Oblivion (Nevermore #3)

Oblivion (Nevermore #3) Page 103

The ribbon might not answer all of Isobel’s questions regarding Reynolds, but it did answer the most important one of all.

He was on their side.

Her side.

As he had been the entire time.

42

Unbinding

“Izzy, get back!” Dropping Isobel’s hand, Gwen leaped in front of her.

Isobel blinked in shock as Gwen delved into her purse and retrieved a small metal canister.

“One step,” Gwen growled at Reynolds, leveling the container right at him, “gets you an instant face improvement. I got a ten-foot stream on this thing and two million Scoville heat units that will make you wish you were dead . . . er.”

Isobel squinted at the canister. Was that . . . ?

“It’s called covering,” Gwen snapped at Isobel from over her shoulder. “Now would you go? Both of you. I’m right behind you.”

So Gwen hadn’t been joking about the pepper spray.

Isobel smirked, unable to help herself.

Unperturbed, Reynolds carefully sheathed his cutlasses one after the other.

“That’s right, Barbossa, pack ’em up,” barked Gwen as she shifted skittishly from foot to foot. “Now . . . just turn and walk away. Back to whatever sad, subterranean, pipe-organ-playing underworld existence you decided to take a vacation from.”

“Gwen . . .” Stepping forward, Isobel placed a hand on her friend’s trembling wrist. “It’s okay. He’s okay.”

Gwen frowned, eyes flitting from Reynolds to Isobel and back again.

“What do you mean ‘okay’?” she asked. “This is the guy you tackled linebacker style. The same freak who fractured my arm.”

“He’s a friend,” Isobel said, and though Gwen remained tense, she allowed Isobel to push her pepper-wielding arm down. “I promise.”

Slipping past Gwen, Isobel approached Reynolds.

His arms folded, his expression as impassive as ever—though perhaps a bit more acerbic than usual—he seemed to be waiting for her to stop and dutifully listen to whatever foreboding message he had come to impart.

Hadn’t he learned anything about her?

Isobel charged forward and plowed into him, flinging her arms around his middle.

Reynolds went rigid in her embrace. Lifting his own arms, he held them up and out of the way, as if she were some sort of parasite that had latched on to him.

But Isobel only squeezed him tighter, not caring if he didn’t like being liked. She breathed in deeply that decaying, cloying essence of dead roses and, despite its pungency, found the sharp scent oddly comforting.

Like Reynolds himself.

“Thank you,” she said.

Reynolds remained silent as a moment of either tolerance or indecision elapsed. Then, grasping Isobel by the shoulders, his sturdy gloved hands pushed her back.

“You may yet curse me when you learn how very much now depends entirely upon you,” he said. “On the both of you.”

With that, Reynolds released Isobel and stalked to the entryway, where he took the door from Varen.

“Right,” Isobel muttered to herself as she swept a lock of matted hair from her eyes. “What was I thinking? Hugs are so last year.”

“Go,” Reynolds said, nodding them toward the door frame before glancing behind at the silent forest, now void of all movement and figures. “All of you.” Thunder rolled in the distance, and Reynolds tilted his head back, glaring into the emptied sky. “She is coming.”

Varen passed through the doorway first, but he paused two steps down to peer at Isobel.

Ushering Gwen ahead of her, Isobel entered the dark space, the wooden steps creaking and moaning beneath them.

Gwen craned her neck to glare back at Reynolds, who, after taking one last scan of the horizon, ducked in after them and shut the door.

Ahead, Varen reached the bottom of the narrow stairs, trailing white boot prints as he swiftly disappeared around a corner.

Isobel moved to follow him, but Reynolds caught her arm.

“Let him go,” he said. “We must talk.”

Isobel looked to Gwen, issuing a silent plea. Gwen frowned, eyes oozing suspicion as they flicked to Reynolds.

“Gwen, please,” Isobel said.

Gwen stared unflinchingly at Reynolds for another long beat. Then Isobel felt Gwen’s hand bump her own, passing over the tube of pepper spray. Isobel accepted the cool cylinder as she fought another smile.

Breaking her sharp glare at last, Gwen turned and rattled down the steps after Varen.

As Isobel watched her friend go, she had only a second to wonder what this place was—where Varen had vanished to in such a rush and why. Because when Reynolds spoke again, his words drew her focus entirely back to him.