“I’ve never been there myself.” But that didn’t mean I didn’t know where it was. I had a general idea.
“But Saros has.” Atlas filled in the blanks.
“Yes. And that’s the last place he’d ever want to be.” I scanned over the rendering, thinking of where I’d met him on those days when we were young and he seemed especially distraught after work. “He spent years forced to use his Recollection on unwilling participants.”
“What would they want to do with Oakley?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged, trailing my finger along a hallway I remember seeing him coming from, though I didn’t remember there being any doors at the end of it. “Maybe use her as leverage to get him to finally pull memories from Aurora and Fitz?”
“Then he better pull those fucking memories.”
“You don’t get it.” My gaze snapped up to his, scowling at him. “Saros spent years digging through people’s minds for whatever the government wanted. Sometimes scrambling them beyond repair. That’s not easy to live with.”
“If he cares about her as much as you claim, he’ll be able to live with this.”
I tapped on the spot where The Casket was buried beneath us. “Hopefully it doesn’t come to that.”
“Got any bright ideas to get in?” he asked, rolling up the blueprint and shrinking it down to throw in his pocket.
“Bright? Not really.” There wasn’t going to be any good way out of this. If Saros and Oakley were in The Casket, someone on the inside had ordered this. The fact that Atlas, one of our Archons, was here with me and clueless didn’t give me too much confidence. “Effective? Sure.”
“Then let’s go.”
This would easily end all of our careers—something I was willing to part with. Atlas, he had much more at stake. But he didn’t hesitate to head toward the door, the fear dissipating until the air around him silvered with resolve.
That told me everything I needed to know.
Our witches were worth more than it all.
Chapter21
Oakley
The last thing I remembered doing was storming out of Atlas’s house and heading toward the yard to find Saros and Lynx. Now I was somehow in an all-white room with a single window seemingly looking out onto nothing.
A strange sound came from outside the room, and the door slid open before shutting just as quickly.
“Where am I?” I asked the large wrath demon when he walked into the room. “What am I doing here?”
His skin was red, jagged scales rippling up his brawny arms. All bulk and unforgiving muscle, the nastiest scowl on his face. Crossing his arms, he stood there in silence.
My hands were bound behind my back, and panic streaked up my throat as I fought against the restraints. Tears welled in my eyes. I needed to get home. To get to Aspen. Was he still at the community center? Was he safe?
“Please let me go. I don’t know why I’m here, but I have a son who needs me.”
I tried to send out any magic I could—not that I thought I’d be able to kill this guy from an awkwardly timed erection, but I was desperate enough to try anything. There was nothing running through my veins, aside from a large dose of fear, not even a hint of magic. Whatever cuffs were strapped around my wrists prevented me from doing more.
The demon must have noticed because his face turned from stoic to slightly amused.
Glad one of us finds humor in this situation.
I looked down at my dress, my legs wrapped on either side of the chair, mortified. The tulle was shoved up in all the wrong places, itchy and uncomfortable, and Atlas’s earlier claim was sticky between my thighs. My breasts were like rocks, starting to throb.
My body stilled when the door slid open again, and another man stepped in. He looked familiar but I couldn’t place him. He was in a polished gray suit and had unusual eyes, a combination of orange and blue that somehow was unnerving.
“Please let me out of here. I need to get back to my son,” I pleaded, trying to move against the restraints. They somehow felt tighter than before, and my wrists were raw, rubbed against the thick metal.
“Patience, Ms. Brooks.” His voice was annoyingly calm, making me feel anything but. “I promise your witchling is at home and completely safe.”
