Chapter Thirty-Seven
NIC
I cannot find Laurel anywhere.
I’ve searched the theater several times over, certain she would track me down as soon as she realized I’d broken free of her control. But the hours have passed, and the sun has risen, and Laurel is still nowhere to be seen.
Dread rises like bile in my throat as I duck out into the sunlight, squinting past the tree line toward where the tiny, thatched roofs of Warthington peek out over the hills, then down west toward the sea, where Aethera sprawls, glittering like the discarded scales of a dragon on the coast. Beyond that, the sea shards like the chips of voratium encrusted on Laurel’s arms.
Where could she have gone?
It takes almost an hour to get through traffic to the apartment where she and I have been living. But there’s no sign she’s been home at all. Even her clothing is still strewn on the bed from when she changed into her evening gown last night.
I scour the beach next, and when I find no sign of her, I search St. James’s building downtown before making a stop at Ostena’s place.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
The day wears on, and I take to darting down streets, swearing I see her in each face I pass.
Finally, when the sun sinks toward the horizon and the streetlights flicker on, I slump to the curb, hands shaking, stomach growling, head aching.
Nocturne’s game is due to start its third round in a matter of hours, and I still have no clue where Laurel has gone.
A group of women watch me from across the street, whispering among themselves.
I probably look a mess. Nothing like the charismatic Liar they’ve seen in magazines. A far cry from the feared seaspawn I’ve made myself out to be.
“Nic,” a voice says nearby.
I leap to my feet, catching sight of Laurel beneath a streetlight with her arms loose at her sides, cheeks tear-stained, hair mussed.
Even in such disarray, she is still lovely. A beautiful, terrifying mirage.
“Laurel,” I say on an exhale.
She approaches, heels clacking on the sidewalk. “You lied to me.” Her voice does not break, but it does quaver, and I hate the hurt I hear in it. Hate knowing the reason I could not find her was not because she was out attacking people, like I presumed, but because she was mourning my betrayal.
Guilt prickles in my veins, but I keep it there, don’t let it grow into shame. I can regret hurting her and not make it mean more than that.
It’s clear she’s waiting for a response, even though her statement was not a question, so I tip my head. “Sometimes deceit is necessary.”
She winces as though I’ve struck her. “Do you love her, then?”
Pain tightens every syllable, like she’s tearing each one from the beating organ in her chest.
“Does it matter?” I ask gently. “You’d hate her regardless.”
“You know,” she says, sniffing. “The night the moonshard broke, after I ran, all I thought about was you. Whether you made it out. Whether the light had burned you. Whether you were dying. I didn’t sleep for months.”
“You weren’t the only one worrying.” I press a hand to her arm.
“I’m glad to hear that, considering I wouldn’t have been in that predicament if not for you,” she says, glare suddenly sharp.
“The moonshard wouldn’t have broken. I wouldn’t have had to hide.
My father would still be alive.” Each word she slings harder than the last, like she’s hoping they’ll draw blood.
“Perhaps even Enzo would be happy now, too.”
I know what she’s doing. She’s feeding the shame that calls like an old friend. Wants me to hate myself so she can take over my body again.
But I’m not going to let her.
“Maybe even Astra would be better off,” she says, dropping her voice to a lethal murmur. “Free, instead of trapped between a pair of bickering brothers.”
I hold her gaze so she sees just how much I mean every single word. “The best and the worst things in this world were built by flawed people making mistakes.”
Her nostrils flare.
“But,” I say, stepping in close and tipping my head toward hers so my eyes are all she sees. “Sometimes the most loving thing a person can do is move forward.”
Her eyes flash. “Move forward?” she repeats through her teeth. “You want to feign innocence?”
“Innocence?” I keep my voice calm even as panic lances through me. “Who betrayed Enzo and me that night, showing up to a heist she wasn’t invited to?”
She shakes her head violently. “No.”
“Who used her magic to control people?” I continue, gaining strength.
“That’s different.”
“Who,” I say, dropping my voice to a lethal rasp, “killed your father?”
Her eyes gleam. “How dare you.”
