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“What isn’t safe? Do you need help?”

“I’m having a Surge.”

“Dare—”

“I have to go.”

He hung up and ran faster, cutting through alleys, eyes seeing too much yet too little at the same time. Glowing spells rippled over buildings, the auras of people and demons showing through them. The farther he got from the street that had exploded under him, the better he felt, that keening sound no longer shrieking in his ears, the blood that was pumping through his veins no longer threatening to burst through his flesh and shower him in red.

But the Surge wouldn’t leave, its claws in too deep to extract.

It was the worst one he’d ever experienced. He had to get to the Chopping Block, had to save himself by killing something else. His monster needed to feed, and he would feed it.

56

Max had just stepped out of the shower, the bathroom in his suite at Hell’s Gate full of billowing steam, when he heard his phone vibrating on the dresser in the bedroom.

He grabbed a white towel off the rack and wrapped it around his waist. Pushing his sopping hair back, he lumbered into the bedroom, wet feet slapping on hardwood. He peered at the phone rattling on the dresser, not recognizing the number displayed on the screen.

The call was about to go to voicemail when he picked up, thumb smearing water across the screen. “What’s up?” he said.

“Get down here,” came a deep, gravelly voice. It took Max a second to recognize it. The Butcher added, “I need you to kill your girlfriend.”

Max’s spine stiffened. “What?”

“If you don’t, then I will.”

“What in the gods’ names is going on?”

“She was buying drugs.”

—

There was only one way into Hell’s Gate that wouldn’t put Loren’s family in danger, and that was the portal in the backyard. It was too risky to take a cab and walk through the front gates, so she used the spare syringe—one of three—and emptied the contents into her neck.

And then she hurtled through the weak spot in the academy library and made her way through the Veil, pinpricks of light and colored orbs swirling around her, Singer at her side.

The time on her clock was winding down to her final minutes when she finally spotted the pit that dropped into the Widow’s den. The sight of it told her she wasn’t far from the tree that would take her to Hell’s Gate, but she had to hurry. Singer helped her navigate, barking to communicate, the sound rippling through the Divide. She felt like she was walking through an echo chamber.

Less than ten minutes on her clock remained when she spotted the gnarled tree roots hanging down from thin air. She peered up through the dark tangle, where a pocket of night sky in another realm sparkled way, way above.

Loren jumped, reaching for the tree roots, but they were too far away, and she couldn’t even graze one.

Seven minutes remained.

She looked down at Singer, who watched her with worry. “Can you give me a boost?”

Singer tossed his head as if to say yes, ears flopping. He planted his misty paws farther apart and slightly lowered his head, standing firm.

Loren backed up several paces and made a run for it. She jumped, planted her foot on Singer’s solid back, and leapt up, hands reaching for the nearest root.

It slid through her grasp, notches and ridges ripping into her palm, but she held firm, swinging so she could grab it with both hands.

And then she pulled herself up. Up and up, she climbed, arm muscles burning, sweat trickling down her back. The night sky neared, and she felt Singer melt into her shadow.

Soon, a jasmine-scented breeze was caressing her face. She sucked it down into her aching lungs, nearly sobbing with relief that she had made it, and with barely two minutes to spare.

Her body melted into the colors of her aura as she passed from one realm into the next. Before she knew it, she was collapsing on the night-cool lawn of Hell’s Gate, chest rising and falling with frantic breaths.