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Singer was fidgeting in her shadow. She consoled him in her thoughts, his agitation throwing her back in time—to the night she’d lost him to the demons in that alley. She was careful to keep those memories buried beneath regular, mundane thoughts, in case Singer was sharing her mind at that moment. Neither of them wanted to relive that terrible, dark day. Besides, they were together now. And they always would be.

It wasn’t until the bus had entered the outskirts of Hooded Skullcap that she realized she was being watched.

—

The bus ride from the Avenue of the Scarlet Star to Hooded Skullcap took a little over half an hour.

At last, the driver lurched to a stop on a dirt road, a cloud of dust billowing over the bus. The fields surrounding the road were awash with red light, the slanted rays of an evening sun transforming the blades of grass into a sea of flames.

Loren waited, watching out of the corner of her eye as a handful of other passengers got off the bus. The three hellsehers she suspected were watching her—two men and one woman—slid out of their seats. They thumped down the aisle, chattering to each other as they walked, bags clunking against their backs. On their way out, they thanked the driver.

Loren’s lip jutted out in thought. Maybe it was wrong of her to think they were watching. Maybe all the close calls she’d encountered these past few months had made her paranoid.

This was her stop. And now that she had seen the three hellsehers leave before her, she felt more at ease about her decision to disembark.

Just as the last person exited the bus, Loren scooted out of her seat and hurried down the narrow aisle. She thanked the driver on her way out and pattered down the stairs.

Outside, the sunbaked air was fragrant with creosote and the tar-like scent of chaparral. It was oddly peaceful out here, only the distant buzzing of cicadas to break the hazy silence of a hot and sticky afternoon.

This road was as far as the transit services were willing to venture in the district of Hooded Skullcap. Not many people lived out here, and regardless, there wasn’t much real estate available, thanks to the Crossroads. Whenever a Crossroads was around, the land was labeled mostly uninhabitable, though there was the odd person who enjoyed the quiet, opting to build a home near the Crossroads for this very reason. Usually, those people could afford the thickest protection spells imaginable, and they would be stupid not to pay for them if they had the money. Unless a Blood Moon hung in the sky, the Nameless were bound to a certain radius surrounding their habitats. But just because they could drift no farther than said radius didn’t mean it was safe, even for the rich.

Standing on the side of the road as the bus hissed and sputtered away, Loren pretended to sift through the contents of her bag, waiting to see which route the three hellsehers from the bus would take.

As she fumbled around for something that didn’t exist, she began to feel ridiculous, especially as she eyed the blade Darien had given her, hiding deep in the shadows of her bag. The three hellsehers were talking quietly, not a single one glancing her way, as they walked down the road, entirely unaware of the human girl plotting to slit their throats in self-defense. Their route would take them away from the Chalk Door, toward one of the sparse neighborhoods in this district.

Good riddance. Maybe they lived out here.

Maybe she was the crazy one.

She lifted the strap of her purse over her head, pulled it tight across her body, and began picking her way through the knee-high grass, keeping her eyes peeled for witch’s vine. She made quick work, aware of the sun inching toward the horizon with every passing second, taking with it the small degree of safety it provided.

About an hour later, both of her bags were full of enough witch’s vine to make at least a dozen tonics. She zipped her purse shut, the herbs getting stuck in the metal teeth, and hurriedly made her way back. One last bus would be coming out here before nightfall, and if she didn’t catch it, she would be screwed. Taxis were always an option, but only if they weren’t already booked, like that night when she’d gone clubbing with Dallas and Sabrine at Her Infernal Majesty.

Loren shuddered from the thought. She picked up her pace, dry grass crackling against her legs. Life had changed a lot since that night.

She could just make out the deserted bus stop in the distance, the lone streetlight beside it flickering awake, when she froze.

It wasn’t deserted at all. The three people from before were back, and they were watching her in silence from across the field.

Out here, there weren’t many places for a person to hide, nor were there many places for a person to run for help. The couple of neighborhoods in the area were too far away, the trees too scarce. There were no stores, no charging stations. Nothing.

Except… There was one place.

Loren pivoted on a heel and made her way to the left, across the field and into the scant shelter of young velvet ash trees.

She had only ever been out here once, back when Mordred and Penelope had first hired her to work at the Mortar and Pestle, but she knew she was going the right way. She remembered the twins’ warnings as if they had been uttered only yesterday, remembered the area they’d told her to stay away from, the circle around the Crossroads a dead zone for mobile phones and radio signals.

And she had stayed away. She’d willingly heeded their warnings, but right now, this was her only option.

She realized just how true that was as she looked over her shoulder.

The three hellsehers were coming after her. They had spaced themselves apart in a strategic pattern, forming a half-circle that would make it difficult for her to flee if she decided to turn around.

Loren’s hand flew to the Avertera talisman. Her fingers fumbled across her bare skin, searching for the small gold pendant covered in ancient runes, a closed eye in the center. Her stomach tumbled through her feet as she realized…

It was gone. She wasn’t sure when it had vanished, but it must’ve been sometime in the past couple hours. She remembered fiddling with it during her lunch hour, and she hadn’t done any activities that would’ve caused it to fall off, unless the clasp broke. Which meant the magic had already run out.

That seemed unusually quick. Since Kalendae, Darien had bought her four different talismans. Four. Why was the magic draining so quickly?