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Darien mouthed, “Don’t move.”
But Bandit whined, low and soft.
Darien’s eyelids slid shut. Shit.
He was airborne before he realized what was happening. He couldn’t see a thing, but whatever was in here was holding him aloft ten feet in the air. He was lifeless as a doll, limbs stiff and immobile. He couldn’t think, couldn’t call upon his magic. Four of the five senses had left his body, so he could do nothing but watch.
And he understood that this was how the creature fed.
45
Loren jolted awake in her dorm room in the House of Salt, a scream hovering on her lips. She managed to tamp it down into a soft gasp as her vision wheeled about.
She gathered her bearings slowly, taking them in object by object, sound by sound, feeling by feeling. It was a method she used to ground herself in reality after a nightmare or a panic attack grabbed hold of her.
Sabrine and Dallas were sound asleep in their beds next to hers, blankets piled on top of them. The room was shrouded in darkness, save the trickle of moonlight filtering in through the arched windows lining the north wall. Aside from Dallas and Sabrine’s breathing, there wasn’t a sound to be heard but the ticking of the clock on the nightstand. The hands indicated that it was only ten p.m.
She had no idea what had scared her out of a dead sleep, but her body was sticky with sweat, her pajama shorts and top clinging to her skin. The solar-shaped amulet was so hot, it was burning her chest.
Blinking sleep from her eyes, she reached under her shirt collar. As she tugged the amulet up, she saw that it was glowing white.
Dallas mumbled sleepily, stirring in her bed as light bounced about the room. Blankets rustled. The witch slurred Max’s name before falling back asleep.
Loren held the amulet in a tight fist to stifle the glow. It flared brighter, shining defiantly through the gaps between her fingers. It drove away the shadows in the farthest corners of the room and bounced off the mirror near the window in icy fingers.
That was when she felt it—a tug in her chest, as if someone had tied a
rope around her heart and was attempting to drag her someplace else.
She looked toward the closed door, where the thread seemed to be pulling her to.
Quietly, she got out of bed and slipped her bare feet into her sneakers, not bothering to put on socks. On the way out, she plucked her academy cardigan off the hook on the door and shoved her arms through the sleeves.
Walking on tiptoes, she cracked open the door and made her way through the House of Salt, past dozens of other rooms. The floorboards squeaked with every step, the sound traveling far. She stopped every few minutes, listening for any indication that a student had woken up.
When she made it to the entrance—the enchanted mirror that spanned an entire wall—she froze, staring down her reflection in the spotless glass.
If she were to get caught outside the House of Salt this late at night, she would be in serious trouble. And with the new headmaster now in charge of the building, her actions might even be inexcusable.
But her solar pendant was still glowing, still hot as a small sun in her grip. The feeling in her chest—the draw toward something or someone in this school—hadn’t lessened in the past few minutes. Instead, it had grown stronger, as if it knew she was listening and was telling her to keep going, to not give up. It was the same feeling she’d experienced upon waking up in the rubble of her city, after the Well replica had leveled every structure and killed every person. The day she had been so desperate to bring Darien back to life that she’d screamed for help—for the real Arcanum Well to come out of hiding and work a miracle.
She wasn’t about to ignore this feeling, not when it was finally making an appearance that was lasting longer than a few seconds.
So, she stepped forward, hand outstretched toward the mirror. The amulet flared brighter, reflecting like a tiny sun. Her fingers sank into the cold glass, the feeling like water rippling over her skin.
Before she knew it, she was standing in the firelit corridor, the mirror now behind her. The magic sealed the entrance shut with her departure, glass solidifying.
She started walking, following that invisible thread. Every time she second-guessed her actions and began to head back to the House of Salt, the solar pendant dulled, its temperature cooling.
Even though she was worried about being caught out of her dorm so late, she never did turn back. No matter how hard her thoughts and emotions warred with each other, no matter how many times her legs froze in place with uncertainty, she carried on.
No one else was out at this hour, so she was quick to cover distance. Within a matter of minutes, she found herself standing in the doorway of the academy swimming pool, nothing and no one for company but the shadows playing on the walls and ceiling. The place was eerily quiet at this time of night, the exact opposite of the noise and excitement that filled this place during the day.
Loren studied the room. The water in the pool was sloshing against the sides, as if someone had just climbed out of it. There were puddles on the tiles, and three pairs of sandals were lying under a bench by the wall.
Someone else was in here. She either had to leave now or find someplace to hide.
She was about to retreat when she heard the rumbling echo of male voices and bare feet thudding on wet floors. The echoing made it difficult to distinguish where they were coming from, and before she knew it, she was out of time—and staring down the source of the voices.
