Near the curb that looped around the cul-de-sac sat a sportscar as fierce in appearance as it was sleek, with glossy paint as black as its rims. A stupidly expensive model seldom seen on the streets, even here in the glitzy North End. It was the kind of vehicle that would make Dallas swoon the same way she did over hot, sweaty boys in hot, sweaty sports gear.
Smiling a little despite herself, Loren dug her cellphone out of the pocket of her jeans and snapped a photo of the car. The shutter clicked…and she froze.
There was a silhouette in the driver’s seat. The tinted windows were so dark, she hadn’t noticed them before.
Loren ducked her head, hiding behind her curtain of hair. She shoved her phone into her pocket, rolled up the sleeves of her red V-neck shirt, and made her way down the road. The sprawling city was glittering beneath the sun, already lively despite the early hour.
The temperature spiked at an alarming speed as she walked, the sun soon baking the asphalt beneath her heels. She stopped along the way to put up the posters, tacking them to telephone poles and transport shelters, among collages of business cards, lost-pet posters, and advertisements for demon pest-removal services.
Above a black-and-white photo of Sabrine, the posters read MISSING in large block letters, and just below the photo was a question: HAVE YOU SEEN THIS GIRL? With every poster Loren put up, the tighter her throat became. She ran out of posters faster than she thought she would, and as soon as she had tacked the last one to a corkboard near the arched doors of The Blood and Burger Pub, she carried on, walking faster now.
Having grown up on the North End, she knew every shortcut to the Avenue of the Scarlet Star, and although she was in no rush today, she chose to take the twisty, narrow alleys that meandered through residential areas in favour of the main arteries that were packed from bumper to bumper with cars.
It was also likely that the residential neighbourhoods dotting the North End were concealed with spells that deterred most Darkslayers—the same spells that covered the Avenue of the Scarlet Star and Angelthene Academy. There weren’t many places in the city that could afford to cloak the locations of their residents and visitors so thoroughly; Loren considered herself blessed for being able to spend most of her days at such places.
But there were some Darkslayers who were advanced in their abilities, and who knew how to utilize illegal Stygian salts to fully open the floodgates of their magic and see past the wards on buildings and vehicles as though they’d never been there to begin with. But she had to trysomething—and walking down the streets that had zero protection wouldn’t make her feel any better.
In the trees above an alley that connected one especially ritzy neighborhood to another, the raspy chatter of birds carried through the branches.
Loren looked up, shielding her eyes with a hand as she scanned the sun-bleached sky and the trees.
It was too bright. Laundry and bunches of herbs hanging from a clothesline in a nearby yard fluttered in a stifling breeze.
The chattering of birds grew in volume. From the sounds of it, there were more than she’d initially thought. And when Loren craned her neck back to look again, she spotted magpies huddled on the branches.
The same birds that had been squawking out a death warning the night Sabrine was taken.
Her footsteps slowed to dragging, her heart stopping dead in her chest as an old nursery rhyme clanged through her head.
One for sorrow,
Two for mirth
Three for a funeral,
Four for birth
Five for heaven
Six for hell
Seven for the devil, his own self.
She stopped walking, blood rushing in her head. The birds cawed louder, wings rustling.
One, two, three, four, five, six…
There were seven of them. Seven magpies screeching so loudly that she could no longer hear the cars in the distance. The noise clawed at her eardrums until it felt like they were bleeding.
Clapping her hands over her ears, she ran down the alley, her crossbody bag thumping against her hip. She was nearing the end of the alley and the open road beyond when the sight of a familiar black sportscar had her skidding to a halt.
Sweat beaded on her brow as the engine snarled, and the car disappeared behind the hedges framing the mouth of the alley.
The sound of her heartbeat in her ears was like a hammer on cloth. Her mouth was parched, her lungs pinched to half their size.
Behind her, the birds fell silent. She turned to look at them, and four flew away.
That left three.Three for a funeral.
