I want to fight her on this, but it’s clear I’m out of my depth. My head is spinning, I’m fucking exhausted, and we need to get back to the others so we can all regroup.
“I just need to grab a few things from the archives,” I say. “Then we’ll head out.”
“Archives? What could you possibly need tonight?”
“The primary sources for the prophecies. Melissa Milan’s journals, Stevie’s translations, some of the other magickal books we’ve been working with.”
“But… but what about your backups?” Casey asks. Alarm tinges her voice, filling me with new dread.
“We really need the source material,” I say.
Casey shakes her head, eyes glazing with something that looks a lot like sympathy.
My heart jackhammers in my chest, my mouth going dry. “What happened?”
“I’m sorry, Kirin. Whoever stole your computers… They hit the archives too.”
“When you say hit the archives…”
“There’s nothing left but the furniture. Everything else was completely stripped. I… I’m sorry.”
Casey’s phone buzzes in her pocket, and she finally looks away, pulling it out to check the text.
“Who is it?” Baz asks.
“Quintana. Time’s up, guys. I have to go.” Casey thumbs a quick reply, then puts the phone away and heads for the door, turning back to me with a final plea. “Promise me you’ll go straight back to Red Sands?”
I nod mutely, watching her slip out of the office and into the dark library beyond, feeling like I’ve just lost a piece of my soul.
“That sister of yours is a real charmer.” Baz grabs his duffel bag, then clamps a hand over my shoulder. “We’re not seriously going back to Red Sands, right?”
“Not on your fuckinglife, brother.” I scoop the backups out of the Tarot book, shove them into my pocket, and follow Agent Casey Appleton out into the lion’s den.
Twelve
STEVIE
Panic seizes my body as the rushing water sucks me under. Far above, a red light glows, soft and inviting, calling me home.
Lungs burning, desperate for a gulp of air, I fight against the current and reach for that light with everything I have, but I’m no match for the vicious churn. I try once more, only for my legs to cramp up and freeze. I’m utterly paralyzed, engulfed by the icy red darkness.
Bright spots dance before my eyes, and my mouth opens in desperate confusion, the cold, dark water rushing in to steal the last of my air…
An arm snakes around my midsection and clamps down tight. Adrenaline spikes in a hot rush, and suddenly I’m rocketing upward.
We burst through the surface, air rushing into my lungs with a force so strong and fierce, my first full breath feels like liquid fire.
“Don’t fight me!” He commands from behind, his voice dark and urgent. I try to place it, but the sound of the rushing water is too loud, too disorienting.
“Damn it, Stevie!” He tightens his hold, nearly crushing me against his rock-solid chest. “Stop struggling! I’m not going to hurt you!”
A trick. It has to be.
Half-drowned, half-rabid with fear, I kick and fight, clawing at my attacker’s arm. I dig my nails in, flailing like a beached fish, kicking his shins and thighs, gulping up as much air as I can before he drags me back down.
But the churning water renders my attacks useless, and my captor’s grip is too strong. The harder I fight, the harder he holds on, finally draining the last of my reserves.
The current thrashes me from all sides, filling my mouth with rust-red water that makes me sputter and cough. My whole body goes boneless in his arms.
