Chapter 20 #2
I’m pacing again. My head feels like it’s going to split open. Mom tries to stop me—“Lucky, your ribs might be broken. Sit down,”—but I can’t. If I stop moving, I’ll start screaming.
Henrik curses under his breath. “The guy’s smart. Covers his tracks pretty good.”
“But he’s arrogant,” Dad counters. “That’s his flaw. He’ll think he’s invisible.”
Vivi flips through her notes. “Einar, I’ve got some addresses for you to check. Some registered business properties. He’s got more than the clinic—small holdings, storage lots, rentals under different LLCs.”
“Send them,” Einar says through the phone. “I’ll keep checking.”
Minutes stretch into an hour. Every new update—nothing.
Finally, after what feels like a fucking eternity, Henrik looks up from the laptop. “Wait.”
We all freeze.
“There’s a property registered under one of Phoenix’s shells,” he says, scrolling fast. “Just over an hour outside the city. The middle of nowhere. It’s not listed under his personal name, but under his company’s insurance.”
Vivi’s already pulling it up on Google Maps. “Private road. Lake nearby. Only one structure for miles. It’s a cabin.”
“That’s it,” Dad says as he looks up and meets my eyes. “Let’s go save your girl.”
We don’t waste a second. The Torviks mobilize like the army they’ve always been.
Henrik raids the prop room—grabs two blunt swords and a crowbar. “Better than nothing.”
Vivi rips the first-aid kit from the wall. “Just in case.”
Henrik grabs a knife from the prop rack. “Doubt the edge is real, but the point’ll do.”
Mom snatches duct tape, gloves, a blanket.
Dad grabs some extra silks, testing them out between his hands, ready to wrap them around Phoenix’s neck. His eyes meet mine. “You ready?”
“Let’s go,” I growl.
The night feels deadly as we step out of the theater into the parking garage. It all feels familiar, just like my childhood back in Brooklyn. Blood will be spilt tonight, and not a single member of this family is hesitating.
Einar’s tires squeal as he skids to a stop in the rental SUV. Mom and Henrik pile into it. Dad, Mormor, and Aunt Vivi follow me into my car.
I put the GPS on the car display and hit the gas as I point us out of the parking garage. The radio’s off. The only sound is the hum of the engine and my heartbeat clawing its way up my throat.
Everything I’ve built—every illusion, every lie, every mask—came crashing down tonight. And for what? For the one person I can’t live without.
If she’s gone—
Fuck. I can’t think that.
I grip the wheel tighter, eyes locked on the road ahead.
For the entire stretch until we reach the city’s limits, it’s quiet except for the hum of tires and the roar of my engine. But the silence is heavy, and the weight of the reality of who is in the car with me isn’t something I can ignore.
“How’d you even find me?” My voice sounds scraped out.
From the back seat, Vivi chokes, even though she’s not eating or drinking shit.
“Yeah, Vivi,” my father asks, his tone shifting. “Tell Lucky how we found him.”
“Fuck you, brother,” she barks, but something in her tone is wrong.
I glance at her in the rearview. “What?”
“What does that mean?” Mormor asks, glaring from her daughter to her son.
Vivi’s expression goes paler in the mirror, but she looks out the window. “You’re not going to like it.”
“Of course I’m not,” I say, my old barbs resurfacing. “You guys came in and blew up my show and my life. But, how about you try me?”
In the mirror, she raises an eyebrow at me and gives me this little look. “You asked,” she says with the shrug of one shoulder. She turns to Mormor. “You remember that magician guy on TikTok? The one with the mask?”
“The what now?” Mormor asks.
Something cold drops in my gut.
“I’ve been following him for years. On all the platforms. You remember him, Ma. The hot one that goes shirtless. The horns and the halo?”
Oh fuck.
“I’m a big fan,” Vivi says, and I could just about die.
“Vivi!” I bark in disbelief.
“What? I didn’t know it was you, Lucky!” Her eyes meet mine in the mirror. “How could I? I just thought he was this mysterious, bendy, probably British sex god—”
“Oh my hell, you’re @viwantsataste!” I bark, nearly running us off the road as it all pieces together. “Aunt Vivi! You… The shit you’ve said to me! The messages!”
“Who’s British?” Mormor asks in confusion.
“Not him,” Dad mutters with disgust.
Vivi’s talking faster now, both amused and panicking. “But then that picture of you and the girl went viral, and I saw it, and I just… I knew that hair. That jaw. That’s a Torvik jaw. I just about dropped my phone in holy water.”
“What do you mean?” Mormor asks, oblivious to the horror of what’s happening in this car.
“He’s your nephew, Vi!” Dad calls out in disgusted, annoyed horror.
She throws her hands up. “Imagine how I felt when I realized I’d been flicking the bean to my own fucking nephew!”
