"He's getting stronger."
The truck goes quiet, and Asher's hands tighten on the wheel.
Rowan stiffens beside me. "Tharuzel?"
I press a hand to my chest, feeling the thrum beneath my skin. "Yeah. It won’t be long now.”
The truck has barely stopped before I bail out and am sprinting toward the shed.
"Poppy?" Asher cuts the engine and is right behind me. "Are you losing it? Because this feels like you’re taking a header off the deep end.”
"Not crazy," I call back, yanking open the shed door. "I just really need chalk!"
"That doesn't really help your case," Orion mutters.
I ignore them, scanning the cluttered shelves. Garden tools. Bags of potting soil. A rusted watering can.
Come on, come on?—
There.In the back corner, half-buried under a stack of old beach toys and deflated pool floaties, is a plastic bucket overflowing with sidewalk chalk.
I grab a thick piece of white chalk and bolt back outside.
The tugging intensifies. It’s not painful, but insistent. Like someone's wrapped fishing line around my sternum and keeps giving it gentle, rhythmic yanks.
I drop to a crouch at the edge of the driveway, scanning the gravel.
"Poppy?" Rowan's voice is careful. "What are you doing?"
"Give me a second."
Stones. I need the right stone. Something smooth, something that'll hold a charge?—
My fingers close around a white one. Mostly round, with one end that tapers to a vague point. Perfect.
I flip it over in my palm, then press the chalk to the asphalt and start drawing. Quick, loose strokes. A circle first, then the directional glyphs spiraling outward. The locator sigil Mom taught me when I was thirteen and kept losing my phone.
"Okay, I'm officially concerned," Asher says.
I finish the last glyph and sit back on my heels.
"I can feel my connection to Tharuzel." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "It's tugging at me. And I need to know where he is."
Orion crouches beside me, studying the sigil. "Following a blood-bond isn't exactly a great idea, Poppy. Especially if it's trying to lure you somewhere."
I drop the stone onto the center of the sigil.
For a second, nothing happens.
Then the stone bounces once—twice—and settles. The pointed end swivels sharply to face east.
I pick it up, set it in my palm, and turn it sideways. The stone resists for a heartbeat, then the pointed end snaps back toward the same direction. Like a compass finding north.
I stand and brush the chalk dust off my fingers, leaving smudges on my jeans. "Anyone who wants to go on a demon hunt field trip get back in the truck."
Asher plants his hands on his hips. "Is following a demonic GPS signal really the best idea right now? No plan, no backup?—"
I meet his gaze. "Probably not, but I can feel him stronger than ever before. If he’s becoming corporeal, don’t you think it would be good to know where his hideout is?”
