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Layden laughs bitterly again, his hard eyes so different from the openness I’ve seen from him the last week. I hate that, but at the same time, he’s better off away from me. I’m a poison to anyone I’ve ever been near.
“I’ve been like this for thousands of years,” he grates out. “This curse was woven into my very being as soon as I was born, so forgive me if I don’t think some human barely out of childhood can do anything for me.”
Sabra’s eyebrows lift, and she cocks a hand on one hip. “I might not be a crusty thousand-year-old, buddy, but I come from a powerful line of witches. You’re a magical being, and I move magic. Have you ever even tried anything for your magical disability?”
Layden looks momentarily stunned by her comeback. “I—Well… no.” He frowns. “But I guess if I really think about it… my brothers were able to walk around without always inflicting their curse on whoever was around them. They could direct theirs. It was just me who couldn’t.” His eyes flick back toward Sabra. “You think it’s a disability?”
“There’s more of you?” Sabra perks up, and I bump her shoulder with mine. “Look,” she glances back to Layden. “Come back with us, and let us help you.”
Immediately, Layden and I lock gazes. Did hope just leap in his chest like it did in mine? But dear god, hope for what?
“Only if you want me to come,” he says.
“Of course we want you to come,” Sabra pipes up. “The chance to work with a magical being like you is a once-in-a-lifetime chance! That is, unless you think any of your brothers would be interested in volunteering to work with me, too?”
Layden ignores her, his gaze still holding mine. We both know he was only asking me the question. My breath catches in my chest. What does he mean? If I say no, will he just go back and sit down in the forest for another two hundred years? Will there even be a forest for that long? He doesn’t know it, but the world has sped up around him. Cities and roads and human activity of all kinds encroach further and further into the wild every year.
But if he comes with us, Grandfather will try to use him. He’s powerful, and Grandfather loves power more than anything else on earth. Certainly more than he loves me if he was ever capable of such a thing.
Then again, Layden might be powerful, too. Those wings… He was once an angel. Maybe he’s the one person in the world who Vlad can’t use as a pawn.
“Yes, I want you to come,” I whisper before I think better of it.
The most beautiful smile breaks out over Layden’s handsome face. “Then let’s go.”
Chapter Eleven
LAYDEN
Present Day
The Fallen Angels Club is right between the university and the edge of downtown, which is probably why it’s so popular. It’s huge, right off a main subway stop, and at the center of everything.
We stop off at Phoenix’s city apartment so she can change. For a second, I think she’ll make me wait downstairs, but she finally rolls her eyes and says I can come up.
Before we start climbing the stairs to her apartment, she stops me. “Can we actually not say anything about this to Sabra?”
“Why?” I ask, surprised. “She’s always such a help.”
Phoenix breathes out, sounding frustrated. “Things have just been…” Her eyes glance up the stairs. “She hasn’t been totally happy with me since everything went down with the Destroyers.”
“It wasn’t your fault that went off the rails. It was Vlad’s.”
Phoenix shakes her head. “Look, it doesn’t matter. I’m just trying not to”—she waves her hands in a flurry—“put any of my bullshit on her for a while. Okay? You and me can handle Ammit without her.”
I don’t like it, but I still say, “Fine.”
She nods and starts up the stairs. After using her key to get in, she heads straight for her bedroom, not saying anything to Sabra, who’s working some spell in the center of the living room.
“Hey,” I say, sitting on the small loveseat that’s been pulled back out of the way so Sabra can work her chalk circle in the center of the wood floor. I look around. It’s a nice place, but small. Certainly not the kind of place Vlad would be putting them up in. Are they paying for it themselves?
Sabra barely looks up to acknowledge me. “Oh. Hey.”
“What are you working on?”
She uses the side of her hand to swipe off some chalk and then starts rewriting arcane glyphs over the smudged chalk. The flyaway hairs from her braid are worse than normal. Which usually means she’s been working at the circle for long hours already.
“Sab?” I question again, knowing she might well not have heard me the first time.