“Holy shit, please stop talking!” I scream as I scrape a hand over my face, wishing I could summon Cher and turn back time. I should never, ever have asked.
Mormor gasps as she finally understands. “Vivi! You… and you say it aloud? In this family car?!”
Dad mutters curses, scraping his fingers through his hair like he’s trying to shred his own brain.
I’m gripping the steering wheel like it’s the only thing that can save me from this nightmare. “I’m gonna puke.”
Mormor starts praying, chastising Loki for unleashing this unholy chaos within our family.
Vivi leans between the seats, red-faced. “You don’t understand! I didn’t know. But when I saw that post—oh, sweetheart, I’d know that jawline anywhere. You could carve a stake with it.”
“Vivi!” Dad barks at the lusty turn her words take. “You’re fucking sick. We’re done talking about this!”
“Thank you, Dad!” I breathe out as I rub my hand across my forehead. What a circus. How? How is it this insane, always, when it comes to my family?
“Drive faster, before Freya smites us all,” Mormor mutters.
I do. The car lurches forward into the dark. The desert swallows our horror and our shame in equal measure.
Mormor is calling Vivi a sinner, Vivi’s defending her search history, Dad is muttering about therapy. And me—I’m gripping the wheel, half horrified, half hysterical, thinking: this is what made me.
The madness, the loyalty, the—I have to admit it—love that somehow permeates every disaster. It’s somehow all a part of me, whether I like it or not.
“You are now arriving at your destination.”
Our destination is still nearly a hundred yards down the dusty driveway. Goosebumps break out as I look out at the empty desert around us. It’s eerie. The desert is too quiet.
Our tires crunch over gravel as I cut my headlights. The sudden dark swallows everything—the road, the sky, us. The only light left is the thin silver wash of the moon. Ahead, a black shape sits on the edge of the sand: a cabin. Weathered wood, one chimney, no movement.
“This is it,” Henrik murmurs through the speaker on Dad’s phone.
Dad peers out at the cabin. “Kill the engines.”
We roll to a stop. The silence afterward is suffocating. My pulse is louder than the wind. The place looks wrong for Phoenix—too plain, too human. No polished glass or manicured landscaping, just rustic boards and peeling siding.
I open the door slowly. Sand grinds under my boot. The air smells like rain that never came.
Then the world explodes in light.
Motion sensors—every floodlamp around the cabin snaps on, bleaching the desert white.
Five seconds later, the first shot cracks through the night.
Glass shatters beside me. A bullet ricochets off the hood of the car, whining into the dark.
“Down!” Dad barks.
I dive back into the car, hunching down below the dash.
Another round slams into the fender. Then another. Then three more, faster, frantic.
Henrik yells, and I hear him both over the speaker and through the dark. “He’s shooting blind!”
In the other car, I see Einar duck lower. “He’s got no aim, but seems he’s got plenty of ammo!”
The air fills with gunfire and the sound of metal piercing metal. My heart beats so hard I can’t hear the rhythm anymore. I can see Phoenix’s shadow flickering in the windows—erratic, jerking.
A crack of lightning seems to split my chest when I hear it.
It’s faint. Muffled. But I know it.
A cry.
Willow.
I don’t think. I move.
“Lucky—!” Dad shouts, but I’m already running. Sand sprays under my feet. Bullets snap past me, wild and desperate. I dive low, sprinting through the open, heart hammering so hard I can taste blood.
Someone yells my name again, but it’s miles away. There’s only one thought left in me—get to her.
I circle the cabin, breath tearing through my throat.
The floodlights make everything glow white, but the back side is shadowed.
I find the first window that looks big enough to fit through.
I yank a fist-sized rock from the ground and shatter it through the glass, knocking a clearing big enough for me to climb through.
The smell hits first—bleach, sweat, copper.
I land in a laundry room. Old linoleum, peeling wallpaper, a basket of clothes sitting atop the dryer.
Just as I’m turning around, I hear the click of a gun behind me.
“You don’t know when to quit, do you, Saint Shade?” Phoenix says.
I turn slow. He’s standing in the doorway, shoulders shaking, gun leveled at my chest. His face is pale, slick with sweat, pupils blown wide. He might be holding the gun, but he’s fucking terrified.
“Never did,” I say. And without hesitation, I shove the laundry basket at him. It hits him in the chest at the same time I lunge.
The gun goes off—once, twice, three times.
The first round screams past my ear. The second punches into the wall. The third tears across my shoulder, hot and blinding. But I don’t lose momentum.
I barrel into Phoenix, lineman tackling him into the kitchen. He swings wildly, trying to aim the gun in my face, but I swing an elbow, locking the barrel of it. The gun clatters across the floor, skittering under a cabinet.