The very same hellseher half-breed who’d abducted Sabrine so many months ago. Who’d caused Loren’s life—and those of everyone she loved—to screech to a halt. The Butcher had said his boys had snapped the photos only that morning, and although the images were fuzzy due to the distance from which they were taken, Darien was still attempting to remotely track the half-breed. To find the replica of the Arcanum Well, once and for all. When he’d tapped into his Sight, he’d been able to spot the man’s aura, however diluted it was, and now he was trying to nail down his location.
Darien was sitting—perfectly still and upright—as he focused, eyes closed, hands clasping the armrests of his chair. Where he was lounging across from Darien at the desk, the Butcher didn’t make a sound either, apart from the exhalations of Boneweed smoke rippling from his lips. The plumes made Loren’s eyes water. Every now and then, the Butcher would glance at Loren and give her a greasy little smile that reminded her she shouldn’t be looking at him to begin with.
Seconds turned into minutes. Loren stared at the neon letters above Casen’s desk until they’d seared themselves into her vision, until the words had become doubles—
Until Darien jumped, knees banging against the underside of the desk. The pornography magazines and takeout bags that reeked of molding deep-fried potatoes launched into the air and hit the cement floor with a series of slaps, the contents of the latter spilling.
The Butcher sat up, scrambling for the trip of Boneweed that had slipped out of his mouth and was now burning his lap. “Piss and tits, Cassel,” he grumbled.
Darien was standing in the middle of the room, gasping through his teeth, chair lying on its side behind him. His expression was wild, nostrils flared and eyes black. It was to himself that he whispered hollowly, “They pushed me out.”
Loren was sucking down startled breaths, gripping the armrests of her chair so hard, her nails were screaming.“What?”
The black was slowly fading out of his eyes when Darien’s still-unfocused gaze finally rested on her. “I don’t know how. But they—it was like he pushed me out.Stoppedme from tracking him.”
Casen said, “I take it that’s never happened to you before.”
Darien looked like he’d seen a ghost. “Never.”
Grunting, the trip pinched between his lips again, the Butcher shuffled the photographs into a pile. “Take these with you. Maybe you’re just having an off day.”
But Darien was shaking his head again. “I don’t have off days.”
“Everyone has off days,” the Butcher countered. The cracked cellphone on his desk beeped with an incoming message. He didn’t look at them as he mumbled, “Take the photos and go. I’ve got another deal coming.”
It took Darien a while to step forward; to grab the photographs and say a hasty thank-you to the Butcher.
Darien made for the door, and Loren hurried after him as he called over his shoulder, “Thanks, Casen.”
The Butcher said, “Don’t mention it.”
A moment later, as Loren was walking at Darien’s side down the damp hallway, the photos now tucked into the inside pocket of his black jacket, she wondered if this nightmare would ever end.
Though not all of it was a nightmare. The Devil walking at her side as the result of this strange and uncertain path was something she wouldn’t trade—not for anything.
Loren’s eyes flicked up as they passed under the white neon sign
at the end of the hallway. The words that said:It was only a dream.
—
Darien watched on the surveillance feed as Arthur’s car rolled to a stop at Hell’s Gate.
The weapons technician lowered his window. Even from this distance away, Darien could see him squinting in the pounding rain that had started drumming on the rooftop when he and Loren had returned from the Butcher’s office at the Umbra Forum. The road beyond the wrought-iron gates was lit only by the amber glow of streetlamps.
Arthur was rarely up this late in the evening, but he had been working hard, looking for anything that might give them more of a concrete answer as to the role Taega Bright was playing in this mess.
Darien flicked on the intercom system, and he smiled as he said into the speaker, “Should I make you wait in the rain a while longer?”
The rain was so heavy, Arthur had to shout to be heard. “I’d appreciate if you wouldn’t!”
Darien’s smile broadened into a grin as he said to wherever Mortifer was hiding in the house, “Lower the spells, Mortifer. Let’s put poor Arthur out of his misery.”
Outside, the gates groaned open, and Arthur drove up to the front steps.
Once Arthur was settled at the dining room table, Darien handed him a mug of freshly brewed tea, pulled out a chair, and took a seat across from him.
The house was quiet tonight; only Loren and Dallas were here. Loren had made Darien promise not to tell Dallas what they’d witnessed on Route 378—not until they had more details behind the story. Once Darien heard what Arthur had to say, only then would they decide what to do next.
