Chapter Six
Rogue
D elta .
I don’t know what that witch is up to, but it’s clearly no good. Unless she thinks I’m colluding with the enemy, and that’s why those men she was talking to were chasing me and Cohen.
Visions are frustrating, especially when they offer no context.
I don’t even know what’s happening or why my magic feels so strongly that I can trust Cohen. It’s also infatuated with the idea of seeing Calyx again. My insides light up at the thought, and it’s strange. I’m still not sure why my magic was insistent that I not bring Gemma along with me.
Maybe it’s not my magic acting erratically.
What if I’m the one who’s out of control?
Am I giving Delta a reason to be suspicious of me?
If I was on the outside looking in, I might be mistrustful of myself.
“Where are we headed?” I need something else to focus on.
Finding Calyx is priority number one, and I’m hoping Cohen will give me specifics on where his friend is hiding.
“That’s complicated,” Cohen says, keeping both hands on the wheel. “Calyx has multiple safe houses, and he swaps through them on a regular basis. He never warns us when he collects a new one to add to the rotation. He’ll eventually come for me, but?—”
“Can’t you just call him?” I twist to study his face. Being able to sense the truth is convenient at times like these, but I know how it goes. Some individuals are sneaky enough to twist the truth until only a sliver remains. Or they avoid topics they won’t be able to lie about.
“If he had a phone, I would be happy to. Calyx is old school,” Cohen says, flipping on his blinker. The man practically comes to a complete stop before turning onto the side street.
“That wasn’t a four-way stop. We didn’t have a stop sign at all.”
“Yes, well, I’m still getting the hang of driving in America. Would you like to take the wheel?” His British accent seems especially thick as he speaks, and I’m a little too fond of the lyrical tone of his words.
I do drive. It’s just not my favorite activity. It feels unnatural to be in control of a large metal box. I’ve often wished fae had wings, so I wouldn’t need to bother with vehicles at all.
Gemma’s ability to siphon has spoiled me. It occasionally makes me ill, but it also has instantaneous results.
“No, thank you,” I say primly. “I’ll trust you since I don’t know where we’re going.”
Trust him?
Really, Rogue?
The car lights shine on a dilapidated house that makes my skin crawl. There are going to be spiders and mice in there, I can feel it.
“This is your friend’s safe house?” I ask, unclipping my seat belt.
“One of a few.” Cohen shuts off the vehicle and prepares to climb out. “Don’t worry. It’s in much better condition on the inside.”
I fight back a scoff and follow him from the car. “What exactly is your friend? And what is a phylactery?”
“That’s something you should ask Calyx,” he says, stomping through the overgrown grass. When he hits a small gravel-lined path that leads to the ancient-looking porch, I stop in my tracks.
Am I spelled or something?
Did a vampire compel me to act completely out of character?
Why am I even here?
In my vision, it sounded a lot like Delta was involved in whatever the Market Heist Crew is up to. I only caught snippets of her conversation, but the men she was with weren’t members of her team. At least, not ones that work at Owen’s.
I’ve been cautious of her for a while, but I haven’t been able to put my finger on exactly why. She doesn’t like Ember, and that alone was enough of a reason for me to dislike her, but I’ve recently started questioning her professional tactics.
Although, I’m also wondering why proving my suspicions are true is important enough that I let myself be brought to the middle of nowhere with a stranger.
A stranger the paranormal council considers a threat. Or, at least, they consider Calyx to be dangerous.
Cohen ended up guilty by association.
Maybe.
He protected me in my vision. Pushing me to the wall, he blocked my body with his.
That seemed to indicate some level of familiarity.
Add on the kiss, and I’m so confused. Maybe it was a spur-of-the-moment decision, or it could be that he saw it in the vision and felt the need to complete the loop of fate.
What’s that called?
A self-fulfilling prophecy.
Cohen spins around, snatching my hand as his head swivels.
“Come on. Something feels off. My magic doesn’t like it.” He drags me toward the house and up the stairs, sliding his free hand over the door lock.
Smoky-white magic spills from his skin, and the lock disengages. The hinges creak as the door pops open, and a musty smell hits my nose, making it wrinkle.
I thought he said it was nicer on the inside?
This place looks like a scene from a horror movie.
The walls are wood and falling apart from decay and disrepair. There’s a thick layer of dust on everything, and if not for Cohen’s magic, it would be completely dark.
Huh, I wonder if Calyx has a sensitivity to electricity the same way I do?
Mine is pretty bad, but I would still never want to live without power.
The benefits far outweigh the cons.
“Wouldn’t you be able to tell if he was here?” I ask, tugging my hand away.
Cohen shakes his head as he continues down the long hallway. “Not just yet.”
I’m not sure what else to do, so I follow him. He reaches the end of the corridor and makes a left while I catch sight of my reflection in the glass double doors that must lead to a back deck. They’re yellow with age, and pollen and dust stick to the glass.
Vines line the outside, giving windows of visibility in the glass while most is covered with their growth. It wouldn’t even be possible to open those with how thick the vegetation is.
Cohen and I clearly have different definitions of it’s nicer inside.
