22. Chapter 22

22

Chapter 22

Darick

I stand in Evelyn Blackwood's living room, weighing up her words about sacrifices and ancient curses…and none of it bothers me as much as the crushing hollowness I'm feeling right now. I look down at the pendant in my palm, rubbing the pad of my thumb over its surface. It sends that strange sensation through my skin again, that feeling of connection I've come to long for.

This is it…the answer…

Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and focus on the pendant, willing it to strengthen our bond. At first, there's nothing but silence, and I'm convinced it's not going to work. Then, like a spark in the darkness, I feel her presence.

"Rowan," I whisper, relief washing over me.

"Darick!" Her response is faint, barely a whisper in my mind, but it's there. The thread is fragile, almost intangible, but I cling to it desperately. "Darick?" she repeats.

"Rowan! Thank God. Are you alright? Where are you?" I know it's a long shot, but maybe she can share details.

"Okay…don't know where…cell block…involved somehow." Her words are fuzzy. Indistinct. I strain to strengthen the connection. I tighten my grip on the pendant, feeling it growing warmer, hot now.

I sense her confusion, her fear, but also her resilience. She's trying to tell me something, but the words are jumbled, lost in the static of our tenuous link. I catch fragments – a sense of betrayal – but nothing solid.

"I can't hear you clearly," I tell her, frustration building. "I'm here with your grandmother. We're going to find you." As I say it, I pray it's true, but I'll move heaven and earth to make it so.

"…hear you…" her words come back. I get a sense of desperation, and it feels like a fist tightening around my heart.

Fuck's sake!

"I'm here," I project, pouring all my determination into the words. "I'm coming for you, Rowan. I promise."

There's a surge of emotion from her – gratitude, hope – and the responsibility of it is almost crushing. It leaves me breathless, more determined than ever to rescue her.

"Darick, I—" Her thoughts grow jumbled and hazy, words running into each other. I'm shaking with the effort of reaching out to her; my fist closed tightly around the pendant that's burning into my skin.

"Fuck!" I want to scream the word. "I'm losing you." I'd be sweating if my undead skin was capable of it. "Stay strong," I try to encourage her. "I'm going to find you, Rowan."

The heat in my hand is growing almost unbearable. When I glance down, my fingers are glowing, smoke streaming from between them. The scent of singed flesh makes my lip curl. Inadvertently my hand snaps open. The shape of the pendant has been burned into my palm, seared and smoldering. Gritting my teeth, I close my fist again, eyes shut as I reach out to her again. The distance between us feels like it's stretching, but for a brief moment, I feel her.

As the connection begins to fade, I pour every ounce of strength I have into one final message: "Hold on, Rowan. I'm coming."

My chest is heaving when I open my eyes again. Evelyn is watching me intently.

"It worked." She exhales a long breath.

"You said it would," I tell her.

She looks away briefly, an odd expression flashing across her fine features. "It was a long shot," she says eventually, looking back up at me. "But this is significant, Lord Drake."

"How so?" I tilt my head.

"Because it tells me that you could be the one." Her lips curve into a small smile that seems…remorseful.

I could be the one?

"So what does it mean?" I'm growing impatient with her vagueness.

"It means that you can save her with it."

I cock my head, confused. "Like I did now? By contacting her?"

"No." Her lips press together. "By making a choice to save her. An impossible choice. You give it to her then."

I stare at Evelyn, her words sinking in. The pendant feels heavy in my hand, its significance weighing on me even more.

"If I find myself facing an impossible choice, giving this to Rowan will save her?" I repeat, seeking confirmation.

She nods solemnly. "Yes, but remember, it's a last resort. You're not compelled to do this. The consequences…"

I lean in, curious. "What consequences?"

She motions me closer and whispers something in my ear. My eyes widen as I process her words. It's unexpected, shocking even, but I understand the gravity of what she's telling me.

"Are you certain?" I all but whisper.

"As certain as one can be with ancient magic," she replies, her eyes burning into mine.

I take a deep breath, unnecessary as it is for my kind, and nod. "I understand. And I accept the responsibility."

Her expression softens slightly. "If it comes to that, Darick…"

"I'll do what needs to be done," I assure her, pocketing the pendant carefully.

She studies me for a moment, then seems satisfied. "Very well. Now, we need to focus on finding Rowan."

