Page 33

Matty

E verything was chaos outside the Lighthouse, and Matty didn’t mean the demon.

Most of the patrons who’d been shepherded out by Benny were milling around, in various stages of drunkenness and annoyance.

Helio looked about ready to strangle anyone who dared speak to him, but Benny was just gently and cheerfully pushing people in the direction of the main street, trying to clear the area without causing a panic.

Matty had his hand in Cooper’s, and he was grateful for the reassuring touch after having to leave Nightmare’s side. They were being guided by a determined Nix through the crowd, but it was slow going with how tightly everybody was packed.

Matty was in a sort of daze. He couldn’t help but focus inward, on the feel of Nightmare through the bond. Matty might have been imagining it, but he thought he could catch a sense of Nightmare’s dark focus and deadly intent.

The pain demon must have been something really vicious, for Nightmare to be so engrossed.

And it was that thought that was sending Matty spiraling. What if Nightmare got hurt? Could he be killed by this demon?

He couldn’t be—Matty wouldn’t allow it. He’d been promised forever. They’d made a magical vow and everything.

Forever , he started chanting in his head to calm himself as he followed Cooper and Nix through the crowd. He promised me forever.

There was a little sting at Matty’s chest, followed by a warmth that started surface-level at Matty’s skin and seemed to bleed inward. A nibble from a friend. Matty patted at his shirt, at the spot where the little shadow still lay between the fabric and his skin.

He was grateful for the reminder that he still had a piece of Nightmare with him, even if it was a small one. The rest of the shadows had stayed with Nightmare at the bar, and Matty was grateful for it, even if he missed them. He wanted his demon to have all the help he needed.

Matty could be calm. He could be brave.

He took a deep breath.

BANG.

Matty’s big, calming breath couldn’t have been more poorly timed if he’d tried. He inhaled just as a flash of light and a bloom of smoke filled the air. Matty started coughing immediately, choking on the smoke as people started panicking.

Was that smoke from Chaos, or had someone set off a firework? Everything was too frenzied—Matty couldn’t tell what direction things were coming from.

Matty’s hand slipped from Cooper’s as he bent forward, racked with coughs he couldn’t stop.

The connection was immediately replaced by a strong grip on his bicep—Nix must have found Matty in the smoke—and Matty was tugged away through the mess of now screaming people and smoke-filled air, the long, quick strides of his companion leading him down the street.

Matty wiped at his eyes with his free hand, but they wouldn’t stop streaming with tears, irritated by the smoke. He was blinded by it, unable to see his feet in front of him. He didn’t think it was painful enough to have been tear gas, but it seemed like it was something close to it.

Yet the hand guiding Matty was sure, unaffected by the streams of people running past, and soon they’d made their way off the street and into the door of a building, Matty wasn’t sure which one.

“Is this where Ivan is hiding?” he asked, keeping his head ducked down and his eyes shut tight, hoping that resting them would help them recover faster.

There was no answer as the door slammed behind them.

And that was…wrong. Even the few times Matty had seen him frightened and unsure, Nix was never quiet for long. He wouldn’t leave Matty to guess and wonder when Matty had asked him a direct question.

Matty finally looked up as he was pulled further inside, to the back of the building.

The air was clear here, and Matty’s coughing had eased now that he could get a decent lungful.

His eyesight still wasn’t great, but he could see now that it wasn’t Nix leading him at all.

The form was wrong, much too broad, and whoever they were, they were wearing black.

Nix had been wearing red, hadn’t he?

And the hand on Matty’s bicep wasn’t hot enough to belong to a demon anyway.

Matty jerked his arm away, and his movement was sudden enough that his captor didn’t fight it. “Who—”

The words froze in his mouth as the man turned to face him. He was wearing a face mask with a respirator, presumably to breathe easily through the smoke bomb that had gone off.

But Matty knew who it was even before the man lifted the mask off his face.

He should have known the second that hand had touched his bare skin. He should have recognized the grip, the painful pull of it.

But Matty had let himself feel safe for just a moment, even with the chaos—had let himself believe he had people watching his back against the threats that surrounded him—and he’d allowed his worst nightmare to come to life without realizing it.

The face that met Matty’s when the mask was off was clean-shaven and olive-skinned. The man it belonged to was somewhere in his mid-fifties, and he might have been considered handsome if not for the lack of humanity in his dark eyes.

“Hello, Matteo,” Dominico purred, leering at Matty like a long-lost lover. “Did you really think you could hide from me forever?”