Sebastian stared at Wesley gratefully as he and Zhang changed places. As Zhang cautiously pulled the car back onto the country road, Sebastian whispered, “Thank you.”
“Shut up,” Wesley said, but it was almost gentle. “Go on, then. I’ll brace myself.”
Sebastian reached for his magic again. It hurt to use, like lifting weights with sore muscles. He gritted his teeth against the ache, until finally Mateo’s eyelashes fluttered. “Sebi.”
Mateo’s voice had a distant, dreamlike quality, too disturbingly like his moments in clairvoyance. “I told you to stay with me,” Sebastian said, like his heart wasn’t aching as much as his bones.
“Isawyou.”
A shiver of unease went down Sebastian’s spine. “You didn’t,” he said. “You can’t see my future because I have Isa’s magic in my tattoo.”
“I know,” Mateo rasped. “But I did.”
“Maybe you had a dream about me, not a vision—”
“I know the difference.”
“Teo—”
“I saw you in fire.” Mateo’s eyes were barely open, but from beneath his lashes he was staring straight at Sebastian with awareness. “Alone, surrounded by flames. There was no escape.”
Sebastian’s blood went cold.
“Not a dream,” Mateo said hoarsely. “A vision.” He suddenly grabbed Sebastian’s arm. “Don’t let the vision come true.”
Sebastian clasped his hand over his brother’s. “I won’t.”
“Don’t be alone. Don’t let it come true.”
“Iwon’t.”
Mateo’s eyes closed again, his grip on Sebastian’s arm loosening.
“Teo, wait—”
But Mateo had gone silent again.
Sebastian gritted his teeth. He was pouring all his magic out, but he was weakening, and it wasn’t enough.
His gaze stole to Wesley. His eyes were half-closed, but he was also looking at Sebastian, and he’d likely heard every word.
Blanshard was going to know they’d been at his house by now. He might come for Mateo and Wesley both, and Sebastian needed to keep them both hidden and safe.
But if Blanshard had a relic, Sebastian’s magic wouldn’t work. If it was still working at all. And if Sebastian couldn’t keep Mateo out of the future, they needed to find someone who could.
Or somewhere.
Like a paranormal home in Barcelona, full of Isabel’s magic, her subordinate refuge to keep her magic at bay.
The idea beckoned for a long moment. Isabel’s townhouse along the Mediterranean. Familiar, full of warmth and sun, by the beach, the boardwalk, and the sea. A home with enough magical traps painted onto the walls that it might stop Sebastian’s blood terrors, might bring Mateo out of the future.
But Wesley wasn’t going to go to Paris, to see Isabel, or to Barcelona, to her home, and Wesley still needed protection.
Sebastian gritted his teeth again. He had to find more magic. He had to keep them both safe. But if the tattoo’s magic was weakening—maybe from years under blood magic—if Mateo could see his future—if they could be found by their enemies—
“Jade?” When she turned her head to look into the backseat, Sebastian held his wrist up. “May I borrow your eyes?”
He pushed his sleeve up, revealing the tattoo. “Can you tell me what you see when you look at my wrist?”
