The hooks, the cool air, the drains in the concrete floor. My heart dropped like a stone. This wasn’t a warehouse—it was a slaughterhouse.
The sort of place where they hung slabs of beef and pork in cold storage before shipping them out to butcher shops. A perfect metaphor for what Grant wanted to do to Devon—
“Mm ! Mm-mmm!”
A muffled sound caught my attention. I looked to my right to find Devon tied to a chair. My eyes scanned over him, but he seemed to be okay. Red welts and bruises marred his face, and his knuckles were scraped and bloody, probably from his fight with Grant and his goons. The ropes binding him to the chair were as thick and heavy as mine, and a strip of silver tape covered his mouth, to keep him from speaking and using his compulsion magic.
Questions crowded into my mind, mainly about whether Felix and the others realized what had happened yet, if they were tracking us, and how close they might be to finding us. But I forced myself to push those thoughts away and focus on Devon. All that mattered right now was getting both of us out of here—alive.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
Devon nodded, then abruptly stopped. He looked past me, his eyes narrowing in anger, rage, and hate.
“He’s fine,” a snide voice answered me. “For now.”
Footsteps sounded, and Grant walked in front of me. He wasn’t alone. Two men also appeared and moved behind him, flanking him like soldiers. I looked around, but I didn’t see anyone else. Once they’d captured Devon, Grant must have paid off all the other men he’d hired and sent them away.
“Oh good,” he sneered. “Sleeping Beauty is finally awake.”
It took me a couple of tries, but I managed to get my bare feet under me and stand up straight. That eased the ache in my arms, although pins and needles started stabbing into my shoulders from the uncomfortable position I’d been in for . . . well, I didn’t know how long. But I started flexing my fingers, opening them as wide as I could, given the ropes, and then clenching them together, trying to get the blood flowing again. I needed as much of me to be in the best shape possible if Devon and I had any chance of escaping. Even if I had no idea how I was going to get out of my ropes to start with, much less the ones that bound Devon to his chair.
To distract myself from the pins and needles, I scanned the slaughterhouse again, this time looking for exits. No windows were set into the walls, although I did notice a door at the far end of this section. Where that door led, I didn’t know, but it had to be better than being trapped in here with Grant.
“I’m glad you’re awake,” Grant said. “I wanted you to be the first to witness my newfound power—after I take it from Devon.”
He held up the same dagger he’d attacked Devon with earlier, and I realized it was a black blade—bloodiron—with a hand holding a sword carved into the hilt. The Sinclair crest. He must have gotten it from the training room at the mansion.
Grant twirled the dagger around and around in his hand, like a cowboy spinning a six-shooter on his finger. Devon kept glaring at him, the anger in his eyes flaring hotter and brighter. Grant gave him an evil grin and stepped in that direction, ready to hurt Devon if I didn’t figure out a way to stop him.
“How did you find out about Devon’s Talent?” I called out.
Yeah, it was a weak ploy at best, but ego was the one thing that Grant had more of than anything else, and I was counting on it to buy me a few more minutes to do . . . something.
Grant stopped and looked over his shoulder at me. “You mean his compulsion magic?”
I nodded.
“I overheard Claudia and Reginald talking about it with Oscar. Apparently, they were reminiscing about how they once saw Devon use his power to make a kitten climb down out of a tree in one of the squares. It’s not a big secret, no matter what Claudia likes to think.”
“And you decided that you wanted Devon’s magic for yourself.”
Grant shrugged. “You don’t know what it’s like, always taking orders from somebody else. Just because Claudia Sinclair and the heads of the other Families have a little bit of magic and a whole lot of money, they think they’re better than the rest of us. Even though we’re the ones who do all their dirty work. Who keep the monsters under control. Who keep the rubes in line. Who save their sorry asses from the other Families’ plots and assassination attempts time and time again. Well, I’m sick of it. I worked so hard and so long to move up in the Family, but Lawrence still chose Devon over me in the end. When I heard about Devon’s power, I finally figured out a way I could get my revenge—a way that I could get everything, including my own Family. People who follow my orders.”
He swung his dagger in a vicious arc. Behind him, the two guys with swords crossed their arms over their chests, nodding their heads, agreeing with him. Bronze cuffs with a hacienda stamped into them flashed on their right wrists. So Grant had hired Salazar guards this time. I’d always thought that he knew everyone, and now I realized why—so he could have more people to use for his schemes when the time was right.
“You didn’t have to stay. You didn’t have to take orders. You could have quit. Left the Family. Gone somewhere else. Done something else.”
Grant let out a bitter laugh. “Like what? My father was stupid enough to gamble away my trust fund, which is why I ended up working for the Sinclairs in the first place. At least I got to live in a mansion again, even if it wasn’t my own. Besides, being part of a Family let me learn all sorts of secrets.”
“And Lawrence, Devon’s dad?” I asked. “Why did you kill him?”
Grant shrugged again. “Because he passed me over. Actually, I was trying to kidnap Devon that night. Killing Lawrence was just a bonus.”
Devon made a snarling sound deep in his throat, and Grant glanced at him.
