I listened as Ajax and Eva began talking about a hive of fire demons that had pledged support to the Queen, but their words were muted and difficult to hear now that the conversation was no longer heated.
I rested my head against the wall, still slightly dizzy and completely overwhelmed, and found myself staring at my reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror. And I gasped in shock.
It’s a good thing my jacket had a hood, because if I’d walked through the streets of New York uncovered, someone would have called the cops. My hair was a knotted mess, a soft halo of frizz surrounding the tangled snarls. Stiff dark lines curled across my slashed face, strands that had gotten caught in the blood and dried in a veinlike web that crept across my right cheek. Part of my face was stained red, a crimson mask that coated my skin, dripping down my neck and onto the white collar of my shirt. A thin red welt stretched around my neck, a tender line of skin that resembled a ropelike choker. My eyes were haunted, almost sunken, and ringed with deep shadows—which made sense, since I was completely exhausted.
But the worst was the sticky, two-inch gash on my face, a stinging reminder of Della’s knife.
I grabbed the jar of healing balm, which opened with a satisfying pop, and greedily scooped my fingers into the oily ointment, smearing a healthy glob of it onto my cheek and neck. It fizzed, a barely audible hiss that stung along the lines Della had carved into my skin.
The water that came out of the faucet wasn’t hot. It was the tepid, barely warm temperature that was the calling card of a landlord providing just enough heat to avoid any fines. But it felt like heaven as I splashed it on my face, rubbing my palm along my skin, feeling the raised, puffy wounds disintegrate like soap flakes underneath my wet fingertips. I quickly unbuttoned my shirt and slid it off, using it to scrub the remaining blood off my face. The shirt was ruined, anyway.
Turning in the mirror, I poked at my ribs, rubbing the balm on the shadow of a dark bruise that was already blossoming on the skin underneath my yellow-and-white polka-dotted bra, and along where my shoulder had taken the brunt of my tumble down the stairs. The deep ache in my side had almost disappeared when I heard Rego swear—loudly—outside. I slipped my shirt back on, the damp fabric sticking to my skin as I peered through the crack in the doorway.
“Either we find a way to have the incindia colony unite with us, or we destroy them,” Rego said, and I heard a loud bang.
“Careful, Rego. Don’t knock this table over while I’m sitting on it,” Ajax said, his voice sulky from where he was now perched on the wobbly table. “I’m quite comfortable. But I guess I do have to leave soon...Eva and I are expected back shortly.”
“I must take my leave, as well. I’ll follow you out, Ajax. But first, Rego, you owe me something,” Cerus said, walking into view, his head tilted up arrogantly. He regarded Logan dismissively, glaring at him down his nose as he sauntered off to Rego’s office of sorts, that curtained-off room full of artifacts and mysterious trinkets.
“It was quite the joy to meet you,” Ajax said loudly as he and Eva approached Logan, bowing with a playful flourish before adopting a more serious demeanor.
“Sorry about performing my little parlor trick on the young lady, but we had to distract Cerus and get her out of his way,” Eva purred, resting one hand against Logan’s chest. “She didn’t look like she could take care of herself. Hope it doesn’t affect your enjoyment of her.”
I rolled my eyes as Logan stepped back from her, letting her hand drop. The thought of being someone’s magically induced sex slave is way more nauseating than your little physics-defying trip through space, lady.
Ajax cautiously glanced to where Rego and Cerus had disappeared before leaning in to whisper to Logan in an impassioned voice.
“I really, really hate the way he talks to you, especially in front of people like Cerus,” Ajax fumed, and Logan just shrugged, as if to say, “That’s Rego.” But Ajax grabbed his arm.
“If I don’t see you again, please, believe me this—he is not to be trusted.”
“What? Why wouldn’t I see you again?”
“He’ll use her against you, Logan,” Ajax warned. “They both will.”
“Cerus and Aiden?”
“No, Cerus and Rego.”
Logan yanked his arm back and stared at Ajax in shock as I blanched behind the door.
