. Lots of politicking, bending over at the waist for centuries, taking it deep so that one day I could stand here and say, today, it pleases me to let you have this choice bit of information but that’s all you’re going to get from me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Fine, Liberace, unless you have any more ‘choice bits’ to share, I guess we’re done here.”

Medichi ran his gaze over Stannett. All that embroidered white leather and fringe. Jesus H. Christ. Had the man no pride?

Medichi had hated Stannett from the first time he’d laid eyes on him nine centuries ago, when the bastard had ascended. In very monk-like fashion, he’d worn black robes and a solemn demeanor—except he’d styled and pomaded his hair, even back then.

Stannett licked his lips.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, just say it,” Endelle cried.

His gaze shifted to Medichi. “Just save the woman, at all costs. And … well, make sure she uses her wings to good effect.”

“You mean her royle wings,” Endelle stated.

Everyone knew about Parisa’s royle wings, and now they knew that Medichi’s were the same. They both had wings that promised in some mystical way to bring peace to the land.

Stannett nodded. “Yes. Precisely.” He lifted his arm and before any of them could press for more information, he was gone.

Medichi didn’t wait. He closed his eyes and felt the man’s trace, the line of power that followed after him. He focused on the stream of red and black, Stannett’s unique signature, and dematerialized in pursuit.

But he hit some kind of metaphysical wall and woke up in Endelle’s office on his back staring up at Thorne and Endelle. Shit, how long had he been out? “What happened?” he asked.

Endelle made a disgusted wet sound in her throat and turned away from him.

Thorne offered him a hand. “What made you think you could trace after Stannett? He’s almost as powerful as Greaves.”

Medichi took the proffered hand. He saw stars as he gained his feet. He took deep breaths. Oh, shit. The future streams had predicted not just Parisa’s death but dire consequences for Second Earth if she died. He had to find her, but what more could he do? It was all up to either Central’s grid, or right now the grid at Militia HQ. Would they find her in time?

Endelle stared out the window that overlooked the east desert, which stretched for miles. The Superstition Seers Fortress lay some sixty miles in the same direction, to the place also known as Thunder God Mountain. “What a poser,” she muttered. “Although, I did like some of that embroidery, especially the yellow flowers.”

As Medichi recovered from his ill-advised pursuit, his mind settled into a loop: Battle coming, must find Parisa, battle, Parisa. “I have to find Parisa,” he said. Had he spoken the words aloud?

Thorne clapped his hand on Medichi’s shoulder. “We’ve got the grid burning juice at Militia HQ. Hang tough. We’ll find her. We’ll bring her home.”

Medichi met Thorne’s red-rimmed eyes and saw reflected what Medichi felt, panic laced with despair. Shit, what more could they do to find her? What if Parisa was killed before he could get to her?

Thorne squeezed. “The best thing you can do is get back to the White Tanks. Burma’s too big a place for any of us to hunt mile by mile for a shielded anomaly. Head over to the Borderland and take care of business. This is what we can do right now. This is what we can control. Okay?”