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I didn’t want to leave my father behind, but if anyone knew how to take care of themself, it was him. Max, though—Max needed my help, and there were two men already chasing him.
“This could have gone so much better for you,” said Mason Diaboli.
This time, I didn’t see the flash of red with my own eyes—but I felt it. The sudden surge of magic, of that infernal power they had. Tears filled my eyes, blurring my vision as I ran after my brother. I couldn’t think about what had just happened; I had to focus, to keep my attention on Max.
Maybe my father was okay.
I saw Max head for the main doors. By the time he got to them and pulled them open, one of the guys who was running after him had caught up to him. I grabbed hold of a nearby candelabra and smashed it across the back of the head of the first guy I got to. The sound drew the attention of the one who had Max’s arm. When he turned to look at me, I roared at him, and slammed the candelabra into his cheek.
“Bee!” Max yelled, and he reached for my hand.
I stretched toward him with the amulet in my hand, sending a trickle of my power into it to activate it. We had to get out of here, and this was the only way to do it. But just as the amulet activated, and the world began to shift, I felt someone take hold of my wrist—it was one of Diaboli’s men.
I couldn’t shake him, and as long as he was holding onto me, I was going to take him with us wherever we went.
I looked over at Max, who was shaking his head and screaming the word “No!”
I didn’t have a choice.
I let go of him and the amulet, sending him into the Ether, and letting myself fall back into regular reality… and into the hands of the Diaboli.
Chapter
Eight
Ihad always felt like a prisoner in my own home; tonight, that was actually true.
The Diaboli had taken over my house… and killed my parents. I had watched my mother die right in front of me, her eyes wide and glassy, that hole burning in her chest. I hadn’t seen my father go down, but I knew he had.
I knew Mason had killed him.
But something had happened in my brain, in the time between the killings and now, to numb these facts and push them to the back. I was in fight or flight mode. My entire body felt like a spring trap, ready to snap at a moment’s notice. It was honestly the only thing keeping me from collapsing into myself with grief.
My main goal right now was to stay alive.
The Diaboli were here, rooting around in my house, looking for their Infernal Engine. I wasn’t strong enough to stop them alone, or fight them off, so all I could do was sit, keep my mouth shut, and consider every word I said and every action I took with deathly seriousness.
The way I figured, the longer I stayed alive, the higher the chances I would be able to find a way out of this and get to Max. Right now, he was the only other surviving member of my family, but he was all alone out there, and that meant I had to get to him as quickly as possible.
Mason Diaboli was somewhere in my house, with a contingent of his men at his back. I didn’t know exactly what they were doing, but from the loud bangs echoing around us I could only assume they were tossing furniture around in their search for the vault. Carla, his wife, was sitting across from me in the study. She had a glass in her hand, and inside that glass were a couple of fingers of my father’s favorite whiskey. The bottle she had helped herself to a moment ago sat on the small, round table next to her.
Behind her were two men wearing hoods and strange, monstrous masks; behind me, were two others.
I had no idea where Lucien Diaboli had gone. After I’d sent Max and the amulet away, I had been frog marched to the study and tied to a chair. Lucien hadn’t even looked at me, I couldn’t tell if he was as surprised as I was or just feeling guilty for his part in it. After all, he was the one who stole my amulet, surely he knew what he was doing when he handed it to his murderous father.
I hadn’t had a moment to really ruminate over the chain of events that had led me to this very situation—that would have to come much later, assuming I survived. My main focus right now was on making sure I knew how many bad guys there were in my house, and where they were at all times.
Knowledge was power, after all.
Carla set the glass of whiskey down in disgust. “I hate this stuff,” she said. “How can anyone drink it?”
I said nothing.
“Your father has poor taste in alcohol. Oh… oops. He had poor taste.”
My jaw clenched, my throat worked, but I said nothing. I couldn’t. She was going to try to get a rise out of me, but I wasn’t going to let her. Instead, I looked at my feet, using my peripheral vision to keep track of my surroundings.
“We’re going to find it, you know,” said Carla.