“What aren’t you telling me?” Logan asked, his voice suspicious.
“The final battle in this war is coming sooner than we thought, and we’ve lost the advantage. Get out. You have to get—” Ajax jumped back as Cerus strolled into the room, brandishing a new crossbow, this one a shimmering gold color. Both Ajax and Logan feigned casual, unaffected poses as Cerus interrupted their secret conversation, aiming his unloaded crossbow at Ajax.
“Aren’t you due at the palace right now?” Cerus asked with false interest. “Ingratiating yourself to the False Queen is a full-time job, after all.”
“That’s true,” Ajax agreed cheerfully, unaffected by Cerus’s taunts. “But I think Eva and I will stop by Nebrio’s Tavern first. I could go for a nice swig of sunwine, and Nebrio brews his own.”
Ajax pulled Logan into a brief, but tight, hug, before stepping back, keeping one hand on his shoulder.
“I bet you’re fun with a few drinks in you—and Nebrio’s is close by, right on the river. Join us sometime,” Ajax said, slapping Logan on the arm before linking elbows with Eva as he followed Cerus to the door.
“Come, dear, let’s see if Nebrio’s got those little twiggy snacks I love. I go there every day for them. I’m obsessed!” Ajax called over his shoulder to Logan as he walked to the door. I heard the unfamiliar words, the cadence similar to the phrases Logan used to open the front door, and a creeping darkness overtook the room. I put my hand on the doorknob, ready to leave, when I heard Rego’s voice, and my hand froze in place.
“I must say, I’m impressed,” Rego said once the room was awash in light, signaling that the demons had left.
“Praise, Rego? That’s new,” Logan replied sullenly, folding his arms. I was surprised at how familiar his petulant tone was—then I realized he sounded like I did when I argued with my dad.
“I know your attachment to this girl isn’t as casual as you’ve let them believe. You feel indebted to her for saving your life with the incindia, and I respect that,” Rego said. “But it is something of a relief that you hypnotized her and sent her to heal her wounds, regardless of her inane feelings about the spell. I’m gratified to see she’s not the all-consuming distraction I had feared she was becoming.”
“I know what my role is,” Logan replied in a clipped tone.
“I think the young lady is still under your influence, because she’s rather quiet in there. Get her healed and send her home. When you return, we need to put a stronger spell on the door. I don’t trust this Eva. I’m pleased you didn’t reveal that we’ve discovered a Traveler in front of her, but Ajax may have shared this information. I trust you’ll be here to assist in this spell? We need to ban both of them from entering.”
“What do you mean? We’ve known Ajax for years!” Logan argued. “He’s my friend.”
Rego stepped closer to Logan, nearly nose to nose with him.
“Need I remind you this is a war? There’s no need for friends or emotional entanglements. You’d do well to remember that.” Rego’s voice was emotionless and cold, and it chilled me from several feet away and through a door. The warlock stomped off, his footsteps fading, until they suddenly stopped.
“Just remember how well things worked out for your parents.”
I gripped the door handle in shock as Logan recoiled from Rego, a flash of white light flooding the apartment, obscuring Logan’s wounded face and nearly blinding me as I peered through the small crack in the door. I stepped back, blinking as spots danced across my vision.
/> I was still rubbing my eyes when there was a swift rapping on the bathroom door.
“Paige, it’s me.” He paused. “Logan.”
“I figured. I don’t think demons would knock,” I said, flinging open the door. Logan barged through it, surprising me by wrapping one arm around my waist and holding me close as he inspected my once-slashed face.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Are you okay?” he asked me at the same time.
“Me, first. Good, you’re all healed,” he murmured to himself before looking down at my appearance. “And...you’re all covered in blood.”
He released me, stepping back with alarm, his blue sweater now dotted with watered-down bloody splotches. “Why are you all wet and all covered in blood?”
“I used my shirt to clean off my face,” I explained, holding out the front of my shirt that was now tie-dyed with blood. “It was ruined anyway.”
