“Crazy girl,” he says now, a cruel smile twisting his lips, and I wonder if he’s thinking about the fries, too. Or the moon. Or the way he used to chase Jessa and me up this rock, the three of us competing for the fastest times, the hardest routes, the best techniques. “Crazy little witch-girl.”
Warning flickers in my gut.
Whatever Luke is thinking about now, it’s not our shared history.
Desperate for a read on his true intentions, I open myself up to his energy.
It washes over me like a wave—a strange, aggressive mix of guilt, fear, confusion, anger, and—strongest of all—revulsion. I’ve never felt anything like this from him before—not even when I broke up with him after the scorpion incident.
I blow out a breath. The hatred simmering inside him is nauseating… But it isn’t his.
Someone—something—is hijacking his emotions, manipulating his every move. Some part of him is trying to fight it, but he’s only human, no match for the dark magick at work.
Whoever’s behind it, it’s clearly meant for me.
My arms erupt in goosebumps. Outside, the hail has given way to torrential rains, a curtain of sheer water that can’t be penetrated. Lightning flashes and refracts off the water, making it near impossible to tell how close it is.
Thunder rumbles through the rock, right through my chest.
How the hell am I going to get out of this?
I’m still roped in, clipped to the bolt just outside the wing, but climbing out now is a hell of a risk. I don’t know what Luke’s capable of in this state—only that I don’t want to be scaling down a rock in a storm with him standing above me.
“Sorry, Stevie,” he says now, tightening his grip on my wrist. Then, as if he can read my intentions as clearly as I’ve read his, “You’re not goinganywhere.”
He takes a step closer, eyes roving my body head to toe. I step back, but my shoulders hit the rock, and he’s crowding into my space like smoke. The Tarot card image of the people jumping from the tower floats into my mind.
Fuck this.
“Back off.” I jerk my arm free, but he grabs me again, relentless.
His eyes flash, and a laugh slithers out of his mouth. Jamming his thumb hard into my wrist, he says, “Not until I see some of that Stevie Milan magick. Come on, witch girl. Show me what you’ve got.”
The flicker of warning inside me turns into a blaring alarm. He’s asking me to commit a federal crime.
“Not happening, asshole,” I say. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d leave my friend out of this and face me in your true form, like arealmage. Or are you so feeble and dickless you need to possess innocent humans to carry out your dirty work?”
The muscle near Luke’s left eye twitches, but he doesn’t say a word.
“Sticking with feeble and dickless, then,” I say. “Okay, works for me.”
I’m still wearing my daypack, and now I reach my free hand around to the pocket where my knife is stashed.
But before I get a grip, Not-Luke jerks me forward, then spins me around and kicks my legs out from under me.
I go down hard on my knees, and from the corner of my eye, catch a flash of silver. He’s got my knife. The tension in my rope vanishes.
He cut it, leaving me no safe exit.
I’m back on my feet in a heartbeat, twisting around to surprise him with a swift knee to the crotch.
He stumbles back for a second, but the pain that flashes through his eyes is all-too-brief, chased off by pure rage and the sickly yellow glow I saw when I first climbed up.
Guess it wasn’t my eyes playing tricks.
“You’re dangerous, witch-girl,” he says, his voice no longer Luke’s. This one is deep and cold, as ancient as the desert itself. “They won’t come for you. They’ll never come for you.”
Something about his words makes my heart freeze. Not-Luke raises his arm before me, the knife glinting, and I catch sight of the scorpion tattoo on his wrist.
