Page 8

But that will change.

I will remind him.

I will show him.

I will take him.

3

TANNER

It’s pitch black and the rain is falling in thick stinging sheets. Mack can barely walk, but with Snow in my arms, I can do nothing to help him.

He stops, looks up at the rain, then closes his eyes as if he’s willing it all to be over. He looks older and more broken than I’ve ever seen him. The lines at the corners of his eyes that usually make him look distinguished are more pronounced. His complexion is too pale. Even his muscles look less defined – his usually big, strong arms are a little slimmer… less bulky.

It’s like he’s slowly disintegrating.

And our one hope of saving him has a killer choker around her neck, and apparently no aversion to creating spells that will stop us from helping her get out of Zephyra’s clutches.

“We shouldn’t have left her,” Mack says, almost a growl, bracing his hands on his hips as if he’s struggling to find the will power to move. “Nova.” Her name sounds like a prayer.

“You saw what happened when she tried to use her power. We had no choice.”

“And you think he will be able to help us?” Mack looks up at the tall, imposing structure of Thornfield’s museum and combs his fingers through his hair. Water is running down his face, slicking his lashes. He blinks it away.

Still holding Snow, I adjust him in my arms to move the weight. Even though he’s dog sized now, he still weighs a fuck ton.

Flicking my wrist from beneath Snow, I push the raindrops to the side, my magick forming an invisible umbrella above Mack and I.

He almost looks annoyed, and before I’ve realized what I’m doing, I’ve reached out to search his thoughts. Anger, frustration… all the things Mack usually keeps at bay are bubbling close to the surface. He feels helpless, and he’s mad as hell. At me, at Zephyra, and likely at the fact we came to Cambridge for him in the first place.

He meets my eyes. He knows I’m looking into his soul and, despite the fact I’m not supposed to do it, he doesn’t snap at me or tell me to get out of his head. He just nods and says, “If I hadn’t brought us here, Nova would be safe.”

“You didn’t bring us here. We came here to help you.” I turn and start moving toward the building. “Besides, there are bigger things going on now, aren’t there?”

Mack’s jaw tightens.

“Helping you and destroying the scepter are tied up. Part of the same thing.”

“We need Miranda for both,” Mack says, striding purposefully forward and breathing through the pain that I can feel swarming between his bones. “And we lost her.”

“Come on, Baloo.” I nudge him with my elbow. “It’s not like you to be so defeatist. We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

* * *

The double doors are locked. Of course they are; it’s the middle of the night. Mack bangs on them with a tightly clenched fist, but the effort causes him to stop and lean against the concrete banister beside the steps.

In my arms, Snow grumbles. He is fed up with being carried, but the injury to his flank is still bleeding. “Nearly there buddy. I’ll set you down when we’re inside.”

After a few long moments, sheltering beneath our shield, still holding Snow, I kick the door.

Another kick.

And another.

Until there is movement inside.

Light filters out from beneath the door and bleeds into the dark inky puddles.