Cold Burn of Magic(81)

“Come on, baby,” I cooed at the lock. “You know you want to open for me.”

Behind me, low moans sounded, but I shut the noises out of my mind and concentrated on the lock, the feel of the picks in my hand, and the way the slender bits of metal needed to slide.

“Hurry, Lila,” Devon croaked. “They’re getting back on their feet.”

I shot him a quick glance. “Can you use your magic on them? Your compulsion?”

He shook his head and arched his neck to one side. Ugly purple bruises ringed his throat. “They took turns . . . strangling me. I can try . . .”

But he didn’t think it would work. Not given how low and raspy his voice was. He was barely more than whispering as it was, and I had to strain to hear him.

“Don’t worry. We’ll find another way.”

I redoubled my efforts on the lock, ignoring the sweat and blood on my hands and the faint tremors in my fingers. And finally—finally—the tumblers slid into place.

I turned the knob and yanked the door open. Devon put his arm around my waist again, taking my weight, and we staggered outside and away from the slaughterhouse.





The night was cool, even for late May, but I breathed in deeply, wondering if it would be the last bit of fresh air I ever tasted.

“Come back here, you bitch!” Grant’s scream chased us outside.

It wouldn’t be long before he grabbed a weapon and his men regrouped and came after us.

Too bad we had nowhere to go.

The slaughterhouse was in one of the many bad parts of Cloudburst Falls, and the door opened onto a dark alley. Devon helped me down to the end and then over to the corner. I looked up at the street signs, and my heart sank. I knew exactly where we were—and that there was nothing and nobody around for miles to help us. Sure, there were houses and people, but nobody in this neighborhood would open their doors to us, assuming we didn’t get attacked by a monster in the meantime. Still, we had to try.

“That way.” I pointed to the right. “Hurry.”

I shoved my chopstick lock picks back into my ponytail. Then, with Devon’s help, I hobbled down the street. With every movement, every step, blood dripped down my face, side, and leg from where Grant had stabbed me.

One by one, eyes winked open in the alleys we passed, burning like all the jewels I’d stolen—ruby red, emerald green, sapphire blue, citrine yellow. Drawn by the scent of my blood, shadows slithered away from the walls and crept out from behind the Dumpsters. Faint spits, hisses, and scratches sounded, as claws, talons, and tails scraped over the walls and cobblestones around us.

“Lila,” Devon croaked out a warning, hearing the same things I did.

“We have to keep going.”

But we both knew the truth—that if Grant and his goons didn’t get us, the monsters would.

Either way, we were moving slow—way too slow. I couldn’t exactly run right now, not with the stab wounds in my face, side, and thigh throbbing with pain. Devon was helping me as much as he could, but he’d been badly beaten, and he was limping along almost as slowly as I was. The only thing that was keeping us going was sheer stubbornness, and I didn’t know how much longer that would last.

We’d only gone half a mile from the slaughterhouse. Any second now, Grant and his men would come running down the street and kill us—and that’s if Grant didn’t decide to drag us back to the slaughterhouse and finish what he’d started by stealing our Talents—

Talents. Magic. Monsters.

The words rattled around in my mind, and I glanced at Devon. His face was set in grim, determined lines as he hobbled forward, dragging me along with him. My eyes locked on to the bruises around his throat. He couldn’t shout loud enough to use his compulsion magic on Grant and his men, not before they cut us down.

But maybe he didn’t have to. Maybe all he had to do was use it on me.

I checked the next street sign we passed, making sure of our location. In the distance, about half a mile away, the lochness bridge curved over the river. And a crazy idea popped into my head, a way that I could save Devon and myself—and kill Grant and his men.

“How strong are you?” I asked Devon as we kept hurrying along. “Your magic? How strong is it? How long does it last?”

“Depends.”

He wheezed out a few more garbled words, but I couldn’t understand what he was saying. He gave me a frustrated look, then cleared his throat and gestured out with his hand.

“We need to run.”

I nodded. “You’re exactly right.”

Devon gave me a strange look, but I pointed to the lochness bridge up ahead.

“Do you see that? Do you think you can run that far? All the way over to the opposite side of the bridge?”

He nodded, but questions clouded his eyes, wondering what difference getting across the bridge would make.

“It’s our only shot,” I said. “Do you have change on you? Any quarters? Any kind of money at all?”

Devon gave me a strange look, no doubt wondering why I wanted loose change at a time like this. He shook his head.

I cursed. I’d dropped my purse with its quarters when I’d been racing toward the parking lot to save Devon from Grant. Sure, I had the chopsticks in my hair and the throwing stars and my phone in my belt, but there was only one thing on me of real value, only one thing that would work as tribute—my mom’s ring.