Page 58 of Illusory (The Marked Saga #8)

Convincing Gabriel to let me attempt a trial run into Temple was a small victory. But, of course, he’d still insisted on me doing several more test runs to other less dangerous locations first: Trace’s house. Huntington Manor. The freaking janitor’s closet at school.

I’d gone along with it all without complaint, wanting him to feel comfortable, to be fully on board. But after spending four minutes in the broom closet at Weston Academy, twiddling my thumbs, I finally put my foot down and insisted we start the trial run into Temple before I expired from boredom.

And to my relief, Gabriel agreed to it. Albeit warily.

“It’s imperative that you follow the same exact rules as before,” lectured Gabriel as I made myself comfortable on Trace’s lap after taking a quick bathroom break. “No touching anything. No talking to anyone. No funny business. And no attempts to locate or secure the Sang Noir. This trial is for one reason and one reason alone. To attempt to gain access into the building. If something should go wrong, you port back here immediately. If for some reason you cannot port back here, you immediately make your way to our meeting spot. If for some reason you cannot make it there, you—”

“Gabriel, I got it,” I interrupted softly. “I know the plan, and I’ll stick to it just like I did all the other times.”

He hesitated, his anxious eyes scanning my face. The way he was looking at me, so troubled and afraid, it almost made me want to back out of the whole thing just to put his mind at ease.

But where would that get us?

So long as the Horsemen were earthbound, they still needed a fourth to activate the Power of Four and that meant that both my life and the baby’s life were at risk. We still had no idea how to stop them, how to call them off and send them packing, and getting our hands on the book was the only lead we had.

It didn’t matter which way we sliced it. I needed that book.

Gabriel’s expression softened, though the deep-rooted worry never fully left his eyes. “Just… please be careful, Jemma. Stick to the plan and remain focused and alert at all times,” he pleaded, his voice gentler then. “Your safety is the only thing that matters. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

I nodded, my throat narrowing with emotion at the intensity of Gabriel’s concern. “I understand,” I said, my voice far steadier than I felt. “I promise I'll be careful.”

Gabriel held my gaze for a moment longer before giving a curt nod. He turned to Dominic, who was standing nearby with his expensive-looking wristwatch in hand. “Are we ready?” he asked him.

Dominic checked the time on the watch and then nodded before turning his eyes to me. “You have two minutes, angel, and not a second more. Is that clear?”

“Crystal.” The tension in the air was palpable, but I refused to let it shake me.

“You got this,” murmured Trace as I leaned back into his embrace, his breath against my ear making my skin prickle warmly. “Same deal as before. Picture the room you want to port to, and hold the image in your mind.”

Nodding, I closed my eyes, conjuring up the image of the study I’d visited at Temple months ago.

After retrieving the Sang Noir from the Veil and spending two weeks in the hospital, I’d gone to Temple as soon as I was released—with Gabriel’s help, of course. They had been keeping the book in the study and had a group of translators working around the clock to decode it, and though I was fairly certain it was currently being housed elsewhere—probably in the Vault, under lock and key—I figured the study was the safest place to port to.

It was either that, the public atrium or meeting hall, the downstairs labs, or the Senior Magister’s office, since I really hadn’t seen much else of the building.

“Okay,” I whispered, seeing the picture clear in my mind. “I got it.”

“Good. Now hold it steady. Just like that,” he encouraged, seeing what I was seeing in my mind as though our minds were two halves of the same whole.

And then I was off.

The whipping cold and boundless darkness eclipsed me as I ported from the safety of my home and Trace’s arms, through the tunnel-like continuum of time and space, before slowly making my way to Temple. The study gradually began to emerge around me, deep browns and burgundy colors swirling around me as the room slowly solidified.

I blinked, my vision steadily clearing as I took in my surroundings. The room was exactly as I remembered it—dark wood paneling, plush burgundy carpets, and towering bookshelves lining the walls. But something felt…off. The air was stale, heavy with an eerie silence that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

My eyes darted around, quickly scanning for any sign of life or witnesses that would need taking care of, but the room was completely deserted. No translators hunched over ancient texts, no Temple officials discussing strategy and theories. Just...quiet emptiness.

Relief flooded me as I released my breath and smiled. I’d actually done it. I’d safely ported into Temple without incident. A small victory in the grand scheme of things, but an important one.

My eyes swept the room, memorizing the layout and cataloging every detail in order to report back to the guys later. The more intel I gathered, the more at ease Gabriel would be when I would have to return for the real thing.

That was when I saw it— the Sang Noir —sitting innocuously on the conference table as if it had been left there just for my viewing pleasure. It had been so long since I’d seen the book in person, so long since we’d started planning and waiting and training, the whole thing had started to feel like a pipe dream.

But there it was, finally, right within my reach.

Everything inside me screamed at me to take the book, but I held myself back. Staring at it. Chewing my bottom lip. Gabriel had warned me not to go after the book. That this was just a trial run, nothing more. That I was not permitted to secure the book under any circumstances.

But would he have said the same thing if he knew the Sang Noir was right there—mere inches away from my reach? Would he really prefer to risk doing this whole thing all over again when I could end it right then and there?

The more I thought about it, the more it seemed foolish not to just…take it.

Without another second of hesitation, I lunged forward and seized the book from the table. My fingers had barely wrapped around the cover before I felt it—the unmistakable thrum of magic, humming beneath my skin and binding my feet in place.

Panic surged through my veins as I tried to move, to step away from the table, but my feet were all but cemented to the floor as some kind of invisible force held me in place. My pulse roared as I struggled to push away from the table—shoving off it with my hands as I tried to lift my feet off the ground and make them move, but it was useless. I was somehow trapped.

My gaze dropped to the ground, and I gasped as I took in the sigil beneath my feet. Intricate lines and symbols glowed faintly on the carpet. They hadn’t been there before, at least not in a way that was visible to the naked eye, but they were now fully illuminated by whatever magic had activated the trap. Because that was what this was. A trap.

Gabriel’s words slammed through my brain, and I whimpered.

Follow the rules. Stick to the plan. Don’t touch anything.

Why the fuck couldn’t I ever listen ?

I closed my eyes, trying to focus on porting back home, back to the living room and the safety of Trace’s arms, using every bit of concentration I could muster, but nothing happened. The magic holding me in place seemed to be interfering with my abilities, stopping me from calling up my own magic. It was as though I were in some kind of magic dead zone. Terror clawed up the back of my throat, threatening to spew all over the ugly carpet as I realized I was well and truly fucked.

Think, Jemma. Think ! I needed to stop panicking and remember the plan. The plan! What the hell was the plan? Oh, right. If I couldn’t port back to the house, I was supposed to make my way to our predetermined meeting spot. Great! Except that I couldn’t take a single step in any direction, let alone make my way out of the room. Fuck. Okay, next step? My phone! I had my phone! I could call them and tell them what happened, and they would come for me and everything would be fine.

With the book cradled between my chest and arm and the rope clutched tightly in my fingers, I reached into my back pocket with my free hand to retrieve my phone just as the study door crashed open, making me jump. The phone tumbled from my grip, bouncing on the floor and landing just out of my reach as the Senior Magister, William, strode into the room, his face a mask of grim satisfaction.

My blood ran cold as my gaze darted behind him to a hooded man whose face was swathed in shadows, and then the Three Horsemen in all their towering, apocalyptic glory.

“Well, well,” William drawled, his voice dripping with false warmth. “Look at what we have here. The prodigal daughter finally returns.”

Yup . I was definitely well and truly fucked.