Using my clairaudience, I picked up that ‘key’ had meant a person…or people. But a fog hung over Callista’s thoughts, and all I could discern were general ideas and fragments of thoughts. Something protected her mind.
Thalia slipped out of the room and closed the door. Her vision panned across the passageways.
Where are you? she thought, and she started down the hall.
Chapter 27
I TUCKED THE MATCHBOX in my pocket. My leg muscles stiffened as I ran, the weight of my legs reminding me of my childhood nightmares. I didn’t slow until I reached the mausoleum and crept through the entrance Charles and Adrian had taken earlier.
There was no plan—there was only knowing I couldn’t turn away, that I had to go in.
The passages were colder, bigger, and darker than I expected. I’d seen them through Adrian’s eyes before, his night vision far superior to my own.
Each step grated in my ears, surely as loud as thunder to the Cruor. My breath came short, my pulse hammered in my throat. Would they sense my approach? Thalia was searching for me, and here I was, padding deeper into the asylum, closer to my capture.
The corridors stretched in every direction, the doors sometimes erratic and far apart and other times evenly spaced and cramped together, all of them eroded at the bottom, revealing rust beneath gray paint.
Charles’ voice rang in my head. Go home, Sophia. Please.
The deeper into the passages I traveled, the stronger the voice of his thoughts became. A few feet later, I was too close to determine whether I was moving closer or farther away.
I strode through the stone corridors, holding my breath against the damp air and stench of mold as I followed the path Charles and Adrian had begun. Where had they planned to go from here?
The thoughts of three guards rushed into my mind. My adrenaline throttled and power surged through me, boiling beneath my skin. Reaching in the deep pockets of my black tiered dress, I wrapped my fingers around the matchbox. I stood still, my breathing fast and shallow as I scanned the area for a place to hide.
It was too late. They were marching toward me. Cool breath prickled the flesh on the back of my neck, and I spun around. The speed of my movement surprised not only me but also the Cruor who had crept up behind me.
His eyebrows pulled together, first in confusion, then the lines deepening into fury. Another Cruor approached from the other direction. Placing the distance of each elemental was becoming easier.
I lit a match, and the first Cruor laughed.
A match? he thought. How pathetic. “What’s that for?”
“This?” My heart was thumping in my stomach, but now was not the time to show fear. “This is for you.”
I tossed the match and reached out with my hand to hold the flame in the air. No depletion of energy, but the Cruor had me outnumbered.
“What…” His eyes widened.
The match distracted him, but the other Cruor rushed toward me. I stepped aside and spread my hands apart. The fire grew, creating a web between them, catching them both on fire. They screamed, but the crackle of fire soon overtook their cries. Smoke burned my nostrils, and, with surprising speed, their bodies reduced to ashes.
I’d killed two men.
I’d killed them, and I didn’t feel bad. I didn’t feel anything. No gut reaction, no moment of guilt. I was responsible for these deaths, and all I could do was stand there, frozen for a moment, hoping I wasn’t such an empty shell of a person that my actions meant nothing.
The third Cruor wasn’t dressed like the others. His hair was slicked back and he wore a plain black suit with a black dress shirt underneath. He clapped his hands slowly as he circled the scene.
“Quite a show,” he said. Clap. Clap. Clap. “I especially love the costume. This dark look works well for you. Have you considered Broadway?”
I pushed into his thoughts. Nothing. My breaths burst in and out.
“Yes, that’s a neat trick, too.” His face was an unreadable mask—blank, empty, callous. He took another step closer and crossed his arms. “Now that I know your gifts, they will be of no use to you.”
I recognized him then. He’d sent the Cruor after me at Club Flesh; he’d been the one Ivory had asked to stage my attack. Marcus. I hadn’t seen him up close before, but I was certain. And, clearly, he recognized me as well. My new hairstyle and dark make-up had been enough to disguise me in a crowd, but perhaps it’d been too much to expect it would help me here.
“What are you?” I asked. Being able to prevent me from using my powers went beyond the abilities of the Cruor.
Marcus tilted his head back and scoffed. “Your question—it offends me. Let us skip the formalities, shall we?”
In an instant, he was standing a hair’s breadth away. He glared over my shoulder. “Seems you’ve killed my brothers.” His gaze lowered, burning into my eyes. I went to strike another match, but he knocked my arm away and gritted his teeth. “Enough games.”
He grabbed my arm just as Thalia strode around the corner. I couldn’t read her at all now.