Phyre smiles, her gaze heavy and glazed. “Wasn’t me. I swear it,” she says, her voice adopting a tone so strange I have no idea how to interpret the words.
“Where’d she go?” My own voice is frantic, determined. Sure she’s playing some sinister part in this, no matter how crazy it seems. But she just remains propped between my hands, staring dreamily at a night wrought with flames.
“It’s starting.” She speaks in a whisper. “The Last Days are here. This is one of the signs.”
I roll my eyes. Dig my fingers deeper into her flesh, hoping to awaken her from her trance. “It’s no such thing. Your father is crazy.” Though my words go unheard, she’s transfixed by a sky bleeding fire.
“I tried to warn you. Tried to talk to you. Remind you of what we once shared—if only so you could see what I see—know what I know.” Her gaze is unreachable, voice weary, defeated. “But you didn’t want to listen, and now this…” She gestures to the chaos occurring all around us. “Now it’s too late for any of us.”
I grip her shoulders tighter, searching for some hint of the girl I once knew. A sad, beautiful, complicated girl with a crazy doomsday prophet of a father. A girl who lost her mother too young—vanishing without a trace, her body never found. A girl I once cared about, however briefly.
“Come with me, Dace.” She trains her focus on me. “My father will help us. Save us. He’ll know exactly how to survive this.”
“Your father can’t help anyone,” I remind her, but one look in her eyes tells me my words fail to penetrate. Still, I can’t help but add, “Get yourself out of here. Go to Leftfoot’s—he’ll look after you.”
When she fails to move, when she fails to react in any way, I give up and go in search of Daire. Figuring there’s only one place she would ever think to go under the circumstances, and cursing myself for not heading there first. It’s what I came here to do.
I race through the club. Ignoring Leandro’s cries for help as he fights to break free of the fallen bookcase he’s trapped underneath. All too aware of the earth violently shaking as bursts of fire erupt all around.
All too aware that the prophecy has started without me—forcing me to catch up.
I breeze through the vortex—noting there are no demons in sight—make my way through the cave house—now completely trashed, surely the result of Cade’s rampage—then onto the valley of sand—all the while looking for Daire.
She’s out there.
Somewhere.
Hunting for Cade.
I pray I will get to him first.
forty-four
Daire
I roll to a stop, spring to my feet, and take a quick look around. Pleased to find I’ve landed not far from the mine.
It’s the first time I’ve been able to nail it like that.
The first time I’ve been able to declare a point of entry and actually find myself there.
A good omen, no doubt.
I hope more will follow.
I stay crouched and low, knees slightly bent, hands flexed and ready. Stealing a moment to adjust to the rhythm of the ground rumbling precariously beneath me—a long string of aftershocks coming in quick succession. Though, thankfully, their intensity lessens a little each time.
Good omen number two?
I’ll take what I can get.
A crescendo of shouts drifts from the mine. The captives, apparently no longer enthralled by the Richters, are crowding the mouth of the shaft in an attempt to break free. Their bodies surging against the army of undead guards who push hard against them and shove them back in.
My gaze darts among them, searching for Cade but not seeing him anywhere. I slip my athame into my fist and advance.
Despite the odds stacked against me—despite there being only one of me and loads of them—I find I’m bathed in a strange sense of calm with not a trace of fear to be found.
This is the moment when theory and practice finally consummate after months of chastely dating.