Avery wove through the cars at a standstill heading northeast on Strand. Her lungs burned. She was going to get there in time. She was going to arrive and find Saga perfectly fine. She’d probably turned her phone off because she didn’t want to be rude. She was kind that way, she was polite. They were likely obliviously looking over the photographs, and, upon accusation, Bowen would confess and surrender himself quietly.
It was a foolish thought, she knew that as she pushed herself to run faster through the streets. A desperately hopeful foolish thought.
But at that moment, Avery was a desperately hopeful fool.
She moved through both cars and the crowd, weaving in and out. She barely noticed how her lungs were struggling to keep pace, gasping for oxygen. “All will be well,” she hissed under her breath. “Fates be damned, you will be unharmed and all will be well.”
Up Kingsway, right onto Sardinia, and a dead sprint across Lincoln’sInn Fields. She could feel the sweat bead around her temples and between her shoulder blades. Her adrenaline carried her through the grass and at last she stumbled onto Stone Buildings Street.
Disoriented, she swallowed, looking around. She caught sight of building numbers at last.
Number 7, Number 6—no!
She turned around and craned her neck. She could only see the number 9. Something was wrong. Had she gone to the wrong location? A new fear gripped her and she pressed her palms against her chest, attempting to calm her heart rate as the world sharpened into view. “Saga…”
Closer down to the bend of the U-shaped structure, the numbers grew smaller. Had she passed it? She took a few steps back to examine Building 7, then turned around and noticed that what she had perceived as building 9 was in fact two buildings. While 9 Stone Buildings faced inward, its front door visible from the street, Number 8 was narrow and faced the large stone walkway that led out to the roadway outside the gate.
With renewed energy and determination, Avery rushed to the door—which was locked. Of course, it was locked.
Her vision blurry with anger, Avery focused on the keyhole, her hand shaking. She had been attempting to draw out the shadows to form lockpicks as she had before, but her nerves outweighed and overpowered her concentration, and the shadow energy that built up inside the small mechanism churned and became volatile, creating a small explosion within.
Smoke leaked from where the keyhole had been, and the door itself shifted ajar.
Avery threw it open fully, slipping inside the dark lobby.
Were they still here?
She reached into her coat pocket and retrieved a bay leaf. Her fingers shaking, she held it out in front of her where it caught flame instantly. In the dancing fire, she could see Saga’s face—thick bangs, prominent cheekbones, and an angular jawline. Her lips were full with a defined Cupid’s bow and set pleasantly below her nose, which was shorter, with a wider but concavebridge. She could picture her so clearly, from the warm brown of her skin down to the shades of copper and gold in the irises of her upturned eyes.
The last of the leaf fizzled into smoke, twisting and flashing sparks and runes before an unseen wind carried it across the lobby—but instead of drawing it outside, it seeped through the cracks of the door to the stairwell.
Avery followed it, her breath caught in her throat.
The smoke led her down to the basement, and she walked cautiously. They were stone, and so they did not creak, but if she was not careful, the soles of her boots would create an echo that would announce her before she even had a chance to assess the situation.
Coming upon a single door, Avery listened at it—hearing nothing, she opened it a crack to peer within.
The lights were on, but just beyond the door, she could only see filing cabinets, blocking her view of anything else. With the door open, she could hear someone inside, walking back and forth, tinkering with something.
Avery opened the door a sliver further, confirming that a wall of cabinets obscured the view of the door entirely. She glanced on either side and, seeing no one, slipped into the room.
Nothing but files, but clearly they had been arranged in a way to conceal the size of the room.
Avery could feel a wave of goose bumps rush over her skin: the familiar prickle of magical energy nearby. She ducked her head down, making sure to stay well behind the cabinets as she moved to peer around the side.
She saw Saga first—strapped down to what appeared to be a medical table. Careful observation of her form revealed she seemed to be unconscious—but breathing. Above her head on the table sat a cauldron aflame with small pieces of wood, and dried herbs, slowly burning away and filling the air with the haze of smoke that had been building for quite some time.
Saga was alive, and relief swept over Avery.
Then she saw Bowen, standing over another table holding various jars and tools—and opposite that table was Eira Goff’s missing body.
Whether they were getting too close, or simply because Saga had walkedinto a trap, clearly he had decided he could no longer wait to perform the ritual.
Relief was fleeting, replaced by a cold fury within her. She gathered shadows to her from the cabinets. She’d never used it as a weapon before—she had never seen cause to try before. Her breath misted as her focus narrowed on the cause that stood before her now.
Bowen moved from the table, something silver catching the light in his hand—a scalpel.
Avery gave him no more time, the shadow flicking out from her hand like a whip. It struck the scalpel, sending it flying and clattering to the ground. “Donottouch her.” The words that growled out of her were so low they barely sounded like her voice.
