“It’s not over yet, Jude. Not even close.” I glance out the floor-to-ceiling window that spans the far wall. Beyond our reflection, I can just make out a forest of dark evergreens rising in the distance, their branches brushed with silver moonlight. “I need to get out of New York.”
“You don’t think a demon can track you across state lines?”
“At this point, I’m more worried about my family tracking me. It’s clear my father and stepmother knew about the demon. They wouldn’t have made a deal like that unless they had something major to gain.”
“Or to lose.”
“Either way, now that I’ve cut and run, the deal’s off unless they can bring me back. They’re not going to give me up without a fight. And who knows what the Forsythes stood to gain from all this. You’re right—what the hell does a powerful mage family need with a magicless witch? And what does a demon want with me? There’s something bigger going on here. I just… I have no idea. All I know is I’ve seriously pissed off the most powerful dark mages in the city and alienated myself from my family. I’m completely on my own.”
It hits me then, all at once, just how alone I really am.
And I’m lying here in the bed of a total stranger, stuck in the middle of nowhere.
Jude opens his mouth to ask another question—ten more. A hundred. It doesn’t matter, because the whole night is suddenly crashing down on me, and I need answers. If I can’t get them from my family or the Archmage, I have to at least try to solveonemystery tonight.
I hold up my hand to cut him off. “Look, Jude. Earlier tonight, I was preparing to spend the rest of my life enslaved to a mage I barely know. Not long after that, I was pretty sure the night would end with me in a shallow grave or enslaved to a demon. So I totally appreciate the save, and I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but… whoareyou? Really?”
He sits up beside me again and shakes my good hand. “Jude Hendrix. Real estate developer, historical conservationist, artisan latte maker, man about town.“
“I think we’re well past the Tinder profiles, Jude.” I reclaim my hand and stick it under the sheet. “We met by chance in the park a month ago. Then you attended my not-wedding. And now I’m here in your house drinking your latte and sleeping in your bed… That’s a few too many coincidences for my liking.”
“Doesn’t mean they’renotcoincidences.”
“You won’t even tell me what you are. A mage? A demon?”
“You don’t really want to know. Trust me on that.”
A fresh rage flames to life inside me. “No. You know what? I’ve spent my whole life not knowing things, either because everyone around me lied to me or because I chose to keep my head buried in the sand. I’m tired of not knowing. Tired of living in the dark while everyone around me makes secret plans and moves me around like a pawn on a chessboard. So when I ask you who you are, Jude Hendrix, I want a fucking answer.”
Jude’s eyes glitter, his smile twisting into a terrifying grin that has me wishing I still had that trusty athame.
Leaning in close, he fingers one of my braids and says, “They call me the bone collector, darling, and if you really must know, I’m your worst fucking nightmare, which is saying something considering what you went through tonight. Now give me back your hand.”
“What?”
“Give me back your hand, unless you’d like me to cut it off.”
Cold fear chases away my anger, and I do as he asks.
He grips my wrist and drops the ring he’s been toying with into my palm. The carvings aren’t leaves like I first thought, but tiny ravens.
And it’s not made of wood, but…
“Holy shit,” I whisper. “Is this… bone?Humanbone?”
“I made it special for you,” he says, dodging the question. “Put it on.”
My hand trembles, my wrist still locked in his grip. “I’m not putting this thing on my body. Take it back.”
“Put. It.On,” he whispers, and somehow that’s even more terrifying than if he were shouting at the top of his lungs.
He releases me, and I do as he asks, but the ring’s too big for my finger.
“You’re a bit more delicate than I thought,” he says. “Try the thumb.”
It’s a perfect fit—a thing that seems to delight him to no end.
He rises from the bed, collects the mug from my lap, and leans down to brush a soft kiss to my forehead. “Rest up, little scarecrow. You need to conserve your strength.”
