Scott looked to him, trying to soak in the sincerity and determination in his voice.
The first time Scott saw Callum, he’d been nine years old and he hadn’t spoken more than two words at a time in three years. He’d seen mental health and speech therapists, he’d been to neurologists and psychiatrists, nutritionists and audiologists—and nobody could get him to speak. At one point, they thought he didn’t understand English. But he did. He’d just lost the ability to get words to come out of his mouth. It had frustrated him, but not as much as everyone’s prying and prodding him about it had.
Callum had found Scott’s lost voice.
And if Callum could find Scott’s voice—he would help him find Cecily, too.
Tears started rolling down Scott’s face again, slower and sadder than the fury tears that had been there before. “What if she’s scared?”
Callum’s expression smoothed into compassion but lost none of the determination in the set of his jaw. “If she is, she won’t be for long. We’re going to find her. Wren’s going to—” Callum stopped and his gaze shifted. “Trevor. What’s up?”
Scott spun around, following Callum’s line of sight like he’d be able to see Trey’s spirit.
Did Trevor know where Cecily was?
He turned to Callum again and his gaze had shifted like Trey had drawn closer.
Callum’s expression was intense, his brows drawn and jaw tight. “You know where they are?”
Holy hell. Scott’s heart shuddered in his chest. They? Who was Cecily with?
Callum’s expression went hard. “Don’t leave her side. Tell her we’re on our way.”
When he looked to Scott again, there was hope and determination in his flint eyes. “Marcus took her.”
Scott’s skin tightened on his frame, his muscles flexing of their own volition as a bolt of rage sped down his spine. “She’s with Marcus?”
Callum gave a single nod, tendons tight in his neck. “Trey couldn’t find the address, but he knows they’re in an apartment in the city. And she’s not there by choice.”
Scott felt a dark, cracked kind of fury rise up from somewhere deep and menacing within him as his terror turned into something much more pointed and focused. “I will end that motherfucker.”
Callum’s smile was crooked. “Hell yeah, we will.”
⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸
This isn’t working.
Abby tried to calm the certainty spinning in her head, but she couldn’t.
This wasn’t working.
Despite having successfully used a locator spell at least a hundred times, and despite her and Wren’s combined magic, they were no closer to locating Cecily than they had been thirty minutes ago.
Wren squeezed her hands and Abby’s eyes met hers, full of warmth and determination.
The connection they were forging between them, with every touch, every word, was everything Abby had hoped to one day find—and everything she’d never actually thought she would.
Every time they were alone together, every time they made love, Abby wanted to tell Wren how much she loved her. That she was hers, body and spirit. That she was her magical complement—they were all but destined to spend their lives together, magical soul mates.
But it was all too much, too soon. Wasn’t it?
By normal person standards, yes. Saying you loved someone when you’d been on one date was crazy, no matter how many earth-shattering orgasms you’d shared. But in witch terms, was it too soon to tell Wren how much she meant to her? The magic didn’t lie, it was irrefutable.
On that note, Abby gave Wren’s slender fingers a squeeze, then looked to Zander, who was the only one sitting in the room them. This was about to get really weird, but there was no avoiding it. “Do you have anything with—” Cecily’s blood on it. But she didn’t finish the sentence because Callum and Scott barged into the room.
“Trevor was just here,” Callum barked like he couldn’t get the words out fast enough. “I should have called for him right away. He says Cecily is in an apartment by a warehouse.”
Abby and Wren exchanged a glance as Zander stood from where she’d been perched on the edge of the sofa. “With who?”
“Marcus.”
The silence that descended upon the room crackled with fury until Zander’s low, acidic curse filled the void. “That fucker.”
“Is she there of her own volition?” Zander’s other sister, Alyssa stepped to the edge of the group. She’d been quiet, staying back and observing. Her energy was cautious but not negative at all, sort of like the new, non-magical partners who attended Abby’s family’s big annual reunion each year. Alyssa wasn’t judgey, just uncertain.
“Absolutely fucking not,” came Scott’s clenched-jaw response.
Abby had never seen him look more intense—or more angry. His dark hair and dark eyes seemed to glow with menace.
But wait. Abby had a moment of inspiration. If Marcus was with Cecily... “That’s actually a good thing.”
Everybody turned and looked at her like she was cracked.
She shook her head. “Finding Cecily is proving really fucking tricky,” try impossible, “but maybe we don’t need to—if we can find Marcus.”
Wren squeezed her hands, pulling her gaze back to her. “That’s brilliant. What do you need?”
There was no subtle way to put this. Wren knew what they needed, but Abby wasn’t going to make her say it. So she pinned her eyes to Zander’s—and hoped she was as open minded as she seemed like she was. “Blood. His, or his blood relation’s.”
Zander’s brows furrowed. Then raised as some sort of realization ran across her face. She turned around and looked at Alyssa. “You’re related to him. Give us some blood.”
Alyssa’s chin pulled back. “You say that like you expect me to fight you on it.”
“Don’t be a sissy,” Zander shot back. “Cecily’s in trouble.”
