Page 110 of Heart of Thieves

But glittering soullight is flickering off Enzo’s body, stardust dancing out of his open wounds and disintegrating into the sky.

I tear my gaze from the scene as it unfolds, looking past the glimmering forms to where present-day Enzo stands, staring. His eyes are wide, his jaw clenched, as Nic begs past-Enzo to wake, voice breaking. I cross to the real one, grasping his hand.

Together, we watch Nic battle through a decision as past-Enzo finally regains consciousness. Watch him grit his teeth. Watch him lie.

And then past-Enzo’s body fully disintegrates.

Nic panics, shouting after him and searching frantically for the brother who disappeared until the die’s magic fades and the motel room goes quiet and dark once more.

Enzo stares at the die. “It could be an illusion.”

“It could,” I say, throat thick.

“It could be a lie,” he says.

“It could.”

He raises his gaze to mine. “What if it isn’t?”

“I don’t think it is.”

His throat bobs. “Why would he pretend to have stolen the shard? Why would he let me hate him?”

“You know why, Enzo.”

His eyes gleam, and he sniffs, then clears his throat. “Gods damn him.”

“We have to go after him. We still have a few hours until round three begins.” I squeeze his hand. “Besides, wouldn’t it be nice to be the one swooping in to save his sorry ass this time?”

He stares at me for a long moment, and then he groans, mopping a hand over his face. “Fine. Let’s go be heroes. But if we miss Nocturne’s game because of my brother, I’m going to literally kill him.”

“He can’t die,” I point out, relief flooding me as we climb onto the windowsill.

“An inconvenience I will deal with later,” he says, pressing a voratium chip between our palms and plunging us into noncorporeality.

Well, plunging him into noncorporeality. I don’t quite vanish, flickering instead like a guttering candle.

“What the—” Enzo says, trying to pull my corporeality away. “Is this bum voratium?”

My heart triple-thuds. Two nights of careful siphoning has diminished his power, but I can’t let him know that’s happening. Not yet.

I drag his magic through me. It’s weak, but with our combined effort, I finally dissolve into nothingness, and we launch ourselves hand in hand into the night.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

NIC

I awaken slowly. First a prickling in my fingertips and toes, then tiny shards of ice up my arms and legs until, finally, my eyes open.

I’m in a gilded velvet chair, wrists and ankles bound to it with intricate golden buckles. Torture devices hang from the walls on every side. Knives, saws, hammers, and screws still flaked with the blackish remnants of what can only be old blood.

I have never been in this room before, but I know it because I have seen it in a dozen secrets at the Liar’s Den. It is a basement chamber in Magnus St. James’s residence. A place where Magnus gets secrets out of people the way I avoid: through pain.

The door opens, silent except for the click of the latch, and in walks the gang lord himself clad in a pristine black-and-white tuxedo with tails, gold-and-pearl cuff links, and matching buttons. His dark salt-and-pepper hair is carefully combed away from his face, and his iron-gray mustache has been recently trimmed. His soft blue eyes—so much like Magnolia’s—crinkle at the corners when he meets my gaze, and if I didn’t know so many of the details of his treachery, I might think him no more than a friendly grandfather type.

“Hello, Liar,” Magnus says, folding his hands in front of him so his solid-gold wristwatch catches the light of the flickering candle on the wall. “How kind of you to join me.”

If I’m to keep Lola safe—from both Magnus here and Laurel out there—I cannot let him see how I care for his daughter, and I need to get out of here as soon as possible.