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He surrendered them and stepped back, lifting his shaking hands above his hand.
Max opened the driver’s door, and Dallas got in the passenger’s seat.
“Where are we going?” she asked him as he started the car and put it in drive. “Are you okay to drive?”
He merely said, “Hell’s Gate,” and slammed his boot down on the accelerator.
81
Hell’s Gate
ANGELTHENE, STATE OF WITHEREDGE
Hell’s Gate was destroyed.
As soon as Max got down the driveway, he threw himself out of the car and sprinted inside—through the doors that had been kicked off the hinges.
“Lacey?” he roared as he tore into the foyer, her name breaking on its way out. Heart lurching up his throat with every beat, he stalked through the room, over broken furniture, shattered glass, and splintered picture frames. The glass table was in pieces, crushed flowers and Crossroads coins scattered across the floor. “TRAVIS!”
No answer.
Footsteps crunched behind him. He whirled, but it was only Dallas—pale-faced and tearing up as she took in the house that looked like a tornado had gone through it.
Max was going to vomit. Every step he took sent shots of terror deep into his bones—terror that he would catch a glimpse of blood or body parts in the ruins of his home. Pieces of his family.
Fuck.
Fuck.
“Morty?” This time, Max’s voice was barely a choked sob.
His legs threatened to buckle as he stepped into the living room. Swept his gaze across the couches, the broken television, the shattered glass all over the place, the overturned table with the art of a winged devil burned into the surface.
Max’s breathing slowed, but the sick feeling didn’t go away. He might not have found any evidence of death yet, but he still had the rest of the house to search and—
And Mortifer was gone.
A low whine came from behind the sofa.
Grim climbed out from under pieces of broken wood. He was limping, his dark body speckled with slivers of glass.
Max crouched down. “Grim, buddy, hey.” He beckoned, and Grim crept closer, his neck still cinched with that goddamn glowing collar. As soon as Grim got closer, Max used both hands to get a firm hold on the collar and pulled.
Nothing. He pulled harder. “Come on,” he muttered, sweat prickling on his temples.
It snapped—
And burst into flame.
Max let go and recoiled, nearly falling on his ass as the collar disintegrated. Within seconds, there was nothing left of it but a small pile of ashes on the wood floor.
Grim sat down, head hanging low, and whimpered, tail curling around his front legs. They took him, Maximus.
“Who?” Max asked, bile coating his tongue. “Morty?”
Grim nodded. They forced me to let them in, he whispered. I couldn’t stop them—I had no control. I am sorry. He said again, They forced me. Mortifer, he…he was so scared. Grim whined. And I could do nothing.
“That was why they took you,” Max said. “To get in the house.”
