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Hellsehers couldn’t see their own aura; even looking in a mirror, they couldn’t see it. And he’d never asked anyone to read his and explain the colors to him; he didn’t want to know what his bare inner self looked like. But he thought that if he could see it, it would be all the shades that indicated damage and corruption. All the vile and unpleasant things a person could be, he was sure that was what he was.

“You have one, Darien,” Arthur said. “You do. You wouldn’t be talking to me like this if you didn’t.” He eased himself out of the chair, grunting with the effort, and started tidying up his workspace. “It’s not too late for you, you know. Randal’s gone. There are a few things that you need to take care of, but after that?” He smiled. “After that, you have your whole life ahead of you, Darien. And you also have a girl who I know will stick by you through everything, speedbumps and all.”

There would be a lot of speedbumps, he knew. “I hope you’re right.” He found his keys in his pocket and shoved away from the table.

“Where are you off to now?”

“I have an appointment.”

Arthur closed the books that were spread out on the table and started stacking them. “New haircut?”

“Never,” Darien laughed. “I’m going to get my eyes checked.”

Arthur lifted his head. “Your eyes checked,” he repeated with a chuckle. “That’s a good one.”

When Darien didn’t reply, merely tipping up a brow, a smile playing on his mouth, Arthur’s expression emptied with shock.

“I’ll be damned,” Arthur murmured. “You’re serious.”

—

In the waiting room of Angelthene Optometry, Darien sat in one of the plastic chairs that were set up around a low table, the surface of which was littered with the latest magazines on gossip, fashion, and cooking.

Three other patients were present, all of them seeming far more interested in why there was a Darkslayer here than they were the magazines spread open on their laps. One of the old men didn’t even bother pretending to be occupied; he flat out stared at Darien with a gaze he never broke, not even to blink. At least his mouth wasn’t hanging open—Darien had to give him that.

A few minutes passed before a black-haired half-witch wearing thick-framed glasses trotted up to the reception desk, stiletto heels clip-clopping on the shiny floors. Judging from the look on her face, and the way she kept glancing at the waiting area while she spoke to one of the human receptionists, she thought a joke was being played on her.

Darien watched as she gestured to her clipboard with a graceful wave of a light brown hand. The four words she uttered were too low for anyone else in the waiting area to hear, but Darien picked up on them without a problem. “Are you kidding me?” she hissed.

Darien nearly snorted. This was going to be good.

A couple minutes passed before she was walking his way, chin up, white lab coat swishing around her hips. She stopped several feet from him. When she spoke, she made a point not to look at anyone, least of all the Darkslayer dressed in all black—the Darkslayer who looked like he had been sent here to off someone, not get his vision checked.

“I’m looking for Darien Cassel,” the woman said. She had a breezy voice, the kind that made it difficult to believe she had the ability to yell.

Darien refrained from rolling his eyes. Instead, he gestured to the older man who was still staring at him. How the fuck was he not blinking? “He’s Darien Cassel,” Darien said of the man.

The man finally blinked, sat back in his chair, and looked up at the woman in disbelief, jowls jiggling. “My name is Fred. That’s Darien Cassel.” He pointed a wrinkled finger at Darien.

Darien rolled his eyes all the way to the back of his head. “You people have no sense of humor.” He got to his feet.

Now that he was standing at full height, the woman lifted her chin higher, her red-painted mouth straightening into a line. She was young—probably not much older than Loren. Twenty-one, maybe twenty-two.

“Very well,” she said, squeezing her clipboard. “Follow me.”

—

Twenty minutes later, and the exam was done. The optometrist—Doctor Tamika Isley—flicked off the eye chart projector, plunging the small room into darkness. With a glance in his direction, clearly unsettled by the fact that she couldn’t see him in the unlit room, she got up to turn on the lights. When they buzzed to life, she returned to her chair, the click of her heels on the floor the only sound to fill the sudden silence.

“You have perfect vision,” she said with a long exhalation, tucking her black skirt under her as she sank into the seat. She crossed her legs and folded her hands on her bare knee. “But I don’t think that comes as a surprise to you.”

“You didn’t see anything out of the ordinary?” Darien pressed, the question edged with irritation. “Nothing at all?”

She shook her head. “When did you say you started seeing these…creatures?”

“I didn’t,” Darien clarified, just because he felt like being a dick. “But my first sighting was a few days ago.”

She wet her lips and looked about the room, fluorescent lights reflecting in her lenses. When she voiced her next question, she kept her focus on the white walls, fingers trembling on her knee. Darien had no idea what had unsettled her so thoroughly, aside from his unexpected presence here, until the question finally came out.