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Grant closed in on Olin while I managed to pull the stake from my bag and grasped it in my fist.
Though, the little piece of metal didn’t feel quite as formidable when compared to Grant’s magic.
Grant leaned down as though trying to stare into Olin’s eyes at different angles, as if he could see past the blackness that had consumed them. “You’re not there anymore, are you?”
Olin struggled, his wrists moving off the wall before being slammed back against the brick. It was as though a net kept him still, one that was just barely strong enough to hold him.
He bared his fangs, and good lord, if I thought he’d been terrifying in Rachel’s memory, it was nothing compared to real life. Then he’d been almost expressionless. He hadn’t attacked her as though he’d hated her, but rather with the same fervor of eating a meal—and didn’t that thought gross me out?
He stared atmelike he hated me, though.
Which felt rude. Grant was there, restraining him. Why did I get one hundred percent of his anger? It felt like that should spread out closer to fifty-fifty.
Even still, I walked closer. He had to have answers, right?
“Be careful,” Grant said. “He’s a lot stronger than he should be.”
“Are you telling me you can’t hold him?”
Grant didn’t turn toward me, but he didn’t need to. I could spot his eye roll. “Icanbut the chances of him breaking it, even for a second, are better, and he can do alotof damage to fragile humans in that time.”
Fragile?It might have been true but seemed rude to point out.
Instead of addressing that, I focused on Olin. “What was that shadow?”
He snapped his teeth together, but no matter how he lunged and squirmed, he couldn’t break free from Grant’s spell.
“Tell me what that shadow is!” I moved closer, yelling the words into his face.
He broke the hold and flung his hand out. A sharp pain in my side said he’d hit me, but I didn’t have time to think about it. I brought my forearms together as I had at my house, when Melinda had attacked me.
Just as it had worked then, he was catapulted backward. Pieces of brick fell down from the impact of him against the wall, and just as quickly, Grant had him pinned again.
“Are you okay?”
I nodded, despite the sharp aching in my side. I patted over me, checking for blood, for worse injuries adrenaline might have hidden.
Olin seemed…calmer, though. His hand gripped something, and I leaned down to look.
The picture.
He’d taken the picture of him and Rachel from my pocket.
That’s what he wanted? Just the photo?
He’d stopped snarling, but that didn’t make him look any less dangerous. Not to mention my ribs were the proof enough that he could hurt me.
Still, the action was odd. “He has to still be in there somewhere,” I said to Grant. “All he wanted was the picture of him and Rachel.”
And that was the exact wrong thing to say because Olin snarled and thrashed again. I wanted to look at him and remind him that he was, in fact, the one who’d killed her, whether he wanted to argue it now or not, but what was the point?
Instead, I pointed at the photo. “Tell me why you did it. You two were happy, so why kill her?”
He didn’t move, as if he couldn’t recall. Whether it was remembering her, the murder or why he’d done it that confused him, I didn’t know.
“It was that shadow I saw, right? The one in the corner of her room. Tell me what it was.”
He showed no signs of understanding.
