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As she walked, fast as her legs would take her without breaking into a run, Loren dug around in the side pocket of her purse until she felt the warm silver in her fingertips. She palmed the two coins just as she was ducking around the trunk of a shaggy pepper tree. With light footsteps, she hurried down a small path speckled with wildflowers.

The path led to a clearing in which there was nothing save a pond lined with satiny stones. Beside that pond was a smooth wall of pale gray rock. It was tucked into the front of a grassy knoll, a door drawn into its surface with white chalk. Flowerless green plants and long golden grass hung above it, fluttering in a breeze.

The pond was thick with a build-up of algae, the stones fuzzy with moss. In the fast-fading sunlight, the water gleamed red with the past offerings of daring and desperate visitors.

Loren found a sharp rock in the grass, swiftly cut a line across her palm, and then plunked the two blood-stained coins into the water, where they drifted to the slimy bottom to join the others.

With a deep breath that somehow didn’t shake, she faced the sealed door, blood sliding down her fingers.

“Let me in,” she whispered. She could hear her pursuers now; they were getting closer. Loren’s heart thundered, the blood in her veins buzzing with a thrilling blend of adrenaline and fear, but her words were firm as she bit out, “Let me in, gods-damnit.”

The chalk markings on the stone began to glow. What had only been a drawing of a door a moment ago became a real, physical entrance.

The stone door cracked open, an eerie and wordless invitation to step inside. Humid air that smelled of sun-warmed raspberry wine and fresh summer rain puffed out, wafting her in the face. It smelled so delicious, she was tempted to breathe it in.

It’s a lie, Loren reminded herself. She stepped forward and placed her free palm against the door. Don’t forget, it’s all a lie.

She pushed the Chalk Door open and stepped inside.

PART III

BLOOD BATH

21

Channary Graves just had to be hosting a party, didn’t she?

The House on the Pier was one of the oldest buildings in the city. It reminded Darien of the various Crossroads sprinkled throughout Terra—a place that was neither here nor there, where time meant nothing, and nightmares danced with dreams. There was a magical ambiance to the building, thanks to the sapphire roofing tiles and the arched windows whose glass was tinted the same blue, giving the feeling of being underwater to anyone who set foot inside the house.

“Can you try to calm down?” Maximus murmured as Darien rolled the car to a stop near the jagged coast. The ocean lapped against the rock, spraying the house with sea foam. “You’re making me nervous.”

Darien hadn’t realized how hard he was gripping the steering wheel; how tightly he was clenching his jaw. “It just figures she’d decide to have company over on tonight of all nights.” He forced his hands to relax, forced himself to take a steadying breath. The anger sweeping through his veins told him he’d be dealing with a Surge tonight.

The car jerked as Darien flattened the accelerator to the floor and backed up, squeezing into an empty stall between a couple flashy convertibles. When he put the gearshift in park, he nearly ripped it right off, a grinding noise that couldn’t be good shredding the silence in the vehicle. He cut the engine and dimmed the headlights.

Now that the engine was quiet, the music from Channary’s party floated across the driveway, the dull thumping muffled by the spells on the house and car.

Darien scanned the area one last time, searching for a motorcycle with the Reapers’ logo on the sides of it.

Malakai was supposed to be here already. But when Darien had tried contacting him an hour ago, the call had gone straight to voicemail. If that Reaper ever decided to show up, Darien would have trouble not tearing his head off his shoulders.

Max swore. Now, it was his turn to make Darien nervous.

“What?” Darien asked.

“Is that Lionel’s car?”

Darien followed Max’s line of sight to the dark gray sedan parked near the front doors, the blue lanterns mounted on the exterior walls of the house reflecting in the spotless paint.

He scrubbed a hand down his face. “Just fucking peachy,” he muttered.

A while had passed since the last time he’d seen Lionel Savage. As former Right Hand of Randal Slade, Lionel had never liked Darien, but there was no surprise there. No one his father put in charge had spent a single day in Darien’s good books.

“You want to come back another time?” Max’s voice punctured the tension that had taken hold of Darien’s thoughts.

With a sigh so heavy it was nearly a growl, Darien cracked open his door, salty air sweeping into the car. “I didn’t just waste the past forty-five minutes to get here.” He jerked his head at the house. “Let’s go.”

They made their way across the driveway. Darien recognized a few vehicles, some of them belonging to the Vipers, a few to Darkslayers who were visiting from out of town.