I straighten up, pushing aside the burden of what I've just learned. "Agreed. What's our next move?"

"I'm going to have to speak to Lake and Georgia, Rowan's parents," she says, rising stiffly. It's easy to forget her age, given her youthful features. But I suspect this situation has taken its toll on her.

"You're right, of course," I concur, knowing this will be a blow to them.

"And then, I'm going to reach out to my people." She sounds more confident as she says this.

I nod, absorbing her words. "That's a good plan. The more powerful witches we have on our side, the better our chances of finding Rowan quickly."

"Yes," she agrees. "I have some old friends who owe me favors. Astra Moonshadow, for one. She's an expert in dream magic and illusions. Her son, Heath, has been helpful in honing Rowan's magical skills these past few days. He may be able to connect with that."

At the mention of Heath, I feel a flicker of annoyance.

The fucking witch boy.

I give a tight smile. "Astra Moonshadow," I repeat, keeping my tone neutral. "I've heard she's formidable. Do you think she'll be willing to help, given the…delicate nature of the situation?"

Delicate nature?

You're jealous of the boy, Drake. Get your head out of your ass.

Evelyn's lips quirk into a small smile. "Astra and I go way back. She'll help, especially when she learns it's about finding Rowan. Plus, there are others I can call upon. Lysandra Starfire has the power of visions. And Ignatius Emberstone is good to have around in a fight – if it should come to that. We witches stick together in times of crisis."

"Alright," I say, pushing aside my reservations. We need all the help we can get. "While you work on gathering your allies, I'm going to deal with Marlowe."

"You believe he's behind this." She doesn't frame it as a question.

"Positive. But going there first would have forced his hand; he'd have hidden her more cleverly. Thanks to this," I pat the spot in my jacket where the pendant rests, "I think we have a fighting chance. If there's anything I can pick up from him, I'll find it."

She looks at me intently, her eyes – so like Rowan's – searching my face. "Be careful, Darick. This situation is more complex than it appears. There are ancient forces at play here, and not everyone's motivations are clear."

Without thinking, I reach out and rest a hand on her shoulder. It's surprisingly solid for a woman of her years. It's a strength based on more than her physical form. Magic ripples through her.

"I'm bringing her home, Madame Blackwood."

Her eyes go gentle for a moment. "Darick Drake, when you bring her home, you're going to come back here and start calling me Gran."

"Count on it," I say, oddly warmed by her words. I turn away and head to the door, reaching for my phone as I walk. Dialing Marcus's number takes me straight to voice mail.

"Shit," I mutter as I glare at the screen. I leave a message, then shoot him a text for good measure. It would be good to have backup, but I feel capable of tackling Marlowe by myself. Particularly considering the mood I'm in.

Minutes later, I arrive at Lucien's mansion through the shadows, my anger simmering just beneath the surface. The opulent facade does nothing to impress me; I've seen centuries of wealth, and Lucien's attempt at grandeur feels hollow. More than that, it's gaudy.

As I stride up to the entrance, the doors swing open as if expecting my arrival. Lucien stands there, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Darick Drake," he drawls. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?" He steps aside, inviting me in with a sweep of his arm.

I brush past him, entering the foyer. "Cut the bullshit, Lucien. Where is she?"

He splays his hands, feigning innocence. "She? You'll have to be more specific, old friend."

"Rowan Blackwood," I growl, my patience wearing thin. "I know you're behind her disappearance."

Lucien's smirk widens. "Ah, the little witch. You must be in quite a panic, losing such a precious resource."

I narrow my eyes.

"Your blood match, isn't she?" He cracks a smile that begs to be punched off his face. And his words confirm my suspicions – he knows about Rowan and our connection.

"Where is she, Lucien?"

He chuckles, moving to pour himself a drink from a nearby drinks trolley. I catch the scent of AB negative, and my stomach turns.

"My dear Darick, I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about. I haven't taken your witch."

"Bullshit," I snarl. "You've been plotting something for months. This has your stench all over it."

Lucien takes a sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving mine. "You know, Darick, there's so much you don't understand about our history with the witches. Ancient conflicts, prophecies…it's all so fascinatingly complex."

I narrow my eyes. "What are you talking about?"

He smiles enigmatically. "Let's just say that your little blood match might be more significant than you realize. But I assure you, I'm not the one holding her. She's nowhere near here."

