Page 101 of The World Undone

“Ah,” a soft, disembodied voice called from within the crowd, “you’re here. Good. Now I don’t have to do the tedious work of searching for you in this labyrinth of a monstrosity they deign to call a castle.”

19

MAX

The sea of people parted, revealing a man—bald, white, and dressed in heavy velvet robes like he was cosplaying for some wizard convention.

I recognized him immediately.

He’d been there that night, at Headquarters. He was the council member who’d teleported away, right before I’d burned everything to the ground.

The one who’d infused his veins with shadow magic he’d stolen from the demons The Guild held captive, from the stone.

“Much preferred the other site. Simpler, more…pragmatic.” He scrunched his nose, scanning the walls with distaste, an artist unimpressed with the current exhibit. “But I suppose it has served its purpose after you turned the other branch to ash.” HIs brow arched. “Impressive display, if a bit excessive.”

My fingers tingled, flooding with a desire to pull my fire up as a shield between us and them.

I scanned the people quickly, trying to assess who they were. A few of them looked vaguely familiar, like I’d seen them in passing while living at The Guild, but I couldn’t recall any names. Most I was certain I’d never laid eyes on before.

A woman walked forward, the angles of her pale face severe and shadowed. She moved slowly, but with a grace that I could never muster, until she was shoulder-to-shoulder with the man.

Her robes looked more modern than his. They’d clearly been tailored to fit her like a glove. But it was the insignia at her collar that had my pulse thumping quickly.

Another council member. We were standing before two of them.

“This is Elizabeth,” he said, arching a brow that was all muscle and no hair, “one of my colleagues.”

She made no response to the acknowledgment. Like him, there was something off about her. There was no sheen of shadow magic glimmering in her eyes, but there was something unmistakably wrong—like her skin was an ill-fitting costume over a magic that had contorted her from within. It no longer fit quite the same as it perhaps once did.

To a human, or even a protector, she probably looked no different than she had before the magic. Dark hair was pinned in a tight bun at the nape of her neck, and makeup was impeccably applied to highlight and add color to her features.

It was the shadow magic. It clawed and licked against my skin, until the hair on my arms stood at end. The tune in the air was sharp and out of key, the static electricity of the atmosphere pricked and fizzled along my body.

“And my name is Jarrod.” He took a step closer and Darius shifted forward until his arm pressed against mine. “It’s time we were properly introduced. I’ve been waiting to speak with you.”

I made no response, not offering him anything.

I could get Ro and Darius out of here—a thing I reminded myself of on a careful, constant loop. I wasn’t certain that I could take on two council members. We didn’t know the extent of their power, or whether mine matched theirs in strength or ability.

I knew that between me and Darius, we could handle the rest in the room. And Ro wasn’t a slouch either.

But they were all clearly armed, and we were cornered into a tiny hole in the wall. Every advantage was theirs.

Except for the fact that we could run. Back through the tunnel, back to Haley. I could teleport, get us out of here.

If it came to that.

Until it did, we needed to use this moment for what it was—an opportunity.

Jarrod was clearly full of himself. The smug lines of his face made it clear that he thought he was in control, that he had something to offer.

And he had the one thing I was after—information.

It wouldn’t be impossible to use his arrogance, his flare for the dramatic to our benefit.

I stepped down from the portrait ledge and walked into the room, ignoring Ro and Darius’s blistering glares behind me as they moved to stand on either side. Tension radiated from them both—somehow stifling and comforting me in equal measure.

I nodded to the stiff protectors in the room, noting the collection of blades, dart guns—and even a few regular guns—clutched in their hands, many of which were pointed in our direction. “This the reception committee you typically reserve for conversations?”

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