“Someone may have given you the weapon, Laurel, but you’re the one who wielded it.”
A force slams into me from the side, sending me sprawling into the street. My head smacks into the cobblestones so hard bells ring in my ears and my vision goes white. I struggle for purchase, squinting as the world swims.
One of the women I saw earlier stares at me in horror, body lurching as she lowers the stone she must have used to hit me.
“Thank you,” Laurel says to her without dropping her gaze from me.
My hand goes instinctively to the voratium in my pocket, but there’s nothing there. Frantic, I search my jacket, but it’s gone.
I lift my head. The chips glimmer from Laurel’s palm. She must have picked them from my pockets when I was preoccupied with our conversation.
Which means I cannot access my magic.
A horn blares, headlights cutting toward my face, and I scrabble on all fours toward the other side of the street as the motorcar whizzes past. My vision blurs. Blood spatters from my wound, speckling my hands.
I reach the curb as bile hurls through my teeth. I gag into the gutter. My pulse roars in my ears, a torturous cacophony I can barely see through.
As I wipe my mouth and use a lamppost to pull myself upright, Laurel approaches, flanked by the entire group of women I saw before with their eyes wide and their hands rising as though on marionette strings.
“Laurel,” I say, tasting blood as my vision swims yet again, “this isn’t you.”
“No,” she agrees, her tone icy. “It’s what you turned me into.”
The puppeted women attack, punching me with fists that split open when they make contact with my body, with bones that snap when they ram me into the wall. The women cry out through their teeth, tears streaming down their faces.
I try to run. I don’t want to hurt them, don’t want to hit back, don’t want to fight. I just have to find some voratium. But where?
My thoughts instantly go to my casino. The one place I didn’t need to carry voratium on me because it surrounded me completely—above, beneath, on every side.
If I can just lure her there, I might be able to stand a chance.
And, if she refuses to come inside, I at least should be able to pry some from the walls.
I stumble down the sidewalk toward the casino district, but the world swims before my eyes.
Pain slices through muscle and sinew, and stars scream in my ears.
The clacking of the women’s heels behind me crescendos, puncturing through my eardrums as fists rain on my back, my legs, my head.
As kicks jab into my legs. As hurled rocks slam into my shoulders.
I just have to hold out. One foot in front of the other.
But something is wrong. My body is not healing like it should. My first injuries are still bleeding, my body weakening far more than it usually does.
What’s going on?
I stagger across the street, and a horn blares as a motorcar slams into me from the side. I flip over its hood, careening behind it into the cobblestones.
I stare up at the sky as my body screams in agony. As blood pools hot behind my head.
I need to get up. Laurel will go after Lola next, I know she will. I may live through whatever Laurel will do to me, but Lola certainly won’t.
I try to roll onto my side, but a foot drives hard into my ribs, and a roar of agony chokes out through my teeth. The women swarm me once more, sobbing as they rain kicks into my crumpled body. A pointed shoe strikes my head directly over my still-unhealed wound.
I growl, pitching sideways.
Laurel watches from a few feet away, face stricken. “Please,” I croak, reaching for her. “I’m sorry.”
She stares at me as though my words have struck her. They are a lie, but she seems to have forgotten I cannot speak truth, because she moves closer, eyes glimmering. “What did you say?”
“I’m sorry, Laurel,” I repeat. “I’m sorry I destroyed your life and killed your father and broke your heart.”
She shuffles closer. “So you admit it’s your fault?” Her voice cracks.
Once she’s within reach, I lunge for her ankle. She goes down with a shriek, and I claw for the voratium in her fist. She’s so surprised she doesn’t seem to realize what I’m doing until it’s too late.
As soon as my fingers close around the metal, I blast her with a thousand illusions at once, so many the magic slices through me, blinding me.
She screams, scrambling away as the women flee. She sprints up the road, vanishing around the corner, leaving me bleeding and broken in the street.
Swaying, I turn my aching body westward.
She’ll return. When she does, she’ll be prepared, and this tiny chip of voratium won’t be enough for the depths she’ll rain upon me for what I’ve done.
I need to get to my casino. Now.