Loren’s fingers went to the talisman—the pendant with a closed eye at its centre. “The Avertera talisman is only hiding my aura.”
“I do not speak of that pendant, child. I speak of the conduit you’ve worn since you were a baby.Hold me close when the hour is dire and wish upon the Liar.Does that not ring a bell?”
Loren was shaking her head. “I don’t understand.”
“But you will. The wish was bought for you by your father for you to use in a time of need. And youmustwish upon the Liar. It will be your only chance.” The urgency in the spider’s voice sent a chill down Loren’s spine.
“I have to go,” she whispered, suddenly lightheaded. Her tattoo was glowing, just like her skin in her odd reflection. The meaning behind the engraving on her solar pendant pulsed inside her skull, begging for her to understand it. She thought, perhaps, she did. “How do I get out of here?”
“The same way you came in, child. Blood.”
Loren cut her clotting wound back open and dripped blood into the yawning pit at her knees. As the fog began to close in again, the spider’s voice drifted through the murky darkness.
“I am curious,” the creature said. “Why do you care so much for an animal that might only have lived for ten years at best?”
“He was my friend,” Loren repeated.
The fog grew thicker.
“Most people have lots of friends.” The spider’s voice echoed faintly, repeating at Loren from all sides, as if there were twelve spiders instead of one.
When Loren opened her mouth to answer, the fog had already closed in, a thick and milky blanket folding over her. She wasn’t sure if the spider would hear her, but she replied anyway, and if her heart had been made of glass it would’ve broken then, worse than before, filling the hollow space in her chest with shards.
“I don’t.”
—
Darien kept a close eye on his target as he tailed him on foot through the streets of Discovery Square. Not only was this target worth two hundred thousand gold mynet, but he was a member of an organized group of violent criminals that were known for their copycat killings.
Specifically, killings done by Randal Slade and his cronies.
It was a joke—this man was a joke. Copying a group of killers as though they were idols.
Darien would take his time with this one. He would make him pay for his sins over the course of several long and brutal hours, and he wouldn’t feel sorry for it, not one bit. This scumbag was a wanted rapist and murderer. No matter how many times the law enforcement threw him behind bars, whether it was Darkwater Penitentiary or the Irongate Institute, the prick never stayed locked up for long, thanks to his many connections.
And today, Darien was going to snip those connections, one by one.
His phone buzzed in the pocket of his jacket. He dug it out, keeping an eye on the walking money sign a block ahead. Grinding his teeth at the inconvenient timing for a call, he swiped to answer and lifted the phone to his ear. “Lacey. Is this important?”
“I thought you might like to know she left the house.” Lace’s voice carried none of the sour tone she normally used when talking about Loren, but she also didn’t sound excited to be the bearer of this bad news. Considering Lacey was Darien’s ex and the one long-term relationship he’d ever had, he thought she might’ve hit a milestone in finally moving on from him.
Darien stopped walking. “Any idea where she went?”
“I have a pretty good guess.” From the rattle of dishes and the thud of cupboard doors closing, it sounded like Lace was unloading the dishwater. “She took Ivy’s bike out of the garage.” There was a heavy pause. The background noise turned to silence as well.
Darien gripped the phone tighter. “What else?”
“I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but two pieces of silver are missing from the bowl in the entrance hall.”
He swore. Pedestrians passed by him in a blur as his thoughts whirled.
“Darien.” Lace’s voice was soft. “I wouldn’t worry. You know nothing she offers them will get her what she wants.” She was right; humans had nothing valuable enough to offer to a creature at a Crossroads. But that didn’t stop him from worrying about her.
“Unless she offers them her soul,” he sighed, running his fingers through his hair.
“You really think she’d do that?” The rattling of dishes began again. Darien knew it was solely out of curiosity that she asked, “Which one do you think she went to?”
“Judging from the bike, I’d say either the Fig Tree or the Wishing Fountain.” She probably boarded a bus first, for biking to any of the locations would be a long and dangerous journey. Bus routes would take a person straight to the Chalk Door in Hooded Skullcap; a bike wasn’t as necessary there as in Ebonfield or the National. And she would’ve been right out of her mind to go and see the Pale Man behind his chalk door, so it had to be one of the other two.