“I don’t need to give you my blood,” Alyssa replied to her sister. Then she turned and her blue eyes met Abby’s, full of resolve. “I know where Marcus lives.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Each of Cecily’s arms felt like they weighed a hundred pounds as she brought them up to her face.
Her head swam, hips and back aching when she moved, so much so that she didn’t finish rolling but instead let her muscles release her back onto her back with a thump.
Thump?
That wasn’t right.
She could feel the contours of the back of her head when she turned it from one side to the other.
Where was her pillow?
“Cissy? You awake?”
God, her head was pounding. Cecily brought a heavy hand to her temple. “Yeah—”
“Don’t say anything.”
What? She peeled her eyes open, but she couldn’t focus, her vision swimming in and out of clarity.
A wash of warmth went up her arm. It spiraled through her shoulder, and down her chest, tendril fingers climbing her neck and swirling into her foggy head, making order out of disjointed thoughts.
“Trey?”
“Shh. Don’t talk. But you gotta wake up.”
It was then she remembered, then that everything reordered itself in her brain on rapid fire like shuffling cards in reverse.
“Dad—Marcus,” she breathed.
“Shh,” Trevor hissed. “He’s just in the next room. You don’t want him to know you’re awake.”
“Where am I?” Too late, she realized she’d spoken again. “Sorry.”
Trey sighed, but ultimately responded. “His apartment. Somewhere in the city. I already told Callum—they’re coming for you once they can figure out where you are.”
Memories began to filter through the fog in her brain. She’d been walking Rhia. She’d been wearing a hoodie.
Her arms felt bare now.
She pried open her eyes again, forcing them to focus, concentrating and blinking until they did—until the room swam into view, until she could see Trevor sitting b
eside her.
His hand was hovering above her arm.
With a breath, she rolled and pushed herself up from the wooden floor so she was sitting on one hip instead of lying on her back. Sitting upright was good. It helped clear her head.
“Bridgette’s here too,” Trey said. “She’s watching Marcus.”
Cecily turned to look at him again, to really see him. “He can’t see you?”
Trey looked nervous, casting his gaze beyond her as he shook his head. “Doesn’t seem like it.”
Cecily followed his line of sight to an open door in the corner. She looked around the room. It was empty. White walls and hardwood floors. It was a bedroom. Or, would be if it had any furniture in it.
“Fuck,” she breathed, her heart limping into a sprint like it wanted to beat faster but something was keeping it slow—probably whatever was making her head fuzzy. “How long have I been here?”
“A couple of hours, maybe? Three tops.”
God, her head hurt.
Cecily brought her hands up to her face again—
“Don’t.”
But too late. She stopped. Her arms were laced with lines and shapes, sharp and vicious-looking. Drawn in grey-black that looked like powder. “What the fuck?”
“Bridgette said they’re runes,” Trevor explained, his voice low. “Marcus drew them on you with ash and charcoal while you were sleeping. Bridgette said it’s a spell thing.” He shook his head and gave a shrug like he was officially out of information.
It was then she realized she had a blanket over her legs.
“Cissy—”
She pulled it back to find her legs bare—and lined with runes.
Tears clouded her vision. She pulled her hands back, not sure where to touch, wanting to crawl out of her own skin.
Then she stopped. A rush of fury swelled in her chest.
Fuck Marcus, and fuck whatever plan he thought he had.
She reached down and rubbed the runes on her legs—only to snatch her hands away when they burned like she’d rubbed acid instead of ash.
What the hell was this?
“Ah, you’re awake.”
Cecily’s head snapped up and blood turned to ice in her veins.
Marcus was standing in the doorway, his sandy hair messy, his t-shirt stained in paint—or blood.
“What in the hell did you do to me?” She planted her hands onto the floor and pushed herself up onto her knees but her head swam so fiercely she had to sit back again.
“Just keeping you still and cooperative,” Marcus replied, voice light and airy like they were discussing where to go for lunch. “Were you talking to someone?”
She shook her head, which didn’t help with the balance as she forced herself up onto her knees again. “No. Were you?”
He eyed her for a moment, but eventually appeared to give up on whatever sense of suspicion he had in her explanation. “Well, you should get some rest,” he said, then he grinned. “We have a big night ahead of us.”
Bridgette appeared beside her. “Stall. Try to keep him talking.”
Cecily forced herself not to look in Bridgette’s direction but keep her eyes on Marcus. “Big night, huh? You have a nice father-daughter date planned?”
His eyes narrowed and his mouth turned into a strange kind of smirk. “Something a little more active than that, I’m afraid.” He ducked away from the door and Cecily took the opportunity to push herself up to her feet. How could she keep him talking?
“Cissy, you’re listing,” Trey warned and she stumbled back by a step to catch herself just as Marcus appeared in the doorway again.
He was holding some sort of saucer, and something that looked like bundled sage.
Which didn’t make a lot of sense.
“You should lie back down before I light this.” He tucked the saucer under his arm and pulled a lighter from his back pocket.
“No.” She made her voice strong. “No, I want to know what you have planned.”
