Page 89 of Angel of Water & Shadow

I clicked the name on the message below his.

“Ryder?” My voice was even, determined, as he picked up. “Can you meet me right now? We need to talk about what happened yesterday. I think I figured out what’s going on with me.”

Chapter 30

A few hours later, I peered through the fissures of a rusty iron door leaning off its hinges.

My nose wrinkled as I took a step back, getting a full view of its frame, and caught a whiff of the sulfuric air.

“Ryder?” My echo was the only thing that answered. I twisted my hair into a low bun to get it out of my face and pulled out my phone. Of course, there was no reception. I glanced at the defaced walls of concrete that towered on both sides of me. This was a far cry from a lighthouse. This wasn’t even a place. It was just an alley between pee-stained buildings that, for some reason, he wanted to meet in, because there was no way he wanted me to actually step inside that wretched, rat-infested place.

My voice scattered the pigeons, and they drew my eyes up to a symbol engraved in the stone above the bronze trim: a circle containing an eight-pointed star, four of its arms twice the size of the others. Almost a dozen more spikes jutted out from behind the smaller ones, shorter in length and with a twist to their ends, like sunrays. It reminded of a figure I’d seen on a nautical chart. What was it called…? A compass rose. But I’d also seen it someplace else…I racked my brain until it came to me: it’d been carved into the moonrocks above the Wizard of Auto.

No more coincidences, I reminded myself, glass from the shattered windows crunching beneath my feet as I reapproached the entrance.

Bolts dotted the door’s scrap metal like stray bullets had struck it. Slightly concerned it’d collapse on me when I touched it, I held my hand back, letting it linger inches from its surface.

My eyes played tricks on me as I stood there, and a pattern started to emerge as if I’d been staring at the passing clouds, not a door. I swore the bolts formed a shape—a coupe glass with a garnish that looked like a star on its rim. Then I blinked, and it was gone.

Swallowing against the acidic burn of uneasiness, I pressed the door open and gazed into a musty warehouse with bowed rafters and chipped cement. A cool draft rustled my hair, tickled my arms and legs, making me regret the distressed black shorts and high-neck tank I’d thrown on. More glass, rusted nails, and rodent droppings dotted the dusty ground between the dozen or so pillars. Grimacing, I stayed put in the alley and scanned what seemed to be an empty hall for Ryder.

The roar from a muffler passed in the distance, rattling the busted plumbing, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. A stray cat leapt from its trash can burrow, the aluminum crashing to the ground, its screechy roll across the pavement raising my shoulders and drawing up the hair on my arms. The clang when it hit the building might as well have been inside my skull.

I clutched my forehead, careful to massage around my temple. Breathing back the anxiety, I willed the sounds to stop building. I was still on edge, but they faded to a level I could manage.

So, inside it is, Ryder. I squared my shoulders and stepped through the doorway. As one foot rose and crossed over the threshold, something truly amazing happened. It landed on solid oak ground, sturdy wood replacing the broken foundation in a long, shimmering brushstroke of what I could only describe as magic.

When my body finally unfroze, I stepped inside the warehouse, the heavy door slamming shut behind me. The harsh bang didn’t faze me: I was too busy watching the glossy finish run up the walls, washing over the cracks and the holes and correcting the sags in the vaulted ceiling. Unsteady beams straightened and twinkled as an invisible hand wrapped them in holiday lights.

The stale interior warmed with the glow of candles and the sun peeking through the stained-glass windows. A small gasp left me as I walked over to them, the glass no longer in shards beneath my high tops, but reset without a scratch. Medieval scenes in primary colors shimmered in the natural glow from outside. A similar style, but these were so much more lighthearted than the one in my dad’s office, the figures laughing, dining, praying, sparring—was it a trick of the light or did I just see their swords clash?

“River!” a distinct, melodic voice called and made my pulse skyrocket.

I spotted Ryder sitting near the center of a bar that ran the entire west side of the space, his chair facing my direction, one boot planted on the floor, the other resting on the lower footrest. We locked eyes and he lowered his hand, bringing it to rest on the inside of his thigh. I shamelessly tracked the movement—my gaze dropping to his distressed black jeans, then up and over the tight curves of muscle beneath his V-neck. I glanced down at my own all-black outfit.

Oh my God, now we were dressing alike.

Biting back a smile, I snaked past the interspersed tables and went to him. It was still musty in here, but that was the beer.

I slid onto the stool next to him with such unnatural grace I couldn’t fathom where it came from. But I didn’t hate it. “What is this place?”

“Elsewhere Tavern.” His wavy hair was primed to sweep across his face with one small motion. I curled my fingers around the lip of my seat, fighting the urge to push the dark strands back with my fingers. “What do you think?”

Tearing myself from his emerald gaze, I swiveled around, taking in the once-empty room. Now filled with barrels and laughter and patrons I had clearly overlooked on my arrival, because I might’ve dropped dead at the sight of the mini trolls with grass beards playing cards at a table next to us. I looked to the windows for confirmation, shapes and shades of the alley wavering behind the tinted glass. There was no denying that this was the warehouse, and I existed here, but also…elsewhere.

“How…?” My voice came out hoarse.

“Remember our conversation about the parallel dimension that allows the supernatural to exist alongside humans? This is a living example of that—a parallel realm carved into the one you just came from that shares the coordinates and footprint of the warehouse, but inside…it’s a whole ’nother world.” He traced invisible shapes onto the solid wooden bar top with his finger as he talked. “That seal I’m sure you saw above the door allows Nephilim, among others, in, and is a barrier to keep mortals out. So, looks like you have an acceptable amount of Source in your blood.” Ryder tipped his glass and took a swig. “But we knew that all along.”

“So, the warehouse is the true mirage,” I muttered. A million questions formed on my tongue, but one tugged at me more than the others. “What would have happened if you were wrong, and I was mortal?”

“You’d combust the second you walked in.”

My eyes widened at the potential for how bad this could have gone. He didn’t seem the slightest bit disturbed.

“Kidding,” he added, lips twitching. “You’d see an empty warehouse. Like the junkyard we saw before we crossed the threshold into the Wizard of Auto. You look like you could use a drink.”

I opened my mouth to fight him as he raised his hand but…I did need something to take the edge off. The adrenaline hadn’t had time to wane, and I’d been stuck in a constant state of it. Over the course of a week my entire life had crashed and burned, and I was still choking on the ashes—one drink wouldn’t kill me.

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