Page 109 of Into the Dark, We Go

"Because Robert is after him, too! And since you don’t believe me, I need someone who does. Maybe there’s something we can do, because sitting around answering your questions isn’t helping."

Mitch fell silent, his face tinged with sadness as he looked at me. Was my state really that bad?

"Sure, we’ll call him. I have his number memorized."

Mitch had superpowers, and finally, they were coming in handy, albeit in a situation we’d rather not be in at all.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm down. "Anyway, what happened to you? Where are your phones?"

"Mathilda called us and warned us to get out of the house," Mitch explained. "Ordered us to ditch our phones so no one could track us."

"Can they actually do that?" I asked.

"I don’t know. She sounded convincing. Maybe she hypnotized us or something."

Mitch seemed frustrated with himself. He didn’t trust Mathilda, and then he suddenly obeyed her, like a soldier reacting to a command without question.

June snorted, "Now, who’s stupid?"

Mathilda hadn’t been at the ritual, and she had no way of knowing, aside from her self-proclaimed psychic powers, that I’d be heading to the cabin in the first place. It gave me hope she wasn’t one of them after all. She could help.

"Did she say anything else about the grimoire? Can you call her?" I asked.

Mitchell tried to reassure me. "Nellie, this is all just smoke and mirrors. We don’t know squat about that grimoire. Let’s get the hell outta here and get you to a hospital, where you can get some real help."

"Smoke and mirrors?" I snapped, ripping off the jacket he gave me and turning my back to him, forcing him to look at the burn. "Does that look like smoke and mirrors to you?"

His face went grim. "I... I didn’t mean..."

I angrily put the coat back on. "Then please, let’s do something instead of debating what’s real and what isn’t. And no hospital. We don’t have time for that.Idon’t have time for that."

Mitchell’s foot slammed the gas pedal, and the world outside the car blurred into streaks of brown and green. With each bump in the road, I winced.

We pulled up to a rundown motel tucked between a row of trucks. No one said a word. Mitchell got out to call Nick, but his sister stopped me before I could follow.

"Come on, we need to clean you up," June said softly, guiding me toward the bathroom. Her hands shook as she carefully wiped away the grime and dried blood from my skin. She looked at me with a mix of shock and anger, taking in the bruises, broken lip, and seared symbol on my skin.

Mitchell handed me ibuprofen, and I swallowed the pills with a grimace. His assessment was relatively reassuring—maybe one or two broken ribs, but nothing internal, no concussion.

"Easy," he cautioned, guiding June as she tended to the wound on my shoulder. He’d brought a pile of oversized T-shirts, offering me something more comfortable to wear. A pained "thank you" slipped through my clenched teeth.

Later, I managed to snag a couple of hours of sleep, curled on my left side in an awkward attempt to find comfort. When I woke, the siblings were huddled over the table, studying an arsenal of guns. Mitchell’s collection had doubled since I last saw it.

"What’s the plan?" I asked, my voice still hoarse.

"First, I’ll teach you ladies how to handle these. Then I’m going after the son of a bitch who did this to you. And we’re going to find that goddamn book."

One glance at June’s offended expression made it clear she wasn’t a rookie. Mitch quickly moved on, showing me how to handle both weapons in case it came to that. We couldn’t go outside, so it wasn’t real practice—mostly theory. This routine gave me a fleeting glimmer of reassurance, making me feel as if we had a plan, even though we didn’t.

"You can’t go alone," I protested afterward. "There are seven of them—that I counted! And you can’t put your sister in danger like that."

"June’s staying here with you," Mitchell said firmly, his jaw set.

"No, I’m coming!" June jumped off the bed, as if terrified her brother was leaving right then.

"Going after them by yourself is a suicide mission," I intervened, trying to reason with him before things escalated further. "Come on, you know this! You’ve said it yourself: never go anywhere alone. What if we talk to that witch first and seewhat she has to say? After all, she got us into this mess. What if she actually has the book?"

"Why would she be asking us about it then?" Mitch frowned, tapping his fingers against the edge of the table.