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Shay opened her black eyes. “Let’s go.”

They walked—walked,which was torture—around the building and back to the car.

Shay had disguised it so well, Roman would have walked right by it if she hadn’t been with him. It was an ugly white mini van, its longer size making it a little hard to find where the real doors were. If he squinted, he could see the real image of the car overlapping with the illusion of the van—something he assumed he was able to see because he was a part of the illusion she’d cast.

They got in, the cops still speaking with reception inside, and drove back to the Wanderer in silence. Nobody spoke until they were parked out front of room number nineteen, and by then the illusion had faded. They were exposed. Vulnerable.

Shay explained everything she’d seen on the news.

Roman cursed. He formed a fist and made to punch the steering wheel when he remembered Pax was in the back seat. He reined in his emotions. Loosened his fist. “It’s my dad. It’s got to be. Or Clare.” His breathing was labored, the black of the Sight blurring the edges of his vision.

“Clare?” Shay questioned.

Paxton said, “That’s my mom. She’s probably worried about me.”

“You can’t fall for that, though, bud,” Roman said gently. “I know she cares, but you have to promise you won’t fall for any sob story.” He twisted in his seat to look at Pax. “Promise?”

Paxton nodded. Roman was afraid, though—afraid the kid, who had such a good heart, would break because of his mother.

He’d have to keep a close watch over Paxton’s phone. Maybe block Clare’s number, in case she tried reaching out to him. For now. For his safety.

“They showed your picture on the news,” Shay said. “Mine, too. Do you think Clare would do something like that?”

Roman rubbed his stubbled chin in thought. “Depends. She doesn’t like me, she probably thinks I abducted her child. If she wants to find Pax badly enough, she’ll try anything, even dragging my name through the mud.” He slumped an elbow against his window and dug his fingers into his thick hair, fisting it.

“She seemed pretty desperate at the warehouse,” Shay mused, chewing her lower lip. “Maybe itwasher. I don’t know why she would include my picture, though…”

“Because Donovan is involved,” he said with disgust. “Whether it was Clare’s idea or not, Don would have had to okay it. She’d never go behind his back.” Clare was terrified of the man she’d married. Taking such drastic measures as to report to the authorities that her child was missing would get her murdered if he hadn’t given her the okay.

“It could be my mom, too,” Shay said. “Maybe they’re working together.”

He chewed the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted blood. “Maybe,” he said with a sigh. He ripped the key out of the ignition. “We can’t stay here. One more night, so Pax can rest up, and then we’re leaving.” He opened his door and stepped out.

I want you gone.Roman almost said it again. Because his dad now had the whole world looking for Pax, and Roman knew that once his dad found them he’d kill his eldest son once and for all. Roman had crossed the line when he’d taken Pax. He would be shown zero mercy. Brutally slaughtered, no question.

And if Shay was still around when that happened, she’d get caught in the crossfire.

63

Hell’s Gate

ANGELTHENE, STATE OF WITHEREDGE

The othersstill weren’t back. And every time Darien tried to contact them, his calls wouldn’t go through.

He spent hours pacing the house debating whether to send Jack and Lace out to look for them. But doing that while everyone’s auras were invisible would be like searching for a ghost in fog. Ivy and the others could be anywhere by now—could have left via any exit in Yveswich and gone to any town. There was no use in spreading themselves even thinner to look for people they were unlikely to find.

Roman was the only person he managed to get a hold of. He had made it out, and he was with Shay and Paxton in a small town called Arbor. That was a total of three people accounted for, but that still left everyone else’s fates up in the fucking air.

Darien spent the day obsessively checking on Loren, who slept as if she were under a spell, and blowing off steam with the exercise equipment in the basement. The punching bag wasn’t quite as satisfying when his right hand was broken, but he had to keep busy. If he stopped moving for any length of time, his appetite for hard drugs grew to the point of being unbearable. And so did his worry for his Devils.

He left the house only long enough to pick up a little something for Loren, but apart from that he stayed and paced. Smoked a dozen cigarettes to curb his cravings for something stronger. Push-ups, sit-ups, punching, running, weight training—he did it all.

Evening rolled around, and he came up the stairs to the ground floor after another round of boxing with his lifeless opponent and heard the sound of light footsteps in Loren’s room. She was awake, and thank gods for that. But just because she was out of bed didn’t mean she’d come down anytime soon. He’d heard her get up one other time today and had gotten his hopes up, but she had gone straight back to sleep.

Still panting with exertion, his shirt clinging to the sweat on his body, he walked up to the third floor landing and stood there for a moment. Listening but trying not to be a creep as she came out of the bathroom?—

And went right back to bed, just like he’d suspected. The mattress creaked as she collapsed on top of it, and she let out a soft, sleepy groan before promptly drifting off again.