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“What was her name? Your sister.”
“Maya.” He swallowed. “Maya Jane Reacher. MJ for short.” It had been years since he’d uttered her name, but he thought about her often. The memories never stopped hurting. “You know what the worst part about it was?”
Dallas waited.
“The fire destroyed everything—completely destroyed her. There was nothing left of her to bury, so we had to make due with a few of her belongings that managed to hang on by the time the MPU got there and put out the flames.” Moisture clouded his vision. “You know what it’s like to want to bury someone you love, but you’re denied that simple request and are forced to bury photographs and stuffed animals and clothes instead?”
When he glanced down at Dallas, he saw that her eyes were gleaming too. “I had no idea.”
“How could you have? I’ve never told anyone about this, except the Devils.”
“I’m so sorry, Max.”
“So am I.”
Max refused to let go of her hand until they reached the SUV. He escorted her to her door and opened it for her. He was about to get into the driver’s seat when something on the vehicle made him pause.
“What the hell?” Max used his index finger to wipe up a drop from the windshield. He smeared it against his thumb, and when he took a whiff of the thick red liquid, his airways were assaulted with a salty scent that reminded him of iron.
Dallas stepped out of the vehicle. “Is that…?”
“Blood.” He wiped it on his pants, eyes scanning the lot. With his Sight, he could see that the same spells that covered the resort also covered the parking lot, a layer of protection that would be difficult for many people or creatures to get through, unless they had been programmed for entry. Regardless, he said, “It was probably a demon fight or something. Get inside, Dal.”
For once, she didn’t argue. By the time Max was in the SUV, Dallas already had her seatbelt on and her door locked. He fired up the engine and peeled out of the lot, bits of gravel flying under the tires.
The headlights lit up the rows of cars, the glow falling upon the smattering of red that colored each one like paint thrown from a brush.
Dallas leaned forward, seatbelt pulling on her chest. “If that was a demon fight, it was a big one.”
“It’s either that or it was raining blood.” He said it like he was joking, but he found himself leaning on the steering wheel and looking up at the star-dusted sky.
The forcefield was still in place, looking the exact same as it did every night. He didn’t know what he was looking for, or why he would think blood could fall from the sky.
A demon fight. That was all it was.
18
Where was that damn grimoire?
It was Monday morning, and Loren was exhausted and sore from her weekend with Darien. Her whole body was throbbing, and there wasn’t enough coffee in the world to keep her eyes from watering, a yawn climbing up her throat as she rifled through the contents of her over-stuffed locker, students buzzing past her in the hallway.
She hoped there were no mice hiding in the shadows behind her untidy row of books. She wasn’t in the mood for a bitten finger and a trip to the emergency room. The pain she was currently feeling could be forgiven for how much fun she’d had with Darien, but an animal bite?
Yeah, she would pass on that one.
The whole row of ancient lockers rattled as the books that were crammed on the single shelf thumped from side to side. She cringed when the crumbs from some mysterious, long forgotten meal jammed up under her nails.
If that stupid book had run off again, she swore to the gods—
There it was. Her fingers closed around the cracked spine, and she pried it out from where it had managed to flatten itself against the very back of the locker, camouflaging with the metal. Given the concealment spells written on the book’s pages, she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised by how well the grimoire had managed to hide. She would have to remember to keep better tabs on this one. It was the fourth time she’d lost it this year, and Januarius had only just ended.
She pulled the grimoire out and stuffed it into her book bag. “No more hiding,” she scolded, pointing a finger at the darkness inside the bag, the book already melting into its newest camouflage. “I need you to help me study.”
Her phone buzzed in her bag, lighting up the inside of it. She pulled it out and read Darien’s message.
How are you feeling?
Like my body is one giant bruise, she replied, smiling. One giant delicious bruise. He made her hurt in all the best ways.
