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“Where are the kids?” Roman asked him.

“Gone.”

“Gone?” Roman echoed. Sayagul started crying again. The house—his destroyed home—shimmered. “I thought you said?—”

“When Donovan and his men showed up, I told Dominic and Blue to take the children someplace safe,” Arthur began. “They came back when they heard gunshots.” As he spoke, Roman scanned the room—the bullet holes in the walls. There were so many of them, and so close together, there was no question they had come from a machine gun. Fired likely to cause fear. Arthur continued, “They left the kids where they were hiding, thinking they’d be safer there than here, but by the time they made sure I was alive and went back for them, they were gone.”

“Where are they now?” Max asked. “Dominic and Blue, I mean.”

Arthur shifted the ice to the split in his lip. “They’re still out looking for them.” He looked up at Roman, his one eye swollen shut.

The dread coursing through Roman had shifted into something violent. Something untameable. The kind of emotion that made him see red.

Or black.

“For the record, Roman,” Arthur said, “I don’t believe your father’s men got their hands on them. I think something else went wrong during Dominic and Blue’s absence, and they ran.”

Roman was so mad, he was trembling. So much for the relief he’d felt a moment ago. “Or they got killed by something else!” he snapped, unable to stop the words before they came lashing out. He kicked a piece of broken furniture out of the way, sending it smashing into the wall. “The blood,” he grittedout, whirling to face Arthur with flared nostrils, a Surge so close he was seeing the hazy outline of Arthur’s multi-hued aura. “Where’d it come from?”

“Your father’s men didn’t knock, they broke in during a brief power outage. They came in through every door. Paxton must have cut himself on the glass while he was trying to find a way out. Dominic flew the kids away?—”

“Were they seen?” Roman interrupted.

He shook his head. “I don’t believe so.”

“What about Blue—you said she went, too?” Lace asked.

“She made it out herself and followed Dominic on foot.”

Darien said, “Was Paxton wearing a talisman?”

“I gave him mine,” Arthur replied. “Eugene, however, is not wearing one.” He tossed an apologetic glance at Kylar, who looked too stunned to speak, his gray eyes flicking about the wreckage. “Not to my knowledge, anyway.”

Roman couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not. On the one hand, it meant they could try tracking Gene and find him and Paxton that way. But on the other, Donovan could be using the exact same strategy and get to the kids first.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur choked out, his lower lip trembling. “I was only trying to do what was best for them.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” Max said.

“Don and his men are the ones who should apologize,” Jack chimed in. “Beating up an old man.” He shook his head in disgust. “Bunch of pigs.”

“Oh, Arthur,” Ivy whispered, noting the shine in Arthur’s eyes. She walked across the room, stepping carefully through the wreckage, and sat down on the rolled arm of Arthur’s chair. She took the ice out of his wrinkled hand and held it against his face for him, giving him a much needed break from doing it himself.

“Which one of them did it?” Darien demanded. “Which one of them put their hands on you?”

“I don’t know all of their names,” Arthur replied, wincing as Ivy touched the ice to a tender spot. “And it doesn’t matter who, Darien. They’re all vile.”

“It’ll matter when I line them up and shoot them in order of importance.”

Kylar, who’d spent these past few minutes looking like he was trying not to faint, managed to find his voice. “Did Dom and Blue say where they were hiding the kids?”

“I asked them not to tell me,” Arthur replied. “I didn’t want anyone to be able to torture it out of me.”

“You’re too smart for your own good,” Darien said. He eyed the puffy skin on Arthur’s cheekbone. “Literally.”

“I’m old, Darien,” he mumbled, wincing as Ivy adjusted the ice pack. “Those kids have their whole lives ahead of them. If anyone’s going to die, I’d rather it be me.”

“Where’s Itzel?” Roman asked, scanning the kitchen behind him. If his Hob was gone, too?—