“Oh, don’t worry, Devon. Your daddy didn’t suffer— much. Not like you’re going to suffer when I cut you open.”
He slashed out with the dagger. Devon snarled again, but Grant just laughed at his anger.
“You know, maybe I won’t even bother getting your mom to promote me to bruiser. Maybe I’ll just go ahead and take over the Family myself. Once I have your compulsion magic, I’ll be able to make anyone do anything I want them to, even Claudia Sinclair herself.” He paused. “What do you think, Devon? Wouldn’t you like to see your mom bowing her head to me for a change? I certainly would.”
Devon couldn’t say anything, but the look he gave Grant radiated hate. Yeah. I knew the feeling.
“But how did you do it?” I asked, still trying to keep him talking.
Grant turned back to me. “Do what?”
“You said that you were in the pawnshop and the library. You said that you killed Ashley. But you don’t look anything like that guy, the mystery man. So how did you do it?”
Grant stared at me. I thought he wasn’t going to answer, but then, his face began to . . . ripple.
And I watched while Grant’s features slowly changed.
His perfect nose, his chiseled cheekbones, his square chin, blue eyes, and golden hair. In an instant, they all softened, dulled, and disappeared, replaced by brown hair, brown eyes, and the other plain, average features of the guy I’d seen twice before. The mystery man who’d taken such delight in killing Ashley, trying to kidnap Devon, and attacking me.
But as quickly as the change came over him, he reversed it, and a second later, I was staring at the perfect, polished, handsome Grant that I knew. A faint chill of magic radiated off his body, and I finally knew what he was using his power for—what he’d been using it for all along.
“You have a Talent for illusions—for changing your appearance.”
Grant sneered. “Way to state the obvious, Lila.”
“The brown hair and eyes . . . that’s the real you, isn’t it? The pretty boy face you have on now is just what you let everyone else see. What you want them to see.”
“Of course it is.” His voice escaped in an evil hiss. “You think that anyone would look at me
twice with a nobody face like that? You think anyone would notice me, pay attention to me, take orders from me? Of course not. Especially not with him around.”
He stalked over and bent down so that he was face to face with Devon. “It wasn’t enough that you were born with compulsion magic, was it, Devon? Oh no. You had to get good looks, too. Muscles, fighting skills, a rich Family, an adoring entourage of friends. I guess some people really do have all the luck.” Grant’s mouth twisted more. “Well, I don’t need luck.”
He straightened up and looked down his nose at Devon. “And I think it’s high time your luck ran out—permanently.”
He twirled the dagger in his hand, moving it into a better position so he could stab Devon with it—
“Wait !” I yelled, desperate to save Devon. “Wait!”
Grant looked over his shoulder at me. “And why should I do that?”
“Because what if you get it wrong?”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Have you ever taken anyone’s Talent before? Ripped their magic out of them?”
His silence told me that he hadn’t. Behind him, the two guards exchanged a surprised, worried look. Apparently, Grant hadn’t told them he’d never swiped someone’s Talent before.
“What if you do something wrong?” I asked. “What if you mess up? Then you won’t get Devon’s magic, and you’ll just have a dead body on your hands.”
“So what are you suggesting?”
I opened my mouth, then clamped my lips shut, like I’d just realized the huge mistake I’d made.
Grant gave me an evil grin. “You know, you’re absolutely right. It would be better if I practiced on someone else first—you, Lila. After all, your sight Talent will let me see all of Devon’s suffering in supersharp detail. And won’t that be so much more fun?”
I made my eyes bulge as wide as they would go and started thrashing against my bonds, as though I were completely terrified. Not too hard to do. At the very least, I was moderately terrified.
I didn’t want my Talent to be ripped out of me, and not just because it would kill me. My soulsight and transference power were as much a part of me as my mind, body, and heart were. I didn’t want to lose them because I didn’t know who I was without them.
But it had to be this way. Because I had to break free of my bonds if I had any chance of saving myself, much less Devon, and there was only one way to do that.
“Oh yes,” Grant purred. “This will be so much better. And Devon will get to see exactly what I have in store for him.”
“Mm!” Devon tried to yell through the tape over his mouth. “Mm-mmm!”
He tried to get loose, but the heavy ropes bound him too tightly to the chair, and all he could do was strain and strain against them and go nowhere. Our eyes locked, and his cold despair punched me straight in the heart.
But I forced myself to look away from Devon and focus on Grant, who was swaggering toward me. He slashed the dagger through the air again, and I couldn’t stop myself from shivering. So maybe I was a little more than just moderately terrified, but I’d planted the idea in his head and now I had to use it to my advantage—or die trying.
Grant stopped in front of me. I started struggling, even going so far as to kick out at him with my legs. Of course, he easily sidestepped my clumsy blow. He jerked his head at the two men still standing behind him.
“Hold her still,” he said. “I don’t want any mistakes.”
The men came to stand on either side of me. They clenched their hands around my upper arms, using their strength Talents to hold me in place. I waited a second, then strained my hands against my bonds. Nothing happened. The men weren’t using enough of their magic on me to get my own transference power to kick in. Not nearly enough.