Exhaling heavily, I follow him into the room on the left. It’s in no better condition, trash and broken furniture littering the floor. The once regal paintings are chipped and peeling, with the frames hanging askew.
Cohen glances around and curses. “Okay, not this one. Only three more to go.”
My eyes narrow.
Is he dragging me around on a wild goose chase?
Too much is happening all at once, and it’s hard to keep up.
Ember is fated to Lorcan.
Lorcan is close with Cohen and Calyx.
I’d like to believe that means Cohen is trustworthy, but I know how the world works. No one wants to get tangled up with the paranormal council, and most supernaturals do everything they can to stay out of the council’s sights.
All of this could be an elaborate setup to allow Calyx an opportunity to get away.
The next house we pull up to doesn’t look any better than the first. I’m almost convinced this is a game to him. Something to distract me while his friend makes his escape, but my magic is content. That wouldn’t be the case if someone was trying to be sneaky.
It pulses when something is off, almost like an extra sense, and it’s calm and docile at the moment.
Cohen leads us into the slightly smaller, also rundown house. The air smells heavily of decay, and although I’ve never experienced allergies a day in my life, I still have a bout of sneezing.
My head aches as my eyes water. “How could anyone live in this? I’ve been here for two minutes, and I’ve somehow developed allergies.”
The warlock turns toward me, frowning. “Shit, I forgot about that.” He steps forward, his magic spilling from his skin.
My heart races, and I try to back away, but my butt bumps the wall. My magic doesn’t fly out in an attempt to save me, so whatever he’s doing must not be a threat.
His cold hands come to rest on my cheeks, and he offers a soft smile. “This should help.” He runs his thumbs under my eyes and whispers something. I think he says, “See things as they are, not how they appear to be.”
“Do you need to recite an incantation for your magic to work?” I ask, but in the blink of an eye, the rundown house is no more. There’s even electricity provided by low-hanging chandeliers.
My jaw falls.
The walls are no longer rotting and decayed. Even the foul smell is gone. The temperature rises to what would be comfortable indoors, and my confusion reaches an all-time high.
“No,” Cohen says, tucking my hair behind my ear before pulling both his hands away. “It’s a habit I picked up from my gran.”
I nod, studying his icy blue eyes. He’s incredibly handsome in an unassuming way. Most supernaturals are attractive, so that’s nothing new, but there’s something calming and gentle about his personality as a whole.
Or maybe he’s very good at faking.
“How old are you?” I ask to fill the silence.
His lips tip up, and an almost cocky energy takes over his face. “How old do you think I am?”
I shrug. “A few years older than me?”
Cohen chuckles. “A little over five hundred. Math isn’t my forte, but I know I’m considerably older than you. Truthfully, I’m probably closer to five hundred and twenty by now.”
My eyes widen, and a shiver runs down my spine.
Witches and warlocks don’t have extended lifespans… Not unless they do dark magic that keeps their appearance youthful.
“It’s not what you think,” Cohen says quickly.
He doesn’t get to explain further as the sound of stomping feet approaching makes both of our heads swivel.
It’s the men from my vision—the ones who were with Delta. They slam in the front door and head down the hallway toward us.
Cohen hisses out a heavy breath and snags my hand, tugging me down the hallway. His magic swirls around us, and it must be concealing us from view. He pulls me into a spacious living room and cages me in as my back slams against the wall.
I’m not expecting the move, and a squeak escapes my lips.
Cohen wraps his hand around my mouth, flattening against me as the three men flood into the room.
He’s in a freaking sweater vest with a white-collared shirt popping out at the lapels and wrists.
Combined with the huge black-frame glasses, he seems studious or maybe a little nerdy.
My heart still races as his lithely muscled form pushes against mine.
He smells delicious in a way that’s difficult to explain. It’s light, almost like coconut and cream? Dammit, he smells like the vanilla coconut yogurt I eat every morning for breakfast. That must be why my mouth waters and he seems so familiar.
His blue eyes sparkle, and he dips his head, pulling his hand away. There’s no reason I stretch to push my lips to his, but I still do. My magic thumps through my system, giving me a false sense of euphoria as Cohen’s soft lips brush mine.
I’m shocked to realize I’m the one who shoves my tongue into his mouth, but he takes over, commanding the kiss. His fingers dig into my hip, and it’s a good thing the wall and Cohen are responsible for keeping me upright, because my knees tremble almost violently.
Having four overprotective fathers and two brothers the exact same age I am has not done wonders for my dating life or romantic prospects. I can only hope I’m not embarrassing myself or showing my lack of experience.
“He’s not fucking here,” one of the men growls.
“Neither are the warlock and the fae,” another replies.
“Do you think the lich portaled them out?” the third suggests.
“Not a clue, but it’s a possibility,” the first says. “Come on. There’s no use wasting time. Let’s regroup and see what the boss wants us to do.”
At some point while the men were talking, Cohen stopped kissing me. His cheek rests against mine, his glasses pushing into my nose. It’s a minor inconvenience at the least, and what I really wish is that he would kiss me again.
Commotion fills the air as the men leave, and my heart races.
What in the world have I gotten myself into?