I knew it before I flicked on my light. The room was empty. Completely bare. No agate sarcophagus. No candles. No seal on the floor.

“Shit.”

“Now what?”

“Call the surveillance team again. Find out why the hell they didn’t see anything.” I paced, thinking. “Let’s try the penthouse in Helios Tower,” I said, already marching out of the room. “Maybe Llyran returned there.”

Hank left his car in the care of a valet with specific instructions to leave it in front of the lobby, flashing his badge for added intimidation when the valet started spouting tower rules and regulations. Then we entered the Topside lobby of Helios Tower and went straight for the elevators.

Once inside, I hit the button for the forty-sixth floor and then doublechecked my weapons. Hank and I stood shoulder to shoulder, our game faces on as the floors flashed by on the counter overhead.

Forty-four. Forty-five. Forty-six.

The doors slid open and without hesitation we strode down the hallway to penthouse number eight. I took up position near the door, my back against the wall and weapon drawn. Hank stood in front of the door and got ready to kick.

Inspired, I held up my hand to him, and then decided to check the door handle.

It wasn’t locked.

Remembering what had happened here last time made my nerves raw. I did not want a repeat joyride through the darkness. I pushed gently and let the door open by itself. Deep breath and then I ducked inside.

The penthouse was brightly lit, catching me off guard. I scanned the surroundings, feeling the hairs on my arms begin to rise in forewarning. My chest suddenly constricted, and I blinked back tears as my throat closed.

I met Hank’s gaze, and his was as confused as mine.

The energy all around this place was not as it should have been. Sadness and grief immobilized me as we pushed into the main living room, our backs to one another, using our senses to scan the open space. Something was very wrong. My throat thickened with heavy sorrow.

“Outside.” Hank’s voice made me jump.

I turned, weapon trained, to see two figures on the terrace. My eyes widened. “No, no, no, no …” I raced to the terrace to find Bryn in a T-shirt and pajama pants, covered in blood, hair up in a ponytail, feet bare, kneeling over a body. The wind blew against me as I approached.

Oh God. No.

My weapon remained trained on my own sister, and I was already blinking back tears. “Bryn?”

Her head lifted and she looked over her shoulder, her eyes red and puffy, red dots on her cheeks, her lips swollen and wet. She turned back around and wept, her shoulders shaking. I didn’t want to step forward. Didn’t want to see who was lying there.

But I knew. I already knew.

My friend. My teacher. The nymph with the emerald eyes and beautiful green aura.

His hands were bloody and scratched, obvious signs of a struggle he didn’t win. His body was sunken like Daya’s, laid flat out on the terrace. My fingers flexed around my Hefty and I raised my hand, using the back of it to wipe at my tears.

Hank brushed passed me, his weapon dropping to his side as his expression paled. My head was shaking in denial. Aaron was not dead. It couldn’t be. Not like this. I sank to my knees, letting my weapon go limp on the stone, still holding it in my hand, and doubling over to let my forehead hit the cold terrace, trying to hold in the scream of rage, loss, and guilt.

“No … no … Goddammit!” I cried to no one, letting my anger out in maddening groans of protest. I had to do something. Had to work. Had to move. I rose, wanting justice for my friend, for a good person who hadn’t deserved to die like this.

I grabbed my gun, dragging it along the stone as I stood, my insides shriveling into a tight, searing, breathless knot.

“What happened, Bryn?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

Her wide, aching, confused gaze met mine. “I don’t know …”

“You don’t know? How the fuck can you not know?! How did you get here?! Did you see it happen?! Did you try to help at all or did you just stand there and say I don’t know?!” I was shaking hard, crying, tasting the tears on my lips.

Bryn’s skin paled and a look of pure mortification passed over her.

“Charlie,” Hank said.

“What?!” I shouted, throwing up my hands and then turning to my sister. “How long have you been up here? Have you called the paramedics?”

“Charlie, that’s enough.”

Deep down, I knew it was more than enough, but hurt was flooding out of me so fast that I didn’t know how to stop it or make sense of it. I turned away, storming to the terrace ledge, grabbing onto the railing and finally letting it out, screaming until I had nothing left, until my voice went useless, my throat burned, my lungs nearly collapsing.

I had to save Aaron. He couldn’t be dead. He was supposed to live a long life, convince Bryn to love him as he loved her. Someone in my family was supposed to have a happily ever after, for Christ’s sake. I stretched back from the railing and leaned down, letting my head fall in between my arms as I held on tightly. “We have to fix this,” I whispered and then turned, saying it louder. “We have to fix this.”

Hank closed his cell phone, and Bryn looked up from her vigil at Aaron’s side. “The medics are on their way. Liz is coming, too, and the chief.”

“He doesn’t need a goddamn medic! He needs help! He needs us !”

Bryn sniffed. “What are you saying?”

“Black crafting. Earth magic. Whatever we need to do to save this body and keep it fresh …” The two of them looked at me like I’d finally lost it. “Llyran is collecting their life forces into that damn ring. If we find the sonofabitch, take the ring, and get Aaron’s life force back into his body, then maybe we can save him. Bring him back.” I stilled, realizing just how insane that sounded. “He’d do the same for any one of us.”

Bryn wiped her wet face with her arm and nodded. Her shoulder trembled. Her mouth went tight, trying to stop herself from bursting into tears once more. “I didn’t do this, Charlie.” Her bottom lip trembled, and I could see the horror she faced, not knowing how they came to be here, what part she played. “I couldn’t have. I love him.”

“I know.” I shook my head in regret and sorrow, hugging her. “I know.”

18

“Can’t we spell his body so it won’t deteriorate?” I asked.

“That’s death magic, black crafting,” Bryn answered. “You’re going against the laws of nature, not working with them.”

Okay, so my sister’s knowledge was out. I folded my arms across my chest and leaned back against the kitchen counter and watched the activity over Hank’s shoulder. The medics were putting Aaron’s body into a cold bag to slow the death process. The chief stood over them, issuing orders, and occasionally shaking his head.

“I can reanimate a corpse,” Liz said, “but I don’t have the knowledge to get the soul back inside, or spell a body to keep it in stasis. I think we need a Master black crafter for that.” She glanced around the room. “You guys must know someone, right?”

Since black crafting was technically illegal, most practitioners performed in secret. There was only one Master Crafter I knew, and from the uncomfortable way Hank and Bryn were looking at me, they knew just who I was thinking about.

The woman I commonly referred to as The Bitch.

The chief barreled through the sliding glass doors, pushing them wide so the paramedics could remove Aaron’s body. Silently we watched them roll him out. For a long moment, no one spoke as the chief sidled up to the counter on the other side of Liz, sighing heavily and sitting on one of the stools.

“She won’t help us,” I said. Not since I fractured her jaw with a fury-packed right hook.