He flicked the lighter open against his thigh. Then he brought the bundle of dried green and brown plants to the flame.
Bridgette was beside her again. “Lie back down.”
“No.” She stood her ground, determined to get him to tell her what he was going to do. “What are you doing?”
He turned the bundle in the flames as he glanced at her. “I’m using your little... condition and righting a wrong, that’s what I’m doing.” He took the saucer out from where it had been tucked under his arm and held it beneath the bundle as a thick, white smoke billowed from the end of it.
“What in the hell is that supposed to mean?” she challenged.
He blew the smoke toward her.
She tried to step back, but already her head was swimming again. “What is that?”
“Doesn’t matter,” replied simply.
This time when her head swam, her vision faded to darkness before coming back. She stumbled to catch herself as the floor rolled. “What do you mean righting a wrong?” And what did he mean when he said he was using her “condition”?
“Doesn’t matter,” he said again, with more force this time.
“Cecily, sit,” Bridgette urged and this time Cecily couldn’t help but look at her. Her blue eyes were wide and lined with urgency. “He’s going to try to summon something through you. That’s what he’s planning. He’s using the smoke to keep you unconscious. Now sit before you fall and hurt your baby.”
Her baby.
Cecily sat on the floor as much because of Bridgette’s command as because her knees had gone weak. The smoke was thick and heavy so it was stronger toward the ground.
Vision growing dark, her thoughts slowed.
She had to protect her baby. Smoke wasn’t good... for babies.
“Scott is coming.” Trevor’s voice sounded far away.
She felt the cold, hard floor against her cheek before she’d registered the decision to lie down.
“That’s a good girl,” she heard Marcus say through cotton-filled ears. “You wouldn’t want to fall and hurt the little one.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
This is a weird part of town for an apartment.
Abby unfolded herself out of the backseat of Zander’s GTI, then held the passenger seat forward so Wren could unpretzel herself next. It had been a while since she’d been in the backseat of a car, and under other circumstances, she would have found that kind of sexy seeing as how she’d been there with Wren. Instead, she and Wren had stayed silent while Alyssa gave Zander directions from the passenger seat.
“I didn’t even know there were apartments to rent down here,” Zander remarked.
“I’m gonna go call the cops.” Alyssa lifted her phone and stepped away at the same time Callum pulled up behind Zander in a green Jetta.
They were a Volkswagen family, apparently.
“Which building is his?” Scott said the minute he got out of the car. Rhia, their giant, white, magical dog (because of course, even their dog had magic, though Abby had never met a familiar quite like Rhia before) bounded out of the backseat behind him.
“Alyssa said it’s that one.” Zander ticked a nod and pointed just across the narrow street from where they were standing.
The building was old and had clearly once been used for some sort of industry—grain, textiles, something. The brick was made up of dark reds and browns, with the occasional smoky orange thrown in for texture, and the entry was a tall arch of the same.
One of those post-industrial work-loft situations, but in a weird part of town.
She found it odd—or, more accurately, a sign of just how distressed the guy was about his missing girlfriend—that Scott had had to ask which building belonged to this Marcus guy. It was the only non-warehouse building Abby could see from where they were standing. And not the cute, clean, tidy warehouses. These were old, gritty warehouses, the kinds that had probably held raves in the nineties but had since been raided and shut down by the DEA before being abandoned.
Scott started for the building, but Callum stopped him with a hand to the chest. “Hold up, we need a plan.”
“Alyssa’s calling the cops,” Zander added.
“Fuck waiting for the cops!” Scott threw a hand at the building. “Every minute he has her is another minute closer to us being too late.”
“Okay, let’s keep our heads on,” Callum said.
The magic buzzing in the air was making Abby really fucking nervous as Callum and Zander tried to talk Scott off a ledge. It was a smart, reasonable move to wait for the cops—but she agreed with Scott that that was a really bad idea.
“The air is charged,” Wren mumbled, voice low. “I can feel the magic.”
“It’s magic from The Underneath.” Which was bad. Really, fucking bad.
What in the hell was this Marcus guy trying to do with Cecily?
He’d been pulling Underneath magic to watch them, but why? What was he trying to accomplish?
Abby felt like if she could figure that out, she’d know how to unravel it.
A scream cleaved the air in two—and Scott took off running.
Shit.
Abby took off after him, the cement sending stinging shocks through her shoes, up the balls of her feet as she ran full out.
Rhia beat them both to the door, barking and raising up onto her hind legs like she thought she could open the thing with her paws. She only stepped back when Scott skidded to a halt in front of her.
Thank you, Universe, for tiny favors, Abby thought when he yanked the door open. She’d expected it to be locked. Abby was on his heels, catching the door before it closed again and beating feet into the lobby.
There were stairs that led upward to the right, and nothing except a bank of mailboxes to the left.
Rhia wasted no time, darting up the stairs, a white blur.
Scott took them two at a time, and Abby sprinted behind him. They were up the first half of the flight when she heard the front doors open down below.
“Scott!”
That had to be Callum hissing up the stairs, followed closely by the sound of pounding feet up the flight.
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