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“Paxton Slade,” the news reporter had said.

The blood drained from her head as she leaned forward and read the subtitles.

…TWELVE-YEAR-OLD PAXTON SLADE, A MALE HELLSEHER FROM YVESWICH, HAS BEEN REPORTED MISSING AS OF THIS MORNING. PAXTON WAS LAST SEEN WITH HIS BROTHER, ROMAN DEVLIN, AND FEMALE HELLSEHER SHAYLA COUSENS, WHO AUTHORITIES CLAIM MIGHT HAVE SOMETHING TO DO WITH PAXTON’S DISAPPEARANCE…

“Oh. Shit,” Shay mouthed as she watched her face appear on the news—right next to Roman’s. They looked like mugshots. Magical renditions from photographs that had been provided to the authorities.

…POLICE AND THE MAGICAL PROTECTIONS UNIT ARE INVESTIGATING HIS DISAPPEARANCE AND ARE ASKING FOR THE PUBLIC’S ASSISTANCE IN LOCATING PAXTON. ANYONE WITH INFORMATION IS ASKED TO CONTACT THE YVESWICH DIVISION OF THE MPU. DEVLIN AND COUSENS ARE DARKSLAYERS AND ARE BELIEVED TO BE ARMED AND EXTREMELY DANGEROUS. IF SEEN, THEY SHOULD NOT BE APPROACHED…

“Oh shit,” Shay said again.

A chair creaked. The receptionist peeked at her over the desk.

Shay whipped her head the other way—toward the window.

This was the work of Donovan—no doubt about that. Darkslayers did not report their missing family members—they tracked them down themselves and brutally murdered whoever had dared to take them. The fact that the psycho had gone sofar as to report his son to the police and have Paxton’s face—and hers andRoman’s—plastered all over the news…

This was bad. Horrible.

Light glinted off the windows of a car pulling into the lot.

“No,” Shay whispered.

It was a squad car.

Roman cameout of the examination room and fuckingcollidedwith Shay so hard she almost fell.

He grabbed onto her. “What the hell’s going on?”

“Police are here,” she panted. “I managed to sneak past reception, but we need to go—out the back door. Now.” She pushed him.

Roman bit his tongue against the questions threatening to come out. Why were the police here? And why did that matter?

They hurried down the hallway. Past the tiny laboratory and the examination rooms where other patients waited to be seen by the two doctors in the building.

The neon sign above the door just ahead said EXIT.

Shay shoved it open, and Roman followed behind her with Paxton in front of him.

“Over here,” she breathed. They took shelter behind a dumpster shared by the businesses in this tiny strip mall. She faced them, panting. “Wait. Wait here. We have to wait.” She gestured to the tattoo of a fish skeleton on her wrist. It was half-full with white light.

They couldn’t make it to the car. Not without being seen.

Because those cops had parked right beside them—Roman had spotted their cruiser through the front window on his way out.

The dumpster thumped and rattled as something in it chowed down on scraps. The sun was setting, a few of the more stupid and desperate breeds of monster creeping out for a twilit meal.

Paxton cowed away from the sound.

“Can you disguise my car?” Roman whispered, tucking Paxton against his side. “Do you have enough magic to do that?”

“I’ll try.” That meant she’d have to disguise not just the car but all three of them. It was a lot to ask.

They waited, Shay watching her tattoo as if it were a watch and she was checking the time. It only took seconds to refill, but it felt like forever. Roman’s heart pounded the whole time, his hand in reach of the gun in the holster strapped to his thigh.

When Shay’s tattoo was finally full, she said, “Everyone hold still. Don’t say anything.” She shut her eyes, nostrils flaring as she summoned her magic.

Roman’s heart was sprinting, eyes flicking toward the door they’d exited.