He studied me with a grim look on his face, his lips pressed together.
“Hey,” I began gingerly. “What did Rego mean about your parents?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Not surprisingly, Logan dismissed the comment, his tone softening as he brushed the damp hair back from my face to inspect the now-smooth skin. “Tell me how you’re doing.”
“I’m as good as can be expected, I guess.” I shook my head as I leaned against the sink. “I was eavesdropping, you know.”
“I figured,” Logan said with a knowing smile—which faded quickly, as a worried look overtook his face. “Paige, I swear I’ve never hypnotized you. I promise. I would never use someone like that. You know I was lying, right?”
Well, I know now. “I figured,” I said quietly as I stared at the tiled floor, feeling a rush of guilt for having doubted him in the first place.
Logan tugged the stained hem of my shirt. “I’ll lend you another sweater. Stay here.”
He ran into his room, returning quickly with a black sweater and shutting the bathroom door so I could change. “I don’t know where Rego went,” he called, “but I want to get you out of here before he comes back.”
I slid on the sweater and stepped out of the bathroom to find Logan leaning against the wall, staring at his sneakers with a pensive look on his face.
“Let’s take you home,” he said, surprising me by holding out his hand. I hesitantly took it, and he gave me a quick once-over.
“You look nice in black,” he said quietly, tugging on my shoulder.
“Thanks. By the way, this is all just a plot to steal your clothes.”
“It’s a pretty elaborate plot. You could have just asked me,” Logan said with a laugh as he led me out of the apartment.
“You know me. Go big, or go home,” I said, reveling in the lighthearted—and short-lived—moment. As soon as we were a few blocks away in a Rego-free zone, Logan pulled me over to the side and leaned against an ATM outside of a bodega.
“I think you should cut school for a couple of days,” Logan said.
“How am I going to get away with that?”
“I mean, fake sick for a couple of days,” he explained. “You’ve probably got a temperature of about a hundred and two, thanks to the fire demon power. Look, Paige, you opened a portal to another world today. You got attacked. You’re running on adrenaline. You look exhausted.”
“I’m fine,” I insisted automatically, trying to stuff my hands in my coat pockets and missing the openings entirely. Logan arched an eyebrow at me, an indulgent smile on his face.
“Fine? Paige, you’re in a total fog and falling down on your feet,” Logan replied, taking my hands and guiding them into my pockets.
“Pockets are here,” he said, and I shot him a withering glance, removing my hands to give him the finger.
“Paige, come on,” Logan implored. “Think of it this way, don’t you want to be clear-headed in case you run into Aiden?”
“I do feel like I could sleep for a billion hours,” I admitted as I yawned again.
“Besides, it’ll be really helpful for me if, at least for a few days, I know you’re definitely safe,” Logan said, his eyes following a customer out of the bodega. “I have stuff to do with Rego—he and Ajax have clearly had some kind of misunderstanding. But Rego’s stubborn, so I’ll still have to put a new spell on the apartment.” A sad, reflective expression crossed his face, and he shut his eyes, shaking his head, before continuing. “I’m going to help him make some weapons, too. And I also want to do a little more research into who Aiden is, see if he’s got any other weaknesses.”
“And there’s no chance of him showing up at my front door?”
“The spell of protection around your apartment is something like a confusion spell. Even if he tried to find your home he’d never get there—he’d find himself walking in circles. Trust me, you’re safe at home.”
“I’m never leaving my bedroom again,” I vowed, trying to hide another yawn.
“Let’s tell your parents I walked you home because you didn’t feel well. Milk it for three days and return to school refreshed on Friday.”
“Will I see you at all?” I asked, trying to sound casual—like my question was an afterthought.
“Yeah, I’ll bring your books over after school.” Logan paused, taking a deep breath. “Besides, we need to talk.”
“About what?” I feigned ignorance, and Logan answered with a wide-eyed are-you-kidding-me look.
“We don’t need to talk,” I muttered. “We’re cool.”
“Paige, come on. We need to talk.”
