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“It’s not moving,” I say, realizing it.
“What?” He looks up.
“The storm, it’s suspended. Over Eden’s Crossing.”
That sick feeling of earlier worsens. Emmanuel’s phone rings. He reaches absently into his pocket and silences it, but it rings again just moments later.
“For fuck’s sake,” he says, swiping at the screen. “What?” he barks into the phone.
I watch the sky split in two by a lightning bolt so powerful the earth quakes beneath my feet.
“Raven? Is that you?” Emmanuel says more quietly, looking at me, his face white, eyes blazing. “Where are you?”
And I know. I understand.
As if on cue, my phone rings.
“Stay there. Don’t fucking move! I’m coming!” Emmanuel yells just as I answer my phone, seeing those I missed from Willow.
“Willow?” I call out, my heart dropping to my stomach. But there’s a clatter, and Emmanuel is staring at me.
“It was a decoy,” he says when our eyes meet.
I hear him say and, without any thought, any word, I bolt out of the yard, hurtling myself into my car and racing back home. Because this is a trap. Raven being taken, the soldiers with their throats slit, their own man killed with a bullet to the back of the head, a bullet the guards would have heard, would have come to investigate, it was a trap set for me. For me to leave Willow unprotected. For me to leave Willow for Caleb.
25
WILLOW
“Willow?” Bec’s frightened voice startles me from my thoughts.
I peek at the door, my eyes adjusting to her silhouette in the darkness.
“Bec.” I sit up. “What is it?”
She takes a step inside. “Did you hear that?”
“The storm?” I ask, listening as the unrelenting rain continues to pelt the windows.
“No.” She shakes her head. “It sounded like something else. A gun, maybe. I don’t know.”
I rise from the bed, glancing out the window into the yard. I can’t see anything out of place, and I didn’t hear anything other than the thunder.
“Are you sure it wasn’t just the storm?”
Bec shakes her head emphatically. “I thought maybe it was Azrael.”
“What do you mean?”
“In the dark wing,” she says softly. “I was in the library when I heard it.”
Tension seeps into every fiber of my muscles as I consider that. “How did you get to the library? Did the guard let you pass?”
“The guards aren’t up here,” she answers. “I heard them say something on their radios, and then they left.”
Alarm bells ring inside my head as I glance at the door.
“Bec, do you know any good hiding places up here?”
“There’s a hidden closet in one of the guest rooms.” She nods. “We used to play in there when we were kids.”
“Okay, good.” I reach over and scoop up Fiona. “I want you two to go there. Now, please. And stay quiet. As quiet as you can.”
“What about you?” she asks.
“I’m going to call Azrael and check downstairs.” I swallow, knowing all too well that if something called the guards away, it’s more than likely something sinister. The only way to protect Bec is to separate.
“Don’t come out unless it’s Azrael, Emmanuel, or me calling for you,” I instruct her. “Can you do that?”
She nods reluctantly, and I follow her to the door. We walk down the hall together before she stops to slip inside the room she mentioned, taking Fiona with her.
For a moment, I question if I’m doing the right thing, but I know this is the only thing that makes sense. If it’s the Disciples out there, they will leave Bec alone as long as I’m not with her. I have to find somewhere else to hide while I call Azrael, and I have to do it fast.
With a trembling hand, I dial his number as I reach the banister, pausing to peek over the edge. The house is quiet, nothing seemingly out of place, and I wonder if I’m just being paranoid. But that feeling I had when the storm arrived only grows stronger by the moment, and I can’t ignore that.
My call to Azrael goes to voicemail, and I hang up and dial him again as I tiptoe down the stairs. I’ve made this journey many times in the dark, but it feels downright creepy tonight. As my foot finally reaches the last step, the sound of Benedict barking outside sends a wave of terror through me. Azrael wouldn’t have left him out there, and he was in the house when we went upstairs.
Azrael’s voicemail picks up again, and I dial him back just as I turn the corner to head for the library, only to slam into something hard.
The phone clatters to the floor just as I hear Azrael’s voice calling out for me in a panic.
Then the unforgettable stench of rotting flesh permeates the air around me as a hand shoots out and latches around my throat, followed by a voice I’ll never forget.
