I really hoped he was fine. Aunt Jewel had had a hard enough time with the breakin at David’s. On the run for murder? I wasn’t sure she could forgive that.
Blythe sank back farther into her seat. “He’ll be fine,” she agreed, her voice dull. “His magic would’ve acted kind of like a buffer. You knocked him out, but that was about all the damage you could do. And you were only able to hurt him because you’re a Paladin.”
“Good to know,” I said, turning back around.
Silence fell again.
It wasn’t broken until Bee flipped the turn signal at our exit, and against the steady tick-tick of that, she finally asked, “So . . . what happened back there?”
I could hear rustling from the backseat as Blythe fidgeted around. “Spell got out of hand. I told you, magic’s not something that’s easy to control or predict. When I tried to unlock his memories, I . . . I must’ve unlocked his powers, too, but they were all out of whack and stuff.”
“Understatement,” I muttered, rubbing at the new scrape on my knee from where Dante had pushed me backward.
I tried to meet Blythe’s eyes in the rearview mirror, but she was gazing at her lap, her expression troubled. Blythe wasn’t used to failing, and while we’d gotten the information we needed—Alexander had Saylor’s spell, a spell that could wipe power and memories, and the pages were probably in his office—the night still felt like a loss.
“It’s fine,” I said to Blythe now. “You couldn’t have known that would happen, and hey! Now we’re that much closer to the spell we need, which means that much closer to stopping David.”
Blythe nodded, but didn’t say anything, and after a while, I turned my eyes back to the dark roads in front of us.
? ? ?
If Saylor’s house hadn’t been what I expected, Alexander’s office was actually much more in line with what I’d pictured—a high-rise that glittered in the darkness, its hundreds of windows reflecting the moon and streetlights.
Still, there was a weird feeling around the building as I parked the car in the attached deck. It felt . . . abandoned. Empty. And while I wasn’t surprised there weren’t other cars in the lot at this time of night—it was nearly three a.m.—I’d still thought there would be some janitors, a few lights on. Something.
Everything was still and quiet as we followed Blythe across the parking lot to the front doors. They weren’t locked—or else they just opened for Blythe—and we walked into a large lobby that was mostly empty.
“Is this place magicked or just abandoned?” I asked, and she looked over her shoulder at me as we moved toward the elevator.
“Six of one, half dozen of the other. There was magic over it to keep people out, but once the person who did the magic died, it started falling apart pretty quickly. Locals think it’s just an abandoned high-rise.”
“And you’re sure this isn’t going to get us arrested?” Bee asked once the elevator doors were closed.
Blythe shook her head, drumming her fingers on the steel rail behind her, and Bee and I met each other’s eyes behind her back. Whatever happened with Dante was still clearly weighing on Blythe’s mind.
The doors opened, and the three of us stepped out into a deserted lobby, where there was an empty desk and a few chairs. The carpet underfoot felt almost damp, and there was a musty, unused smell to the place.
For a moment, Blythe stood there, looking around. And then she said, “It looks different.”
“When was the last time you were here?” I asked, and Blythe frowned. All three of us had changed in a rest-stop bathroom on the way here. We’d chosen to wear black for this little expedition (which was maybe a little drama queen of us, but it had felt appropriate for sneaking into an abandoned high-rise), and Blythe’s hair swung over her bare shoulders, her skin pale against her dark tank top.
“A few years ago,” she said. “When they interviewed me.”
She didn’t even bother whispering, so I didn’t worry about keeping my footsteps quiet as we walked through the lobby, heading for a long hallway of doors. A few of them were open, but when I glanced inside, I didn’t see anything. No desks, no chairs. Just plain, square rooms, some with a window, others completely dark.
We stopped in front of a closed door at the end of the hall. The doorknob turned in Blythe’s hand, but the door stuck slightly in the jamb, and she applied her shoulder to it. “This is where I met Dante.”
The door swung open, and I followed Blythe into the office, my heart thudding.
If the rest of the office had seemed generic, this one room was anything but. This was so clearly Alexander’s space that I half expected to see him sitting behind the desk. The desk was the same heavy, wooden monstrosity he’d sat behind at the house outside of Pine Grove, and even the carpet on the floor looked the same, a pattern of heavy swirls on a crimson background.