Devils & Thieves (Devils & Thieves #1)(55)

“The crash was pretty bad. Looked like he swerved to avoid something in the road, and that was it.” He shook his head sadly. “Happened pretty quick. I never thought it would be so bad, if I went down that way.”

“And he was alone when it happened?”

Boone nodded. “He’d told me and Crowe he had something he needed to check out. Wouldn’t let either of us go with him.”

He’d known he was going to die, though. “Why wouldn’t he take you with him?”

“Said he had to deal with it on his own. We didn’t know he was going out for the last time. I felt like shit—it took us two days to find him. Not much out there.”

I thought about that. “Why does Crowe think he was murdered?”

He sighed. “The coroner’s report said Michael’s heart muscle was lacerated in an unusual way. She said it could have been trauma from the accident, but Crowe didn’t buy it. He believes it could have been a curse.”

“So either another kindled attacked him with venemon or someone used a cut against him?”

“No cut is that strong. Few kindled could do that kind of curse anyway.” He blew out a long breath and tugged at his beard. “In fact, Crowe’s the only one who might have been strong enough to do it.”

“Or Michael himself,” I said, thinking of my father’s description of what they’d done to Henry Delacroix. “Crowe thinks someone turned Michael’s magic around, made him attack himself.”

Boone nodded. “But the only one who could have done that was Henry Delacroix, and he’s resting in pieces, if you get my meaning.”

I did. “So Michael went to ‘check something out,’ and he never came back. He was on Deathstalker turf.” He’d written in his journal that he’d discovered something about Henry, about his secrets. My thoughts turned like slippery gears, unable to catch.

“Oh, thank God,” said a gruff voice.

Boone and I turned toward the sound of thumping footsteps to see Flynn jogging through the woods, his face pale, his body emanating wisps of his inlusio magic. It was all around him, like he couldn’t contain it.

“Hey, you jackass!” Boone pulled a flashlight from his pocket and ran the beam over Flynn’s sweaty face. “Crowe’s been looking for you. Where’d you get off to?”

“I found them,” Flynn said, breathing hard. “Come on!” His eyes were wide as he beckoned for us to follow him. He snatched the flashlight from Boone’s hand and ran back into the woods.

“You found Alex?” I asked, my voice shrill as I followed him. “Is she okay?”

“You have to see,” said Flynn as Boone and I trailed close behind him, trying to keep up as we zigged and zagged through the trees, heading deeper into the woods. “You just have to—”

Flynn pivoted on his heel and slammed the flashlight into the side of Boone’s head. The older man went down like a bag of cement, groaning. Still radiating skeins of inlusio, Flynn brought the flashlight down on Boone’s head again as I screamed, but before I could run he lunged for me. I landed on my back with him on top of me, crushing the air from my lungs with the impact. His hand clamped over my mouth.

“Quiet,” he said, his voice unsteady and strange. “I’m trying to save your life. I’ll explain everything, I promise. Will you give me a chance to do that?”

I nodded, if only so he would give me a chance to breathe and think. Boone lay bleeding in the dark just feet away from where Flynn was rising to his feet and helping me to mine. “Why?” I asked, my voice breaking.

“Come on,” Flynn said. His voice wasn’t even his own now—it was echoing and cracking like a bad radio. The scent of inlusio magic—cigar smoke and autumn leaves—was so dense that it was all I could do not to cough, but it was mixed with something else… a faint whiff of copper, and of bitter ash. Before I had a chance to think about it, he grabbed my hand and dragged me farther into the woods. I stared around me at the darkness, trying desperately to identify distinctive trees or hollows that would allow me to find my way back to Boone, who was breathing loudly and wetly as he lay unconscious on the forest floor. But it was hard to see anything past the tiny circle of light provided by the flashlight, especially with the thick funk of Flynn’s magic swirling in the air around us—mixed with threads of red and black.

“Um… I think I should go back,” I said, panting, my heart punching hard against my ribs.

His footsteps stuttered as he ground to a halt and slowly turned, shining the flashlight upward so I could see his face.

Except it wasn’t his face. Killian stared down at me, sweaty and wild-eyed like Flynn had been, inlusio magic dissipating like a cloud under the heat of the sun. “Don’t scream,” he said quietly as those threads of crimson became thick ribbons emanating from his body, still shot through with darkness.

I pulled against his hand, trying to put space between us as the scent of copper and ash rolled over me, overwhelming everything else. “Please let me go.”

His right eye twitched. “I will.” Then his mouth pulled into a half snarl. “I won’t.”

“Did you do something to Flynn?” I asked in a strained voice as ribbons of his magic coiled around me, licking at my skin. As they did, a sense of peace came over me. He didn’t want to hurt me. He wasn’t going to hurt me.