Wherewas Lydia leading William? The answer was as obvious as the stars that had stretched above them and the fearless wonder in her eyes. Rahil charged out the back door.
He didn’t quite feel the motion, just the pain and the weakness and the abysmal twisting of his gut as he stumbled out into the sunlight to stare up at the roof. Sure enough, Lydia was halfway out the attic window. She caught his gaze and her brow furrowed. She took the last step.
Before she could close the glass and hide, William came barreling out behind her. He grabbed for her shoulders, just as she shoved, sending them both into a tumble on the sloped roof.
All three of them screamed.
Rahil swore he could feel Lydia as clearly as the device alive in his hands, like each frantic, fruitless grasp of her fingers against the tiles were a swipe of nails across his heart. His breath caught. His vision tunneled.
“Lydia!” Rahil screamed as she tumbled over the side.
And he threw Leah’s protection at her.
37
MERCER
The park was empty.
Of course it was empty. It was midday, late summer, the heat pouring down and Mercer’s response to William’s text unread. He hadn’t wanted to come in the first place—had almost chosen to ignore it and hope for the best—but with Lydia running off, the anxious storm inside him had been convinced that somehow, William had taken her. That he’d be at the park, a knife to her throat, and Mercer would—Mercer would—
He didn’t know. The cold, endless panic that hit him was too overwhelming to contemplate, though, and he’d ended up in the car without hardly a thought, the engine on and the house locked tight. He couldn’t turn back then. He couldn’t leave the figment of her trapped with him.
But William didn’t have Lydia bound and gagged on a park bench, and Mercer was left to panic in the parking lot instead, the sweat of his fear blistering cold against the car’s blaring AC. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he hadn’t wanted to ask Rahil for help without being able to properly apologize for the way he’d treated him back at the shed, but Mercer could barely forge the text he did send without his vision tunneling completely to black, the whoosh of his heart the only sound in his ears.
Mercer
I lost Lydia
William is making a play, but I don’t know what it is
Is she with you
That made sense. Did that make sense? It was already sent.
He couldn’t just wait for a response.
Mercer’s stomach boiled, and he leaned against the steering wheel, trying not to throw up. Think—just think. Lydia was going to find Rahil. Which meant going to Rahil’s house. Right? Right.
Dark, Victorian. Enough room for everyone who needed it. An attic and a big porch.
He started driving.
He stopped driving.
Did Mercer know a house like that?—Within a few miles of his, Rahil had implied. No. No? No.
No.
Because he did knowahouse in their neighborhood that fit that description, one he hadn’t even considered until that moment, because it was barely worth calling a home at all. It was the kind of place that people always theorized that junkies lived. Or ghosts. Or… vampires.
Fuck.
Mercer hit the gas, nearly careening onto the sidewalk as he made a hasty U-turn.Sorry, sorry, sorry, he whispered to every house he sped past, the jostling ride and his tunneled vision making his nausea all the worse. He blacked out whole streets, and when a slow car pulled out in front of him, his panic attack was so crushing that he nearly lost control of his own vehicle before they immediately turned into a driveway. But then he was there—he was around the corner, that threatening attic jutting into the sky and a lonely person racing through the front door.
His heart connected the dots before his mind could, the sudden rush of safety he felt only followed a few seconds later with his brain going, Shit, was that Rahil?
Mercer was going too fast though, the house’s gravel driveway coming up at blinding speed. The sidewalk bumped under his tires. He didn’t have time to make a choice before his body reacted on instinct, swerving him around the side of the house and careening into the brush. He skidded to a stop, gasping and shaking. His nails had left gashes in the steering wheel leather.
