“I didn’t see them.”

“Good. Means they weren’t caught.” He swallowed and I gave him more water. “Your mom?”

“I don’t know. She was with us. Now she’s not. So you came with Elena and Clay?”

“Yeah. Joined up in New Orleans. Keep an eye on you. Didn’t go so well. Elena’s smart. Knew we were outnumbered. Phone was blocked. Wanted us hanging back. I didn’t listen. Had to play the hero. Paid the price.”

I leaned over him and smiled. “I’d kiss you, but I suspect that would be painful.”

He looked at me. Tilted his head, and made my heart hammer. I told myself that I’d said it casually enough, if he wanted to think I was just kidding, he could and—He put his hand on the back of my head, pulled me down and kissed me. It was a light kiss, our lips barely touching, but it was sweet and sexy and slow, and when it finally broke, I was the one pulling back, worried that I was leaning on him, and hurting his ribs, but he kept me there, hand still in my hair, holding my face close to his.

“I guess that answers the question,” he said.

“Was there ever a question?”

“Sure.”

I lifted my brows. “I’ve had a crush on you since I was twelve. I’m sure you noticed.”

“I did when you were twelve. And fourteen. And sixteen. But eventually …” He shrugged. “You grew up. We became friends.”

“So you figured the rest just went away?”

“Faded, I guess. Changed into something else.”

“No, I just learned to hide it better.”

I leaned over and kissed him again. Just a quick one. “That hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Not necessarily a bad hurt.”

I laughed and unfolded the blankets. I got one under him and one over him. Then he pulled me against him.

There was so much I wanted to say. So much I wanted to ask. So much that was completely and utterly inappropriate and unimportant under the circumstances.

We talked about what was important, filling each other in. That meant I did most of the talking. When we’d finished, I went over to the bars again and craned to see what was out there.

“Really could use Jaime’s mirror right now,” I said. “I heard someone coughing earlier. But I have no idea where we are or what we’re doing here.”

“You’ve been misplaced,” a man’s voice said. It was smooth and strong, too close to be the coughing man from earlier.

“Who’s there?” I said.

“You’ve been misplaced,” the voice repeated. “That’s more important than who I am. You wouldn’t know my name anyway. You’re too young.”

“How do you know that?”

A chuckle. It sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it. “I’m sorry if I offend you, my dear, but you sound young. That’s not a bad thing. Better than sounding old.”

Adam appeared beside me, grabbing the bars for support.

“You said we’ve been misplaced,” Adam said. “What does that mean?”

A pause. Then, “You’ve been hurt.”

“How—?”

“I can hear it in your voice. I’ve been in enough fights to recognize the sound of broken ribs. Go lie down, boy. You’ll need your strength in here.”

Adam’s mouth tightened. He didn’t like being called “boy,” but the voice didn’t sound sarcastic. Adam pulled the blankets over to the bars and lay down, then tugged my pant leg until I sat beside him.

“Misplaced is exactly what it sounds like,” the man said. “When the Nasts want to hide someone, they put them here. The paperwork, I presume, will say that you are in the usual prison cells. Then someone will go to find you and …”

“We aren’t there,” I said.

Adam whispered, “It’s just a game. Lucas will tell Sean what happened, and he’ll find us. They can’t hide us from Sean. Not for long anyway.”

The man heard us—a half-demon with auditory powers, I was guessing.

“The young Nast? Now that is a fortunate connection. Yes, if you know him, then this would appear to be a simple power play. An uncomfortable one, but you won’t rot down here.”

That cough again, from farther away, as if reinforcing our neighbor’s point.

“How many people are in here?” I asked.

“Hard to say,” the man mused. “You’re the first new ones in a few years. The rest … They aren’t what I’d call sociable. Sick. Crazy. A combination of the two, mostly. Locked away and forgotten.”

“You—you’ve been here for years?”

He chuckled. “No, my dear. Mere months in this place would drive anyone mad. I’m a regular but temporary visitor. A special case. I work for the Nasts. Not voluntary labor, but they keep me in reasonable comfort if I behave myself.” He paused. “I don’t always behave myself.”

“So they lock you up down here.”

“Yes, and it’s my own fault, as they’re quick to remind me. But I don’t do well with authority. Or with cages, however pretty. I won’t be here long. I hear they have a mission for me. If not, they’ll still take me out after a few days and put me on ice.”

“Kill you?”

A laugh now. “No, my dear. I’m too valuable for that. I mean put me on ice quite literally. I believe there are human laws against the use of prisoners for scientific experimentation. That doesn’t apply with Cabals. They make use of us. Cryogenics, in my case. Six months a year seems to be the safe limit. In my case, it has the dual advantages of keeping me under control for six months, and ensuring I don’t out-age my usefulness too soon.”

I’d have been shocked if I hadn’t already known all the Cabals were working on cryogenics, one of many scientific races they engaged in. The Cortezes had also managed to freeze subjects for up to six months.

So this wasn’t news. But it did spark a memory. Cassandra had been talking about cryogenic science a few years ago. No, she wasn’t interested in freezing herself to extend her shrinking lifespan. But she’d heard a rumor that the Cortez Cabal had captured two vampires and was using them for cryogenics experiments. Since vampires don’t age, something in their DNA might help perfect the freezing.