I shove more clothes into the duffel bag along with the gun—I hadn’t planned on taking it, but now it’s a murder weapon with my fingerprints all over it—and scan the room just to see if there’s anything else I might want to take. There isn’t. I step over Joel’s limp body and close the bedroom door behind me, then survey the living room. Unsurprisingly, there’s nothing meaningful here to me. I’ve lived the last eight years of my life in this house, and it feels just as impersonal as the day I moved in.
The bookshelf catches my eye, though, and I pause. Making my way over to the dusty stacks, I zero in on the title I’m looking for and slip it into my bag.
It’s one of the very few possessions I’ve kept since I was a teenager, butThe Secret Gardenhas always been one of my favorites.
My immediate thought is,I wonder what Ambrose thinks of this one. I try to shake the thought of him, but as soon as heenters my mind, I’m unable to force it away no matter how hard I try.
Damn it.
Stay strong, I tell myself.It’ll hurt less someday.
I just wish it didn’t hurt so fucking much now.
The front door shuts with a final but unceremonious thud as I leave the house for the last time ever. I hurry down the sidewalk to the Camaro, tossing the bag in the trunk before collapsing into the driver’s seat.
It’s only when I’m rummaging through my purse to grab the car keys that my fingers close around something familiar.
I pull it out, running my fingers along the ridges of the familiar dark stone. What the hell? I had been sure to take the necklace out of my purse last night, knowing I wouldn’t be returning. Ambrose must have put it back in after I had gone upstairs.
Ambrose.
Shit.
Without this, he’ll only have a fraction of his strength and no protection. I shouldn’t care, since he probably has enough years left for many lifetimes, but there’s an uneasy, foreboding feeling gnawing at my gut.
Something is wrong.
I start the car and speed down the street as the pieces click together in my mind. The angels didn’t want Ambrose’s necklace at all—they simply wanted him without it, weakened and vulnerable.
They couldn’t have known I’d have the necklace with me, so their only other motivation for getting me to leave would be so I couldn’t warn him once I figured it out. So he’d be blindsided.
The first time I had encountered them in the woods, they had claimed they wanted to prevent him from killing anyoneelse, but they had also made it clear how much they despised his existence.
I’m so fucking stupid.
I slip the necklace over my head and will the magic to work, obscuring me from notice as the speedometer climbs into triple digits.
I need to get to him—fast.
It was all a cleverly orchestrated ruse. Maybe Ambrose had lied, but the angels used that to their advantage to get me away from him.
Deep down, my gut had told me something was off about them, and I had ignored it. It’s all starting to make sense now. I don’t know what their vendetta against him is, but it’s clear now that they want him gone.
And now he might be, and it’s all my fault. I played right into their game.
They’re coming after him. I just hope I’m not too late.
My heart races as I finally pull off the highway and take the now-familiar route to Ambrose’s house. The rain pelting against the windshield and the sharply winding mountain roads force me to slow down, but I take the curves as quickly as I can.
Please be safe, please be safe, please be safe. The words are a silent, desperate plea resounding in my head as I get closer.
I don’t know what I’ll do if they’ve already hurt him. I had convinced myself I would probably be okay with leaving him, at least for a while, but if he gets hurt, or worse…
Panic wells up inside of me and I force it back down. I need to stay strong right now.
Gravelly mud squishes up under my tires as I rush downthe driveway, noting Ambrose’s other car is still parked where it always is.
Without considering anything else, I grab the gun from the top of the duffel bag in the passenger seat and shove it into my coat pocket before rushing to the front door.
