My search had brought me back to Twisted Spires, a place I had no intention of ever returning to. It had also brought me to Devin Whitethorn, a man with a fetish for ancient artifacts and young women, based on the sounds I’d heard come from the house on occasion. He must pay the girls extra to make those kinds of noises because I knew his old, crusty ass wasn’t making anyone scream from pleasure. Possibly pain but definitely not pleasure. But at least he was fucking something with a pulse; all I had these days was my hand to keep me company.
I schooled my expression into indifference, not wanting to give away my growing dread as he plucked the familiar spellbook from the shelf. Death would come for us all, but to invite it willingly was just plain stupid. Nothing good could be found in that book.
A sulfur tang filled the air as flames erupted, spreading across the room. A wall of heat licked at the exposed skin of my arms. Sweat spilled from every pore as smoke filled my lungs, heavy and choking, each breath harder to take then the last.
Devin didn’t need to look in my direction, but I knew the flames answered to him. He was a fucking pyromaniac—or more accurately, a fire manipulator. Fire bent and formed to his will.
One moment, the flames singed my arms, and the next, they were gone. All the heat from the room vanished with it.
Devin sauntered over. A sadistic smirk on his thin lips. “Learn some manners. It’s rude to stare.”
“Find what you were looking for, mortal?” I said between coughs. My lungs were desperate to fill with the oxygen the fire had used to fuel itself.
He stopped just far enough from the trap’s edge. “Don’t worry. We all have our part to play.”
“Care to share with the class?” I pressed, hoping to rile him up. Humans were slaves to their emotions. They gave in to lust, greed, anger, and jealousy all too easily. It made them weak. Easy to manipulate.
“Watch that tongue of yours, or I’ll rip it out.”
I let out a low hiss, flicking my forked tongue in his direction, daring him to act on the threat. But he didn’t take the bait. Instead, he turned, ascending the stairs and taking the one thing I needed with him.
The spellbook of the witch who had placed this fucking collar around my neck.
CHAPTER 3
LYRA
My reflection in the toothpaste-spattered mirror was unrecognizable.
I applied a generous layer of concealer to the stress-induced acne on my forehead, and more beneath my eyes to hide the dark purple circles from a restless night of tossing and turning.
The edge of the counter dug into my hip as I leaned closer to the bathroom mirror, lining my lips with a burgundy liner and filling them in with a cherry red lipstick that was completely out of my comfort zone.
“I said to pick a card,” Emory repeated, irritated by my lack of participation.
I ignored her, gluing on my false lashes, and asked instead, “Are you going to be ready soon?” I blinked rapidly, making sure I hadn’t accidentally glued my eye shut.
“Yeah, I just need to get dressed. Sit down.” She motioned for me to take a seat on my messy bedroom floor strewn with a mixture of clean and dirty clothes. I’d torn my closet apart looking for a costume to wear tonight. After digging through every piece of clothing I owned, I decided on a white slip dress so short bending over was out of the question and completedthe look with white feathered wings and a sparkly halo. The accessories were recycled from an old Halloween costume from years ago.
Emory held my gaze until I finally obliged.
She made quick work of shuffling the deck of tarot cards and removed the two protruding from the side of the deck. She flipped them over to reveal an image of two chalices and intertwined hands on one and a skull with the word death scrawled along the bottom of the other.
“One door is closing, and a rebirth in connection with someone of great importance is about to happen,” Emory said, staring intently.
“There is no way you got all that from two cards. I’m getting ‘you’re gonna die and people will cheers your death’ vibes.”
She gasped at my accusation. “Have I ever led you astray?”
“Yes, like the entirety of high school. I’m still pissed you told me Luke liked me.”
“Sometimes, I need to connect the dots during readings. You know fill in the blanks. Signals can get crossed.” She smirked.
“Bullshit,” I muttered under my breath.
Emory rolled her eyes at my skepticism.
“Now get ready or we’re going to be late,” I said, throwing a black lace bra from the top drawer in her direction.
