“And what of Calanthe?” Jessa chimed in at the same time that Christa said, “What happened to Randal?”
Reading whatever expression was on Darien’s face, Maximus said, “We took care of him.” Darien threw him a grateful look.
“As for Calanthe,” Darien said. “Let’s just say she’d better stay the fuck out of our way.”
Jessa tossed her hair over a shoulder. “And the bomb? How do we plan on dealing with that? There’s no use in projecting the antidote if the Well’s going to blow the city sky-high.”
Where she stood beside Max, Dallas chimed in. “What of the protection spells on some of the streets and buildings? Is there any hope of surviving the blast?”
Christa explained, “The Arcanum Well draws its power from the energy grid below the earth—from the anima mundi itself. That type of raw magic would rip through any and all protection spells. Nothing will survive it.”
“The blueprints might come in handy,” Arthur said. “I won’t be able to do it alone, but if we were to make it to the Well on time, we might be able to remove the reactor chamber.” The suggestion had Darien stiffening.
“I can’t ask you to do that, Arthur,” he said. “I can’t ask you to risk your life like that.”
“So you’d risk the lives of eight million people before you’d risk mine?” Arthur replied. He waited for Darien to argue with him, but he didn’t have the words. “Regardless, you don’t get a say in the matter. I’m dismantling that Well, and you’re going to take me to it.”
Darien stared at him, his mouth a thin line. The weapons technician stared back, resolute in his decision. Erasmus had said in the Master Scroll that the Well couldn’t be destroyed, but perhaps its blast could be stopped if they took it apart.
Some days it was easier for Darien to see why his mother had gotten along with this man so well. They were both stubborn as hell—Darien supposed that was where he got his own dogged determination.
“Alright,” Darien sighed. He ran his hand through his hair, and then he surveyed the room of people—hellsehers, wolves, witches, humans. Hisfriends. “If anyone wishes to have no part in this, feel free to walk out now. I won’t ask you to do this against your will.”
Despite the offer, no one said anything.
Even when Darien tried to prompt a response with an upward flick of his brows, everyone stayed silent and rooted in place.
Maximus said softly, “No one’s leaving, Darien.”
“We’re with you,” Travis added. Several others echoed it.
Jack said, “Tell us what you want us to do.”
Darien hooked a thumb through a beltloop. “We’re going to need more firepower,” he said. And then he smiled a little, and it was the smile of a true devil, as he added, “And maybe some more teeth.”
—
Thirty minutes, and everyone was ready to go. Darien hoped the plan would work—and that Calanthe and her henchmen would stay out of their way until they secured the safety of this city.
Darien paced in the empty kitchen, where Christa had finished apologizing to him a minute ago. He’d accepted her offer to help tranquilize the demons, but he’d stationed her with Maximus and Travis—the best eyes he could have on her. After his magic had proved unreliable in detecting Calanthe’s lies, and had almost got Loren killed, he would take no chances. He felt blind for the first time in his life, going off instinct alone, though he felt more at ease knowing Christa would be under the careful watch of his cousin and his Second.
Darien was wearing the obsidian band Arthur had given him from the Fleet Weaponry, the armour that might be the only thing that could withstand a magical explosion like what the Arcanum Well might generate. Arthur had insisted he wear it, considering he was the one who would have to get closest to the Well. He didn’t bother telling him that it wouldn’t matter either way; if the bomb went off, and he was right beside it when it did, he would never survive the blast.
Besides that, if he was the only person in the city who survived—if he was the only one left standing after every building had been razed to the ground—the last thing he would be was happy. This life meant nothing if he didn’t have the people he loved—if this city no longer existed.
The click of shoes on the floor interrupted his brooding, and he lifted his head to see Loren walking into the kitchen.
The breath left his lungs at the sight of her, wearing one of the black bodysuits belonging to the Devils. Designed to withstand most attacks, such as bullet or knife wounds, he supposed he should feel more at peace over seeing her wearing it.
But he didn’t feel at peace. Not one bit. His heart was heavy and breaking, and every breath he drew was painful, as if there were shards of glass in his lungs.
Darien stepped up to her, their bodies so close that her peaches-and-honeysuckle scent wrapped around him like a hug. He could feel her aura—felt it glowing so brightly with his presence that it warmed him, lifting some of the weight off his heart that suddenly felt like such a burden. Her hair hung in two thick golden braids over her slender shoulders.
“Are you sure about this?” His voice was a hoarse whisper.
“I need to feel like I’m helping, Darien. And hiding here while you all risk your lives…” She drew a shaky breath. “I can’t do it. Ican’t.”And then she amended, “Iwon’t.”
Darien’s heart was bleeding out in his chest. “Baby, you don’t need to prove anything—”