I stand in the center of the vast room, shutting my eyes for a moment and stretching out my senses. As much as I hate to believe him, he's telling the truth; she's not here.

Doesn't mean he didn't take her, though.

I glare at Lucien, feeling my nostrils flaring. "You expect me to believe that? After everything you've done?"

Lucien's smirk doesn't falter. "Believe what you will, Darick. But I assure you, I have better things to do than kidnap your little witch."

"Like what? Plotting to overthrow the Assembly?" I take a step closer.

He chuckles, swirling the blood in his glass. "Always so dramatic. Perhaps you should look closer to home for your answers."

I'm about to retort when a sudden burning sensation erupts in my pocket. The pendant.

It's Rowan. I feel her!

My focus shifts instantly, Lucien fading into the background as I concentrate on the connection. Images flash through my mind – the rhythmic clacking of wheels on tracks, the acrid smell of diesel fuel, a fleeting glimpse of a station sign.

A train. She's on a fucking train.

No…not on a train. Near one.

A station.

There's something else, too. A scent that's familiar yet out of place. It reminds me of…incense? No, something earthier. Like the herbs in a witch's garden.

The connection fades as quickly as it came, leaving me disoriented. I blink, realizing Lucien is staring at me with newfound interest.

"Are you quite alright, Darick? You look…distracted."

I shake my head, clearing the last vestiges of the vision. "I'm fine," I growl, already turning toward the door. "This isn't over, Lucien."

As I stride out, I hear him call after me, "Oh, I'm counting on that, old friend."

I ignore him, my mind racing with the new information. A train. An unexpected scent. And the nagging feeling that I'm missing something crucial.

Pausing in the vast, circular courtyard of Lucien's estate, I take stock of what I know.

She's near a station close to a witch's home, somewhere suburban because I don't know of any witches who live in the city. It means heading into witch territory, which is off-limits, considering the shit we've been going through lately. If Arabella and the elders find out, she'll tear a strip off me. But it occurs to me that I don't give a fuck. The political posturing and endless games of the Blood Assembly have become tiresome recently.

Not just recently, if I'm honest with myself.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, jolting me from my thoughts. I fish it out, seeing Marcus's name on the screen.

"What have you got?" I answer, not bothering with pleasantries.

"Nothing yet," Marcus replies, his voice tense. "I'm still waiting on some leads to pan out. What about you? Any luck with Lucien?"

I growl in frustration. "He claims he doesn't have her, and I believe him – to a degree; she's not with him. But I got something else – a vision of sorts. Rowan's near a train station, somewhere close to witch territory."

There's a pause on the other end of the line. "A train station near witch territory?" Marcus repeats, his tone thoughtful. "Wait, I think I know where that might be. There's an old station on the outskirts of town, right on the border of the Moonshadow coven's land. It's not on a regular line, but…"

I don't wait for him to finish. "Send me the exact location," I interrupt, already moving. "I'm heading there now. Tell the grandmother where I've gone, and then come find me."

"Darick, wait—" Marcus starts, but I've already ended the call.

As soon as the location pings on my phone, I focus on the shadows around me. The world blurs and dims as I step into them, letting the cool embrace of darkness envelop me. In an instant, I'm racing through a void, faster than any human means of travel.

Moments later, I emerge in an alley near the station Marcus mentioned. The air is thick with the scent of oil and grease, mingled with something else – that same herbal smell from my vision. My eyes scan the area, taking in the empty buildings and train tracks.

At this time of night, the place is abandoned, everything motionless, aside from a page of newspaper that flutters aimlessly across the silent platform.

Rowan is close; I can sense it. But where exactly? I could scour the place, inch by inch, but there isn't time for that now. Sunrise isn't far off; I can feel it in my bones. The urgency of the situation presses down on me.

I put my hand over the pendant, feeling it growing warm through the fabric of my shirt and jacket. It sends a low hum through my skin.

"Come on, Rowan. Where are you?"

I stare into the darkness as if willing her to appear.

When daylight comes, I'm going to be useless. They'll move her – there's no way they don't know I'm hunting for her. And if she's moved, who knows if I'll be able to track her down again. She might be lost to me.

I can't allow that. I have to find her before dawn. Before the sun comes up.

One minute longer, and I'm screwed.