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She decided she would ask him tonight—when he and Malakai finished their errand and got back to Roman’s.
“I love you,” she told him, the words so at odds with their violent surroundings.
The declaration made the black in Darien’s eyes disappear with one blink. He kissed her hand and plowed on.
No one touched her after that.
They found the man they were looking for in a covered seating area overlooking the fighting ring. It was less crowded over here, but Darien still hung onto her as they ascended the steps, their feet thumping hollowly on wood that sagged with moisture and age. Loren resisted the urge to look down at the gaps between the benches, where an unnatural darkness lurked. She could feel many eyes watching her, could hear whispering as the creatures tried goading her into looking down.
Look down, they whispered with hissed, razor-edged chuckles. Don’t look up.
Watch out, another giggled. Don’t trip.
Won’t you play with us?
We’re so lonely, another wept.
Such sweet, human blood.
“Head up,” Darien warned.
She nodded. Drew a steadying breath, focusing on where she was placing her feet, never looking directly at the dark, swirling gaps between the wood, the unworldly blackness sparkling with faint colors. “What are those things?” she asked Darien.
“Exspiravits. They suck the breath out of people.” Loren heard Max explaining the same to Dallas a short ways behind them. “Two more steps,” Darien said. “I got you.” He helped her up, his hold never faltering.
Kylar had already reached Alfie, both men smiling as they spoke. Alfie was a warlock in his early forties, his inflamed eyes and pallid skin suggesting he was sick with the Tricking. As he spoke to Kylar, he stared out at the match, his lips moving around the thick cigar trapped between teeth that were yellowed from drug use. Their exchange was so quiet, only immortal ears could hear.
“Alfie, this is Darien,” Kylar said, gesturing with a brown hand adorned with spider- and phantom-shaped rings.
Alfie took the cigar out of his mouth and used the other to shake hands with Darien. “Cassel—pleasure.”
“Likewise.”
As Alfie’s eyes flicked between the others in their group, glinting with curiosity as he took in Loren and Dallas, Max stepped forward and extended a hand. “Maximus Reacher.”
Alfie shook it. “Pleasure. You’re right on time.” He put out his cigar and stood, a couple of warlocks who were seated in the tiered benches farther up doing the same. Bodyguards, Loren realized. “Follow me.”
He led them down the steps and around to the back of the wooden stands, to a door illuminated by an acid-green bulb mounted to the exterior wall. It was the only light source in the area, the shadows and lack of activity behind the stands creating the same atmosphere as a Crossroads—a supernatural one. The darkness was pressing. Cloying. A buzzer sounded as Alfie opened the door, and hazy lights flicked on with a motion sensor, revealing a treacherously steep staircase that dove deep into the earth.
“Wait right here,” Alfie said to his bodyguards, his voice barely a mumble.
Loren followed Darien inside, and as she felt the air peel back, she realized—
What she had felt a moment ago wasn’t her imagination. This place was hidden by magic. The same way the blood farm at the Umbra Forum was hidden, the spells keeping law enforcement from digging up the people responsible for the heinous crime of farming blood from the unwilling.
Her heart sped up as they descended the cement steps, deep into the underground that reeked like a tomb. Darien, sensing her distress, gently squeezed her hand, and then lifted it so he could press his mouth against the inside of her wrist, his steady breaths warming her skin that was suddenly icy cold.
At the bottom of the steps was a network of corridors, all lit with acid-green bulbs that made everyone in their group look sickly. There were so many closed doors down here, they reminded Loren of cells. She shuddered to think what lay beyond them. Alfie brought them to the third door to the left and pushed it open. One by one, they filed in.
The door shut behind them, and Alfie strode up to a row of metal lockers, all latched with padlocks. “Martel said to get you as many as I have on hand,” Alfie said, back facing them as he slid a key into a padlock. It clicked open, and he swung open the locker doors to reveal stacks of black boxes.
“Right,” Darien confirmed, completely at ease down here. Gods, how many places like this had he walked? Loren could feel things lurking in the air, even in a room as unfurnished and wide-open as this, no shadows to be seen, no closets. Just a few simple lockers and a single table in the center of the room. It unsettled her to imagine sleeping down here, especially when she heard distant screaming from a room deeper in, and a squawking that sounded like a cross between bird and human.
Alfie slid out the third box from the bottom and brought it over, thumping it onto the table that rattled under the force. He slid a thumb into the cardboard latch at the front of the box and opened it, revealing rows of small pointed missiles. “Two thousand Morsian darts,” he said, bloodshot eyes flicking up to meet Darien’s. “That’s all I got, but more’s coming next week.”
“How much you want?”
“Ten thousand,” Alfie replied.
