“Would you please sit down?”Donovan says, swiveling to look at me as I wear a path from the hearth to the windows that overlook the drop-off and back again. “I don’t know what you think you’ve figured out, but you’re not going to get any closer to learning what it means if we don’t actually sort through this data.”
Sitting is the last thing I want to do. My body feels so full of adrenaline and rage, pacing is the only way to burn any of it off. The red haze that signals the onset of one of my premonitions crowds the edge of my vision, and with a groan of frustration, I bury my face in my hands. I can’t afford this, not now.
I draw a deep breath, then another. The haze retreats, thank God, but when I lift my head, that damned scroll and dagger is emblazoned everywhere. It’s in the air, on the quilt of the bed, branded into the floorboards.
When I spare a glance for Donovan, though, it’s clear he hasn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. His eyes are still fixed on me, his expression expectant.
“Rune? Did you hear me?” he says.
I take a careful step toward him, avoiding the red-hot circle on the hardwood. “You don’t see that?” I say just to be sure, pointing at it.
Donovan follows the direction of my finger, leaning down to get a better look. “What? The scratch in the wood? I mean, sure, but what does that have to do with anything?” He sounds bewildered—who could blame him?—and I heave a sigh.
“Never mind,” I tell him, inspecting the seat of my chair for any indication of a brand before I sink down onto it. The day would not be improved by lighting my butt on fire. “Come on. Let’s dig into this, before something else goes wrong.”
There are thousands of names in that database.
Some of them I don’t recognize, but many of them I do. All of the Sinsters. Charlotte and Jess. Donovan. Cooper. Ethan, and every single Smashbox employee at this retreat. Jenny. D’Andre. Gracie Liu, who owns Brew Box. I scroll further, my eyes widening as I take in name after name: Mrs. Garcia, my third-grade teacher. Dave Cassady, the owner of The Bookaholic, who always saves the new Ilona Andrews books for me. Rosa, for God’s sake.
Many of them have ‘BBB’ listed next to their names. Others don’t. But I’d put money on the fact that Ethan and whoever’s in league with him got these people’s blood samples from somewhere else. Medical records, maybe.
A field next to some of the names is marked with ‘WDCC7.’ Others are marked with ‘BDCC8.’ And in some cases, the field isblank. There are other notes, links to family trees that I itch to dig into. Later, maybe, when our lives aren’t on the line. When I’m not afraid Ethan’s going to charge through the door at any moment, Cooper right behind him.
I make a small sound of distress, and Donovan takes the laptop from me. “What are you looking for, specifically?” he says.
“I’m not sure. Keep scrolling,” I tell him. My eyes scan the screen, taking in each new name as it’s revealed. And then I gasp.
“Oh my God. Stop,” I say, grabbing his wrist. That now-familiar electrical shock ripples through me, but I ignore it, my jaw dropping as I stare.
There on the screen is the monster’s name. And beneath it is Julia’s.
They don’t even live in Sapphire Springs anymore. What the actual fuck?
Why are they in here, with their names so close together? Why is Ethan trackingthem?
Why can’t I get away from the monster, even in death?
Dizziness sweeps me. Spots dance in front of my eyes, and crimson tongues lick at the edges of my vision. My pulse pounds in my ears.
Donovan’s arm wraps around my shoulders, pulling me tight against him. “Rune. Hey.” He strokes my hair back from my forehead, his voice soft. “What’s wrong? What did you see?”
His touch steadies me, but I force myself to sit upright, away from him.Be strong,I tell myself, clearing my throat.
“You heard what Cooper said about me not knowing what it’s like to have a family. That’s because…well…my parents died when I was a baby.” There’s no way I’m getting into the details of what actually happened to them, not right now. “I got put into foster care. Julia Delgado”—I point a shaking finger at her name—“was my foster sister. The night you were driving by my house, when I passed out…Julia had just left. She was there to tell me something about…him.” I gesture at the monster’s name, my hand trembling even harder.
Donovan’s jaw clenches. “Who was he, Rune?”
“My foster father.” It’s all I manage to get out, but it must be enough, because Donovan’s eyes narrow, becoming slits of blue.
“What did he do to you?” The words emerge in a low, threatening rumble.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does.Youmatter, Rune, damn it. You matter to me.” He takes me by the shoulders, his narrowed eyes boring into mine. “What. Did. He. Do?”
I have to fight not to quail beneath the intensity of his gaze. “Bad things, all right? But I handled it. And itreallydoesn’t matter anymore, because that first night we were working together, alone at Smashbox…well…I found out that he’s dead.”
Donovan’s head tilts, the way it does when he’s thinking hard. I can practically see his mind whirring as he puts the pieces together. “That phone call.” His grip on my shoulders loosens. “Someone told you he died. And then…you kissed me?”
