“Darius!”
“I see them. You take righty, I’ll take lefty.”
He let go of my hand and lunged for the guy on the left, barely dodging the guy’s sword before sinking his fangs into his neck. On nothing but instinct, I swung my newfound sword in front of me in a smooth arc. I had no proper form, no real idea what to aim for, but I connected anyway, slicing a diagonal gash down his torso. Magic surged through the blade, burning a clean line through the fabric of his uniform, right down to his skin. I watched in fascinated horror as his skin appeared to eat itself away, revealing muscle and bone and blood, unleashing the frantic howls of a soldier being devoured by his own magic. His and mine.
The combination was deadly.
And impressive as hell.
“This way,” Darius shouted. “Now.”
I ran to catch up, taking his hand once again. Darting past the last row of cubicles, we finally made it to the staircase and up to the third floor.
Only to find a locked gate at the top of the stairs, barring us from entry.
“Get back,” he shouted, and I backed down a few steps. He crashed through the metal gate, sending it clattering to the ground.
We rushed in, my sword raised, but there wasn’t a single guard or hunter in sight.
“Trap?” I whispered.
“No,” a voice said from behind us. It was Jael, looking a little worse for wear, but unhurt as far as I could tell. His yellow eyes were alert.
He slipped between us and moved into the room, hitting a switch on the wall.
Harsh, white light illuminated an even harsher, whiter room.
“Self-contained security,” Jael said. “The gate was just a holdover from the building’s previous occupants.”
The room was windowless and surgically spotless, with gleaming white walls that shone so bright, it was impossible to tell where the light was coming from. The space was full of gleaming steel tables and shelves—a sight that reminded me of a much more high-tech version of the morgue in Blackmoon Bay, where Darius and I had once fought of a trio of vampires.
“Where is everyone?” I asked, fear gripping my chest. “There aren’t any other floors in this building. Theyhaveto be here.”
“Gray,” Darius said. “Look.”
I followed his line of sight. It took me a beat to realize that the walls he was staring at weren’t walls at all—they were glass cells. Seven in all.
“Oh my god,” I breathed. There, huddled on the floor in each cell, were three or four witches. Dressed in dingy white hospital gowns, their heads shaved, their bodies brutalized, they clung to each other, looking up through their glass prisons with wide, frightened eyes.
“Break the glass,” I said.
“It doesn’t work that way,” Jael said. “It’s secured with magic. Much stronger than the outer walls. I need time.”
“We don’t have it!” I approached the glass, scanning the faces for my sister. They didn’t move as Darius and I approached. I pounded a fist on the glass.
No reaction.
“They can’t see or hear us,” Darius said. “They know only that the lights were turned on.”
“Another psychological torment,” I said. If they couldn’t see or hear outside their cells, then any time the lights came on, they’d have no idea what awaited them. Food and water? Or the hunter’s carving knife?
“Jael, what do we do.”
“We wait,” he said simply. He sat on the floor in the center of the room and closed his eyes, his hands outstretched. “Quietly. I need to concentrate on unravelling the spell weave. This one is much tighter.”
Darius and I exchanged a glance. The chaos below was fading—I hoped it was because Deirdre and Ronan had managed to win the fight, and not the other way around.
I paced in front of the cells, searching in vain for Haley, but it was impossible to know if she was here. All the women had shaved heads, and some of them weren’t facing us.
