Page 101 of Death Warden
“You’re afraid they’ll come here, that they’ll be in danger if they do.”
I nodded. “Also my agent Prue.”
“Agent?”
“Publishing agent. I write books. Her number’s on my phone.”
“You write books?” He tipped my chin up. “Anything I might have read?”
“Do you read?”
He made a hurt face. “Hey, I have been known to devour libraries.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Horror. Frederick Harding.”
His eyes went wide. “Shut up.”
My smile turned to a grin. “You’ve read my books?”
“Only because Logan kept shoving them at me. But damn, Logan will go nuts when he finds out. You’ll have to sign his copies. You’ll have to write him into a book and…” He trailed off, then sighed raggedly.
Yeah, I probably wasn’t gonna get to do any of those things. I blinked back the tears and hugged him.
He was silent for a long beat, running his fingers through my hair. “You should make a voice letter for your godparents and your agent. I’ll be right back.” He gently extricated himself and headed out of the room.
My muscles relaxed and the amulet grew warmer, a sign that time was running out for me. I didn’t have the energy to be mad, but there was a hollow sensation inside me. Sorrow for all the things I wouldn’t get to do, sorrow for the people I’d be leaving behind.
I wasn’t ready.
I didn’t want to go.
I didn’t—
My skin pricked with a billion hot needles, and my eyes snapped open but not to my bedroom, to the office where Logan was on the phone, his expression stern as he spoke into it. I couldn’t hear his words, but I felt his agitation and impatience.
The spot above my wrist itched and burned as if someone was scratching it with a needle.
My vision snapped to another scene. To Curo throwing clothes out of his dresser in search of something. He was muttering, running his hand through his hair in frustration.
The burning on my arm spread upward.
What was this? What was happening?
The scene changed again, and this time I was in the kitchen with Spectre as he arranged food on a bed tray.
He stopped, placed his palms on the counter, and hung his head, shoulders heaving.
Was he crying? No… Spectre, please don’t cry…
The burning crawled up my arm.
A figure materialized beside me. Death eating a bagel. He nodded as if satisfied. Dropped me a wink and vanished.
Something inside me cracked and popped, then my body was flooded with raw power. My back arched off the bed, muscles tightening painfully. A scream lodged in my throat and blinding light swallowed my vision.
* * *
LOGAN
