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“Ready?”
Christa nodded.
Darien unbuckled her, her body shooting forward. She landed on her shoulder, glass crunching as she twisted around to face him.
“Your window’s too narrow,” Darien said, gesturing to the warped metal on her side. “We’re going to have to go through mine. Okay?”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “Ready when you are.”
He grabbed her wrists and tugged her out, moving blindly through his shattered window, glass digging into his knees, the pieces sticking to the fabric of his hoodie that rode up his stomach. He could barely fit out the crushed door, and he almost banged his head, boots thumping on twisted metal, as he shimmied out onto the road.
The Reapers got there as soon as Darien was straightening, pulling Christa up with him.
“Shit,” Malakai said. “You alright?”
Darien wiped at the blood streaming from his nose. “I think so.”
Sylvan said, “What the hell was that?”
That was when it hit. A sound Darien had felt only once before—on Kalendae, when the waves of magic coming off the Well had ripped into every person in the city who possessed magic, rendering them nearly useless.
Darien clapped his hands over his ears and staggered, nearly falling on his ass. It felt like someone was peeling his flesh off his bones. His skull was cracking open, and his veins were going to burst—
“You okay?” Valen’s voice barely reached him.
And then Christa was standing in front of him, reaching for him but not touching. “Darien, what’s happening?”
No one else was hearing it, no one was feeling it. No one but him and—
And Malakai, who was crouching down on the road several feet away, his own bloody hands covering his ears, eyes shut tight.
“What’s the matter with them?” This question came from Sylvan.
What the hell was happening?
As soon as the sound ebbed, and Darien could breathe without feeling like there was crushed glass in his lungs, he knew he had to get away from here, and he had to go now.
“I have to go,” he gritted out, wincing as another wave of something he couldn’t name—weaker, but still managing to make his skin feel taut, his soul watered down—rolled over him. His magic was surging. He had to get away from here, had to get to a place where he could unleash himself— “Get her home,” Darien managed to say, waving a hand at Christa. “And don’t be dicks about it.”
Malakai called after him. “Darien!” The Reaper lurched to his feet as that unnamed power took its claws out of him too, Christa hurrying over to steady him.
But Darien was already running, sprinting through the city, nearly losing his footing on the pavement that had been blown up, chunks of it scattered across his path.
He ran and ran and ran, not stopping, heading straight for the Umbra Forum at the curve of the river way off in the distance. As he ran, he got his phone out and called Travis.
The line rang. Once. Twice.
And then, “What’s up, Dare?”
“I totaled your car,” Darien said, eyes now wholly black as the Surge fully grabbed hold of him. This time, when the need to rip his flesh off swept through his body, he started counting down. He had minutes left before he would need to unleash this magic. This rage. This—this need. If he didn’t make it to the Block on time, he would have to settle for the demons in the back alleys.
“What?” Travis spat.
“I’m sorry, I’ll get you a new one—”
“No, no, I don’t care about the car, Darien! Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, but I need you to call Loren. Tell her I can’t see her tonight, it isn’t safe. I’ll call her tomorrow.” Worst goddamn timing in the world.
