“How long are you planning to be away?” he mumbled.

“Not long.” Particularly as he was still in such a fragile state. “But shit does happen.”

Especially since I’d saved Sam’s life and subsequently become involved in the quest to stop his brother’s mad scheme to spread the red cloak virus. Not only was Luke one of the few infected who’d retained his sanity, but he also happened to be the “queen bee” of the red cloak hive and had intended to create an army with which he could rule the world. And while we’d managed to bring Luke down in the Brooklyn madness that had taken Rory’s life, I had no idea how much of his army remained or whether he’d had a second in command who could take over. He’d certainly had a witch on his payroll—one who’d been powerful enough to not only create a spell able to contain a phoenix’s fire, but also to call and control three hellhounds. That I’d survived the encounter had been due to luck more than determination and skill on my part.

“Shit does,” Rory said. “And hopefully, the next truckload will happen all over the bastard who ordered me killed.”

I chuckled softly and touched his arm. His skin still held an edge of coolness, which meant there was a way to go before he was up to full strength, despite appearances. “I won’t be long.”

He grunted. I waited until his breathing indicated he’d slipped into a deep sleep, then grabbed my coat and headed out. It didn’t take me all that long to reach Seymour. Although there were plenty of good-quality restaurants in the town, Jackson and I had decided to meet at McDonald’s, not only because it was easier but because I’d have to stop by there anyway to grab Rory’s food.

Once I’d parked, I climbed out and looked around. There weren’t many cars here; most customers were content to simply use the drive-through, if the long line was anything to go by. None of them seemed to be paying any attention to me, but that didn’t necessarily mean there wasn’t anyone out there watching my movements. The feeling wasn’t caused by paranoia so much as past experience, given the number of people who’d been following us of late.

I couldn’t see Jackson anywhere, so I headed inside. Aside from the couple eating at one of the corner tables, the only other people here were the staff.

My phone—an untraceable one we’d gotten from a friend of Rory’s who was heavily involved in the black market trade—beeped as I ordered a green tea, several burgers, and a bag of fries. I pulled the phone out of my pocket and glanced at the screen.