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“Another Veil,” Klay replied. “Spirit Terra is divided into realms that are separated by curtains, or Veils, whatever you prefer to call them. We’ve found two so far.”
“How do we get through?”
Quinton said, “That’s what you’re for, Loren.”
“Again,” she said in a hard voice, “I don’t even know how I did it the first time. How do you expect me to be able to do it again?”
Quinton didn’t say anything. The group kept walking. It was hard to tell how much time was passing in here. The sky was different; it had no stars, but she swore she saw a moon glowing beyond the storm, a sickle of blood-red against a violet backdrop.
“Feel anything yet, Miss Calla?” Calanthe asked.
No, she wasn’t. But before she could reply in truth, she decided to test the waters and see what she was working with, how difficult it might be to fool them and turn the tables in her favor.
“Let me try something.” She paused, placing a hand over her chest with feigned concentration. “My amulet has always lit up when my magic is active. It has a white light and…and heat.”
“And?” Johnathon Kyle prompted, looking her over with an expression that bordered on disgust. “Do you feel anything now?”
“I feel a tug,” she whispered.
Calanthe took an eager step forward. “Where, Miss Calla?”
“To the east.”
Before she could change directions, the imperator’s arm shot out, stopping her in her tracks. He stepped up to her, and she resisted the urge to back away as he snaked his little finger under the chain of her solar amulet, tugging it up from under her bodysuit. He studied the metal—cold and lightless. When his eyes met hers, she found that they were as cold and lightless as her amulet.
He let go of the chain and clamped his hand around her throat. The whites of his eyes were swallowed up by black first, followed by the irises.
“Stop.” Her voice was a strangled cry as her hands went to his. She tried to pull his grip off, but he only squeezed tighter, cutting off her supply of oxygen as his magic tunnelled into her mind.
Images flashed through her head. Terrible images of death and blood and hurt, all of them involving her family—
“Please—” she tried. She could feel her face turning as purple as the ground and sky, and her eyes began to water.
The images just kept coming.
Darien and Ivyana, bleeding out on the kitchen floor at Hell’s Gate.
Sabrine and Dallas, impaled on the gates of Angelthene Academy, their broken bodies bowed in death, blank eyes staring skyward on a bright and beautiful spring day, the contrast making their deaths all the more horrible.
The last image was the worst. She nearly fell to her knees as it ripped through her mind, a cry climbing up her throat.
Darien, nailed to the wall beside the entrance to Spirit Terra, head bowed in death, arms spread out at his sides like wings. Blood dripped to the floor, forming a lake of red—
A flare of warmth spread through her chest. It spread and spread, liquid heat pooling around her heart. The magic coursed through every limb. It made her whole body tingle, and she held onto it like it was an anchor, willing it to get her out of here—
She ripped free of the imperator’s hold, stumbling back, ground crunching under her frantic footsteps.
Klay hurried behind her and caught her just before she could fall.
“Fuck,” she panted at Quinton, swallowing the ache in her throat as she regained her balance, “you.”
That scarred mouth formed a cruel smile. “I knew you had it in you.”
He closed the distance between them with three casual strides. She tried to back away, but Klay held firmly to her upper arms, the traitor.
Quinton leaned in close to her ear, breath tickling her neck as he whispered, “Do not lie again. Or those images I just showed you will no longer be of my mind’s own making.”
Loren swallowed. “I can’t find the Well if my amulet does not respond.”
