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The world went quiet as Darien’s power struck Gaven and his men.
Darien winced, boots sliding back—just a little—as his magic connected with the storm of Gaven’s Aether. Nostrils flaring, hands twitching at his sides, Darien shoved his magic out—
With a guttural roar that shook the windows in Hell’s Gate, Darien’s magic erupted.
Bodies and vehicles went flying. Metal and glass crunched as those vehicles connected with the invisible spells covering the neighbours’ houses. Magic sputtered, electric lines zipping up and out. The smell of candle smoke seared the air.
And then Ivy was ripping Lace’s car out of the garage, the door barely opening for her on time. She screeched to a halt near the front steps.
Darien got in, the others following.
“Hold on,” Ivy gritted out. She stepped on the accelerator, gravel flying as she sped for the gates.
The spells softened at her approach, those gates swinging open right on time.
She cranked the steering wheel to the left, tires screeching as she sped past the destroyed cars, rolling over several of Gaven’s dead men.
In the side mirror, Darien watched the house disappear, the gates swinging shut again.
Watched Gaven stagger to his feet, several of his men doing the same, hands pressed to bloody foreheads and broken noses.
Darien knew it wouldn’t be the last time he’d see the prick, but he had bigger things to worry about tonight.
PART V
A HAIL OF FIRE
68
Loren woke up to a gray sky shot through with bolts of lilac and a watercolor wash of violet clouds. The ground beneath her was rumbling and cold, and a breeze that smelled of sulphur and corpse flowers swept across her face, sending her hair tumbling across it.
One more blink, and she took note of the figure crouching at her side. A male, his face blurry. He was wearing the clothes her father had been wearing at the school.
Not her father.
It was Johnathon Kyle.
They had never been in the same room. That day Loren had gone into the tunnels to find her father standing by the doorway into Spirit…
Johnathon Kyle had not been there that day.
Loren jolted and tried to sit up, but her hands and feet were bound with rope. She wore the white bodysuit, thick material groaning as she tried to fight, to wriggle free.
Johnathon gave her a cold smile. “There’s no use in struggling,” he said. “It’ll be over soon.”
“What did you do to my dad?” Loren snarled, pulling against the restraints. “To Cyra? Where are they?”
“You’ve figured it out, have you? Only took you long enough.”
“Where are they?” she repeated.
“They’re safe. For now.” The wicked glint in his eyes had her glancing around, only to realize that they weren’t alone.
The imperator and his men surrounded them, guns at the ready, watching and waiting. For what, she wasn’t sure. Klay was here too, but he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were downcast, but she sensed he was afraid. Again, she wasn’t sure why, but it made her own blood run cold.
And then that chill in her blood turned to solid ice as she took in her surroundings.
They had carried her deep into Spirit Terra. As deep as the last time she’d walked this soil. Several feet away from where the group was stationed was a curtain—the very same curtain the Shucca had burst through.
