It was hardly fair that the salts were classified as a drug; they made him feel more awake and alert, like coffee but far more potent, and without the nasty side effects like the ones that came with using Crystalladum or Boneweed or the endless variety of Blood Potions available through illegal trade.
When he opened his eyes, he had the Sight in place, exposing the layers of spellwork rippling over the wrought-iron gates. Layers upon layers of colors that writhed like the inside of a kaleidoscope. Lucky for Darien, it had clearly been a while since Malakai had sent any of his Reapers to the Umbra Forum to purchase the latest protection spells; there was a weak spot to the right of the gates, just wide and tall enough for Darien to fit through.
He almost laughed. This was just too easy. No wonder the Reapers were no longer at the top of the pyramid; they’d become indolent and cocky.
Darien got out of the car and made his way to the gate, where he scaled the wrought-iron and launched himself through the weak spot in the forcefield. The magic burned a little as it rippled over his skin, causing him to grit his teeth. But by the time he landed on his feet on the other side, the effects of the magic snapped back to the gate like a rubber band, leaving no trace of itself behind but a phantom kiss on his skin. That burning sensation would’ve knocked a lesser person on their ass.
A warm gust of wind blew across the yard, rattling the peeling shutters on the windows. Darien rolled his shoulders and made his way up the path that cut through the lawn, cracked flagstones rattling hollowly beneath his boots.
Darien still felt sick to his stomach for how he’d treated Loren outside of Angelthene General. He knew she had only wanted to help him, but when a Surge took over his mind, there was very little room in his brain for rational thought. The only thing he could focus on was getting away from the people he cared about—and closer to ones he could hurt. Closer to the fighting rings that helped him calm the rage that coursed through his veins every time he suffered an attack.
Aside from that, he’d felt…weak when she’d found him like that outside. When she’d seen him shaking, his hands against the building, his head bowed. He’d always lived by one simple rule: never get caught with your head down unless you’re praying. His strength was the only trait he’d ever allowed anyone to see, aside from the few times when his Devils had witnessed him breaking, and he preferred to keep it that way.
When he reached the arched front doors, he blinked the Sight away and sent a quick prayer up to the eight deities of the Scarlet Star that anyone except Malakai Delaney or Tyson Geller would greet him. And then he grabbed the brass skull knocker and rapped it against the door three times.
The protection spells encasing the house itself were thicker and more complicated; Malakai had taken care to keep these up to date more so than he had the fence. If Darien really wanted to, he could find a weak spot in one of the windows or doorways. But knocking was faster. And the longer he lingered out here, the more likely it was that someone would spot him. The sooner he got into the house and found the person he was looking for, the better.
A moment later, the door swung open with a groan, and the music thumping inside the house drifted out into the night.
A tall, lithe figure stood in the doorway. The black leather dress she wore was low-cut, the razor-sharp hem ending at her moon-pale ankles. Her deep mahogany hair was longer than the last time Darien had seen her; it ended in a blunt, angled bob that fell just shy of her shoulders.
Perfect. Just the girl he was hoping to see.
She stared at him for a long time, blinking her green, catlike eyes slowly, as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Darien merely waited. Finally, the Reaper seemed to surrender to the fact that she was not dreaming and muttered, “Shit.”
Darien’s mouth tugged up at one corner. “Nice to see you too, Aspen.”
Aspen Van Halen crossed her lightly freckled arms. “What in the bloody hell are you doing here? Do you have adeathwish?” she snarled. She thought better of her last question and amended with a wave of a hand, “Don’t answer that last one. But seriously, whatareyou doing here?”
“I need to see Malakai,” Darien said. When she cocked an eyebrow, he added, “I have a peace offering.”
She looked him over, her sharp eyes lingering on the hands he had in his jacket pockets. “Do I even want to know what it is?”
“If you’re feeling squeamish, then probably not.”
Aspen grimaced. “I feel sorry for the bastard, and I don’t even know what you did. Tell me: who was the victim of one of your Surge rampages this time?”
Darien allowed for a beat of silence. “Ian Gray.” Aspen’s face, already ghostly pale on a good day, became paler. Ian Gray was a former Reaper, recently excommunicated by Malakai for betraying Reaper intel to the peace officers in exchange for some extra cash. Malakai had been looking for him these past few weeks to do what every Darkslaying circle did to those who broke their trust, but the man was good at hiding.
Not good enough to hide from a Devil though.
Darien said, “Still think Mal isn’t interested in talking?”
Aspen studied him for several minutes, the thumping of the music inside the house the only sound. Finally, she sighed, her shoulders slumping. “I’ll take you to him. Hold my hand.” She reached for Darien, but he kept his hands in his pockets, brows knitting together. Aspen beseeched,“Trust me.If the others see a Devil lurking at my back, they might get confused as to who is escorting whom. Especiallyyou—no offence.”
Darien smirked. “None taken.” He took his right hand out of his pocket and laced his fingers with Aspen’s. She was about to tow him into the house when she froze.
“Give me your guns.”
Darien canted his head. “Do you really not trust me?”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with trust. I’m putting my neck on the line by simply letting you walk into Malakai’s house, so you’d better do as I ask so that any repercussions I face are as minimal as possible.” Her voice wobbled a little at the end.
Darien felt his jaw tighten. “Does he hurt you?”
“I’ve never given him any reason to,” Aspen said. “And if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep it that way.”
Darien removed the gun from the holster at the front of his pants and passed it into her waiting hand. “I only have the one.”
