Page 174 of Hell Bent

The Mercedes was parked in the Black Elm driveway.

For a long minute, Alex couldn’t make sense of what she was seeing. She was still back on the basement stairs, looking down into a crowded grave. When the fire had finished, the walls had been charred black and there was nothing left—no boxes or old clutter, no bodies, no bones. Anything that burned that hot should have consumed them too. But this was no ordinary fire.

When Darlington had spoken for his parents, Alex wondered if she should say something for Eitan. She knew the right prayer from her grandmother. Zikhrono livrakha. Let his memory be a blessing. But as Darlington would say, that didn’t quite suit.

“Mors irrumat omnia,” she had whispered to the flames. It was all she could offer a man who had been willing to send her to her death for the sake of a little more profit.

The car shouldn’t be there. It looked freshly washed, its burgundy paint gleaming in the late-afternoon light. Reiter. Alex’s heart stumbled into a gallop.

“You left it in Old Greenwich?” whispered Dawes.

“It’s daytime,” Alex managed. “The sun is out. How did he bring it here?” And why now? Had he been watching them? Following them?

“He has a familiar,” Darlington said. “Maybe more than one.”

Alex remembered the person walking beside Reiter in the JE courtyard, holding his white umbrella, keeping him safe. She scanned the trees, the cloudless sky, grateful for the harsh winter sun.

“We should get somewhere warded,” said Dawes. “Regroup.”

Alex wanted nothing more than to do just that. Her body had broken out in a cold sweat, and she was struggling to breathe. But they weren’t done here.

She made herself walk toward the car.

“Alex, don’t!” Dawes said, grabbing her arm. “It could be a trap.”

Alex shook her off.

The driver’s-side door was unlocked and the interior was spotless. He’d left the keys tucked in the glove compartment. They were heavy in Alex’s hand.

“Give them to me,” Darlington said.

Alex wished she had the balls to argue, but she was too scared. She dropped them into his palm.

They gathered around the trunk, and Darlington slid the key into the lock. The trunk popped open with a sigh. He nudged it upward.

Dawes released a high, helpless cry.

Michelle Alameddine lay curled on her side, her hands tucked under her chin as if she’d fallen asleep praying.

Alex took a step backward. Another death to lay at her feet. Michelle, who had warned them not to use the Gauntlet, who had fought her way back from death for this.

“I’m sorry,” she said, gasping for air. “I’m so fucking sorry.” She lost her footing, sat down hard on the gravel.

I’m sorry. She’d said the same thing to Mercy when she’d left her at the gates to JE early that morning. Mercy had been eager to wash away the sulfur stink of the night, to slip back into her crochet and corduroy. She hadn’t mentioned Thanksgiving plans again.

“You’re okay?” Alex had asked at the gate, and when Mercy had just looked down at her boots, she added, “You saved my life last night.”

“You rescue me. I rescue you,” Mercy said. But she didn’t meet her gaze.

Mercy had wanted adventure, a chance to see beyond the ordinary world. And Alex had turned her into a killer.

“I thought it would be different,” Mercy said, and Alex could see she was fighting tears.

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

“No,” Alex admitted. She had needed a way out and she’d taken it. “But I’m grateful.”