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His eyes narrowed with scrutiny. “Are you in trouble?”
“No more questions.” She stood. “Please, Tanner, take me to school and tell Darien to find me later when he’s feeling better.”
Tanner rose to his feet. “This is slightly better than the fireplace incident, but barely.” He made for the entrance hall, beckoning with a pale hand. “Let’s go, then. Before I change my mind.”
—
Darien was still shaking off the remnants of sleep as he paced through the empty sitting room of Hell’s Gate. Someone had turned on a couple lamps, the backyard dark under a starless sky.
“Where’s Loren?” Darien said to no one as he made for the staircase, wondering how much of last night—the carnival, the group discussion in the sitting room, the feel of Loren’s delicate arms hugging his body while he slept—was a dream and how much was real. Had Loren been here at all? Or had his desperate mind given him what he’d been pining for? “What day is it?” His voice echoed. “How long have I been out?”
That was when Tanner came down the stairs, socked feet thumping, the glasses that were perched on his head nearly falling off. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Where’s Loren?” Darien’s heart was racing. There was a sick feeling in his stomach, one that told him a cold truth he didn’t want to acknowledge. But he bit out, “She’s gone again, isn’t she?”
“She left this morning,” Tanner said, slowing as he reached the bottom of the staircase. “You’ve been out since last night.”
Darien ran a hand through his hair, lungs tight, mind spinning with everything Tamika and Arthur had said, all of it flooding back to him in pieces. Spirit Terra, the Veil, the Crossroads—
“She’s in trouble,” Darien said, hand squeezing a fistful of his hair, nearly ripping it out. He forced his hand to let go. “I know she’s connected in some way to all that shit going on with Spirit Terra. I need to talk to her.” He’d suspected it for some time now, especially after that warlock at the Chopping Block had revealed the information about the lowering of the Veils. He hadn’t wanted to admit it, but—
“Look, Darien,” Tanner began. “I don’t know what’s going on, but she asked me to tell you to go to her school. She wouldn’t tell me why, but she said you can’t call or text her.”
Darien spun toward the front door, but Tanner hurried past him and blocked his path.
“Darien,” Tanner said, moving in Darien’s way again when he tried to side-step him. “Give it an hour. It’s suppertime, she’ll be in the dining hall. You’ll be seen.”
“Shit.” He started pacing again. His clothes smelled of blood and sweat; he needed to have a shower. “Did she say anything else? Anything at all? I feel like I’m losing my mind.”
“No, but I decided to dig into the student files at AA, and I found that Klay kid.”
Darien froze. “And?”
“He was registered under a fake name.” Every thought eddied out of Darien’s head as Tanner concluded, “His real last name is Lucent.”
62
Loren stayed in the library of Angelthene Academy way past curfew, the other students having retired to their dorms hours ago.
She was beginning to worry about Darien and the others. But she wouldn’t risk texting any of them, in case the imperator was still monitoring her phone. Klay had watched her during all her classes again, always sitting in the back row. He’d watched her during lunch hour and every snack break, never giving her a chance to breathe, the imperator’s men doing the same.
If Darien didn’t make it here tonight, if she didn’t get a chance to show him what was happening, she worried Quinton would have her back in Spirit again to finish what he’d started. And this time, she wasn’t sure she would make it back out again. Once he found the Well, or—worse—discovered she was playing him for a fool, he would kill her.
The sound of the security guards approaching the library pushed her up out of her seat. She was at one of the back tables in the long room, the many rows of book shelves blocking her from view, the broken ones repaired by the careful magic of the headmaster and the other teachers.
The guards were coming in here.
Quickly, she grabbed her bags and rushed behind the shelves, barely avoiding getting spotted. It sounded like they were going to check the whole library, which meant she would have to get through the only set of doors at the far end of the room and out into the corridor.
She moved stealthily, impressing even herself as she dodged the beams of flashlights and crouched behind book cases.
But when she made it to the doors, the ghost—the Staring Teenager—threw a book at her head with a hissing laugh, eyes no more than black sockets.
She ducked right on time—but there was one problem.
The book hit the wall beside the door instead, drawing the attention of both guards, who shouted out upon spotting her, telling her to stop.
Loren made a run for it, book bag and purse thumping against her hip. She took the twisting corridors quickly, footsteps slapping, skirt and hair fluttering. They were coming after her; she could hear them. If they caught her, if they found out which student was wandering the hallways this late, she could be suspended. Or, worse, expelled. She had to hide.
