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Travis couldn’t read Roark’s expression, but he swore the man’s eyes tightened at the name of his old friend—the friend he’d believed was dead.
Taega spoke up. “The fact that the blueprints for the replica have been accessed tells us we have a big problem on our hands.” She faced her husband. “Roark, if you’d do the honors of telling them.”
The one thing Roark could speak freely about: The replica. “The files have been accessed somewhere in Yveswich,” Roark began. “We don’t have specific coordinates, but we are certain that whoever is accessing the files is there as we speak. And we have reason to believe it might be the imperator and his men.” Travis watched as a muscle fluttered in Roark’s cheek. He added tightly, “And we’re afraid they are building another replica.”
The blood drained from Travis’s face. For a moment, their group was silent.
And then Logan said, “What would be the point? It blew up Angelthene the first time—what makes them think it won’t happen again?”
Travis added, “And why Yveswich?”
“Yveswich is a very important place,” Taega said. “It was the very first sealing point for the Veil, when it was first erected.” She drew a breath that trembled, her eyes flicking to Roark. “The city also overlaps with the Void.” Exactly like Tamika said. “It is directly overtop it—the mirror of a place in Spirit Terra known in history books as The Necropolis.” An ancient language that translated to City of the Dead.
Travis’s blood drained from his face, his thoughts immediately shifting to Paxton and Roman.
To Darien.
Roark scanned their group with a hard gaze. “Have any of you ever given the imperator a reason to want to go to Yveswich?”
61
Motel 58
STATE OF WITHEREDGE
Aside from a store that claimed to sell everything in the alphabet, Motel 58 was the only business around for miles.
Their group stood out front of the tiny motel—all except Blue and Dominic, who were invisible in the SUV. They’d decided it was a good idea to keep Blue hidden, and she hadn’t argued; even simply being here set her on edge. From the moment they’d pulled up, she’d kept looking toward room number three with panicked eyes, and although Max couldn’t see her right now through the spells, he had a feeling she was still doing it.
The employee they were speaking to was named Clark. A half-human warlock in his mid-thirties, who Malakai was about to lose his shit on.
“Did you,” Malakai began slowly, speaking the same question he’d asked the guy twice already, “or did you not have a shift the day the police were here?”
Clark was staring into space. He blinked his bloodshot eyes and looked at the Reaper, as if finally noticing Malakai was there. “Huh? Oh—no. No, I didn’t work that day, I just heard about it.”
“Do you spend every day like this?” Malakai snapped.
The guy blinked again, mouth hanging open. “Like what?”
“High as a fucking kite!”
Aspen stepped forward. “Clark,” she began, impatience simmering beneath her polite tone, “is there anyone else we might be able to speak to?”
Clark smiled goofily, as if finally understanding something. “Ohh—you’re a Reaper!”
Aspen blinked. She was beginning to look as frustrated as Malakai.
“A couple other Darkslayers were staying here recently, y’know?” Clark said. “You guys are beyond cool. Vigilantism and all that.” He gave a stupid nod of approval.
Max rolled his eyes.
“Vigilantism?” Malakai growled. He pointed a finger in Clark’s face. “Don’t ever insult me like that again—”
Max stepped forth, knocking Malakai’s arm aside before he could get them all arrested. “What’d they look like?”
Clark blinked. “Huh?”
“The Darkslayers!”