So I started struggling again, bucking and heaving and thrashing with all my might. The men easily subdued me, but I kept fighting. And finally—finally—I felt that first faint chill of magic deep in the pit of my stomach.
I just hoped it would be enough to save me.
The men tightened their grips so much that their fingers pressed against my bones. I couldn’t move a muscle—not a single one—but that chill slowly began to grow colder and colder, morphing into something more, something greater. I had to draw this out for as long as possible.
Grant stopped in front of me, and my gaze locked onto the dagger in his hand. It was an ashy black, just like my mom’s sword, although the edges glinted, thanks to the lone light burning above. Black blades were unbelievably sharp, with the sort of keen edges that would filet you like a fish. And you wouldn’t even feel the wound until it was too late—and your guts were spilling everywhere.
Grant grinned when he realized that I was staring at the dagger. “Do you know why they call them black blades?”
I didn’t answer because I already knew. My mom had told me all about black blades and how dangerous they could be.
His grin widened. “Because the more blood you get on them, the blacker the blade turns. I’ve always wanted to find out if that was really true. Now, I finally have my chance, thanks to you, Lila.”
I struggled again, forcing the men to use their strength to hold me still. One of them cuffed me upside the head, putting a bit of his magic in the blow. It took me a moment to blink the white stars out of my vision and focus on Grant again.
He raised the dagger, resting the pointed tip against my heart. “You know, I’m actually sorry about this, Lila. I really did like you.”
“Just not enough to keep you from trying to kill me multiple times, right?”
“It’s nothing personal.” He shrugged. “I never liked anybody all that much.”
I thought he would pull back and plunge the dagger through my heart. He hesitated, as if he was considering the idea. But in the end, he wanted my Talent too badly to kill me outright. He dropped the dagger from my heart and twirled it around in his hand a final time.
I looked past him at Devon. Once again, our eyes locked, and I felt all of his rage, worry, despair, and guilt—guilt that he had dragged me into this.
“Don’t worry,” I called out, trying to reassure him. “Everything’s going to be okay. You’ll see.”
“Mm! Mm-mmm!” Devon tried to scream through his gag, probably yelling at Grant to stop.
But it was too late.
Grant gave me an evil grin, then stabbed me in the side with the dagger.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
For a moment, I didn’t feel anything.
Not a nick, not a cut, not a brutal stab, nothing.
I looked down, staring at the dagger embedded in my side.
Then the pain rushed to my brain in one blinding, white-hot blast.
I screamed when Grant thrust the dagger into my side, and I screamed again when he yanked it back out. He held up the weapon so that everyone could see my blood staining it a bright, glossy, sickening red.
But my blood didn’t stay on the blade for long.
Almost immediately, the stains began to vanish, bit by bit, drop by drop, as the bloodiron soaked up all the liquid that coated it. I could have sworn I could actually hear the metal sucking up my blood, like a kid chugging down a glass of cherry soda through a straw.
Slurp-slurp-slurp.
And Grant was right. The more of my blood the metal absorbed, the darker the blade became, going from a dull gray to a deep midnight, until it was almost glowing with blackness, if that was even possible.
Grant’s eyes lit up with delight at the macabre sight. Devon kept screaming through the tape over his mouth. The two guards looked mildly bored. No doubt they would have killed me by now and been done with it.
“You were right, Lila. Practicing on you will be loads of fun,” Grant said in a cruel, satisfied voice.
I kept screaming and screaming, wondering if the pain would ever end. Hoping that it would. Praying that I hadn’t miscalculated, and that my own magic would kick in and save me the way it had so many times before.
But there was just pain . . . and more pain . . . and more pain still . . .
Finally, I couldn’t even scream anymore, and I slumped forward, sweat streaming down my face. The only thing keeping me on my feet were the men propping me up, and the ropes tying me to the meat hook above my head. Still, more and more pain thrummed through my side, spreading to every single nerve ending in my body. The pain warred with the magic inside me, trying to snuff it out. So I concentrated on that faint, cold chill of power, trying to focus on it, instead of the red-hot pain of the stab wound in my side.
“Don’t worry,” Grant cooed. “I didn’t hit anything vital. Not yet, anyway. We need to get more of that blood pumping out of you first so I can take your power.”
In a way, black blades—bloodiron—were eerily similar to my own transference power. I soaked up magic from people, and so did they. The more you cut someone with a black blade, the hungrier the metal became, until it actually pulled the blood out of a person’s body—along with their magic—sucking them dry like a leech.
It could be a slow, torturous process, with dozens of wounds inflicted, or you could stab someone through the heart and take all their blood and magic at once. Either way, when the black blade was brimming with blood and magic, the person wielding it could turn it on himself, stab the point into his own heart like a needle full of adrenaline, and inject all of that stolen blood and power into his veins and fully make it his own.
Apparently, Grant was in favor of the slow, torturous method because he stabbed me again, this time driving the dagger deep into my left thigh. More blood spilled out, and he laughed again. I was getting real sick of hearing that sound. But before I could brace myself against this new wave of pain, he brought the dagger up again.
I hissed and arched my neck back, but blood dripped down my face from the shallow cut he’d opened up on my right cheek.