“So, let’s talk now,” I said, leaning back and misjudging how far I was from the bodega window, hitting the glass with a thunk.
“That’s why we should talk after you’ve rested up a bit,” Logan said with a smart-alecky smirk, rubbing the back of my head. I pulled away from him, scowling. Don’t hit me with the dreaded “We need to talk” while rubbing me down, buddy.
“Let me sort some things out first, okay? Just...promise me you won’t hate me,” he asked timidly. I forced myself to meet his eyes—cinnamon-colored eyes that seemed regretful, even though it sounded like he was the one about to break my heart, and I nodded. The problem was that I was far, far away from ever hating Logan Bradley.
Chapter 9
“WE SHOULD WAKE her up and find out if she has a temperature.”
“She feels hot, Richard. It’s safe to assume she has a fever. We don’t have to wake her up to stick a thermometer in her mouth. Just give her aspirin when she wakes and let her sleep.”
“We should wake her up to go to the hospital.”
Those words, spoken frantically by my father, penetrated the thick layers of sleep that wrapped around me, forcing me to open my eyes. My lashes felt like they were glued shut, and I rubbed them as I sat up in bed, my bleary eyes focusing on my alarm clock. It was around seven.
“No hospitals,” I croaked through my cracked lips. My mouth was so dry it made sandpaper seem positively luxurious in comparison. I reached for the red-and-blue water bottle on my nightstand—another freebie my dad had collected, this time from some sneaker company during the marathon—and gulped the now-lukewarm liquid, cringing as I recalled the story Logan had concocted when he took me home a few hours earlier.
My father had been in the kitchen when we got home, slicing potatoes for a dish that was sure to ruin carbs for me forever.
“Want to help your dear old dad try out his new vegetarian shepherd’s pie recipe? It’s got boiled beets and kale in it— Oh, hello, Logan,” my father had added coolly, his cheerful demeanor fizzling like my appetite when he saw Logan helping me out of my coat in the living room. I’d gotten progressively weaker as we walked home, and Logan practically had to carry me during the last five blocks, my bed taunting me as its pillowy treats got closer.
; “That’s not your uniform,” Dad suddenly snapped, pointing at the oversize black sweater that fell far below the hem of my uniform skirt. I appeared to be wearing Logan’s sweater—and nothing else.
“Where are your clothes, Paige?”
My dad addressed me but glared at Logan, his face matching the flaming red color of his hair. I quickly tugged the hem of my sweater up, letting the bottom of my blue plaid skirt show.
“I’ve got my clothes, Dad,” I replied, giving Logan a panicked look. To his credit, he only briefly matched my expression before giving my father a wide-eyed, beatific look.
“Hi, Mr. Kelly. There’s a bug going around school and I think Paige caught it. She, um, threw up on herself during last period,” Logan added, wrinkling his nose as he laughed uneasily. “Her shirt was kind of ruined. So, uh, good thing I keep a spare sweater in my locker, right?”
“Paige, are you all right?” my dad asked, his suspicion quickly turning to concern. “Why didn’t the school call us?”
“No one noticed...I just feel tired,” I stammered truthfully enough, swaying on my feet. Logan reached out his hands to steady me, and Dad narrowed his eyes when he noticed Logan’s hand gripping my elbow—because apparently, letting me face-plant into the television would have been preferable to Logan actually touching me, according to my overprotective dad.
I could have gotten a migraine from the effort it had taken to not roll my eyes.
“Dad, if it weren’t for Logan I don’t think I could have made it home,” I said quickly, and Logan dropped his hold on my arm as he shifted underneath my father’s withering stare.
My dad had grumbled something about his kale burning and stalked back into the kitchen. When he was out of eyesight, I turned to face Logan, who was nervously staring after my dad.
“Really? I threw up on myself?”
“I couldn’t think of anything else!”
* * *
I grimaced now as I remembered the humiliating story, and my mom pressed a cold hand to my forehead, then to my neck, mistaking my sullen expression for discomfort.