Loren had a peculiar feeling—a compulsion to turn around in her seat and stare out the back window. The more distance that was put between her and Darien, the less secure she felt.
As if she had lost something important or was leaving a part of herself behind.
22
Maximus was the only person in the vehicle this time—his SUV instead of Darien’s car—as he took Loren to Angelthene Academy for Magic.
Loren had overheard the Devils talking while she’d packed her things, and it sounded like Travis and Tanner had taken Darien’s car to wherever he’d ended up in the past little while. Loren had to resist the urge to demand to know where he was, to know if he was okay. It wasn’t her business, and it certainly wasn’t her place to ask. No matter how badly she wanted to.
The ride was entirely silent, but not because Loren didn’t feel comfortable being alone with him. In fact, she dared to admit that shelikedMaximus Reacher. She liked all the Devils.
Well…mostof them.
The ride was silent because she couldn’t stop thinking about Darien. Thinking, worrying—and wondering what he was doing at this very moment, how he had chosen to deal with his Surge. Was he out on a job, taking care of some creep on someone’s hitlist? Was he in one of those underground fighting rings Maximus had mentioned, beating the living daylights out of the first poor soul who walked into the ring with him? Or was he…
She didn’t want to finish her last thought.
She decided she was thinking too much, starting tocaretoo much, which wasn’t a good thing. There had to be distance between them; she couldn’t allow herself to get so invested in Darien. They were hardly friends; he was simply doing her a favor by looking out for her for a while. He didn’t owe her anything, least of all an explanation about his whereabouts. And the moment Sabrine was found, and Loren’s safety became certain, he wouldn’t even be in her life anymore.
With that thought, she began rebuilding the wall in front of her heart, envisioning it taking form, brick by brick by brick. She put her thoughts and feelings behind that wall, tucking them away and sealing them behind the brick. They wouldn’t come out again—not if she could help it.
Max’s SUV growled as they drove up the hill to the gates of Angelthene Academy. A crescent moon hung in the velvet sky, and far off in the distance, vampire silhouettes floated across it.
Max took one last puff on his cigar before flicking it out the window. “You’ll be back next weekend?” He rolled up the automatic window with the flick of a button.
“Friday.”
“Watch out for yourself until then.” He slowed to a stop in front of the gates. And Maximus Reacher seemed a little shy as he added, “And say hello to Dallas for me, would you?”
Loren smiled. “I will.”
She grabbed her bags and got out of the SUV. Maximus waited until the gates of the academy had swung shut behind her before driving away.
And those gates had barely shut before Loren spotted Dallas running toward her across the dark campus. She was shouting hysterically, but Loren couldn’t make out a word.
“Dallas,” Loren bit out as the witch drew closer. Dallas’s footfall echoed far and wide. “What’s the matter?”
“Another student has gone missing,” Dallas panted, slowing to an unsteady halt before her. “Ahuman.”The look in her eyes finished her sentence for her: a human, just like you.
Holy Star.
Loren found her head turning—found herself looking across the dark lawn of the academy.
The Old Hall was barely distinguishable from here, but Loren saw, clear as day, what had to be done.
Tomorrow, consequences be damned. She would wait no longer. And if Darien didn’t want to help her, she’d do it alone.
—
The House of Souls was right across the street from Angelthene City Cemetery. The sprawling mansion was a work of art straight out of a dead world, complete with large stained-glass windows, flying buttresses, pointed arches, and gargoyles so old only parts of their ornately carved faces remained, suffused here and there with the silver moonlight trickling through the clouds.
Darien parked to the right of the wrought-iron gates, beneath the cover of a jacaranda tree. Purple-blue, trumpet-shaped petals dusted the hood of his car as he cut the engine and retrieved a plastic bag of Stygian salts from the centre console. He set about shaking a line of salts onto the dash and quickly arranged them into a line with the edge of a bank card. When he was finished, he leaned forward in his seat, shut one nostril with a finger, and snorted the line.
Thanks to the target he’d managed to track down before coming here, the edge had already softened off his Surge. It was what he’d wanted when he’d left the hospital, only now he would need the salts to aid him in finding a weak spot in the forcefield that protected the House of Souls. Years ago, he would have simply walked right through the gates, through the front doors without so much as knocking. But that was a different life, back when the Reapers were considered friends and Malakai Delaney wasn’t out for his blood.
Darien closed his eyes and leaned back in the seat, breathing deeply. His airways burned with the salts as the drug burrowed into his bloodstream, opening the floodgates of his magic. His body turned weightless as the salts took hold of him, carrying his soul over the city.
But one moment later, everything about the world sharpened into crystal clarity, and he dropped back into himself like a soul rejected at the gates of heaven.
