So you’ll never forget you’re mine.
“Those nights we spent in my old car, lookin’ at the stars,
Holdin’ hands, and makin’ plans.
Didn’t know they’d be the last.
“Just another Southern boy’s first love,
Too many regrets and can’t-forgets.
If I could just go back to …
“Half past the time I lost you
And all the things I should’ve said.
If I could just go back, I’d say it all,
So you won’t forget you’re mine.”
Link stopped singing, but he couldn’t look up. “That’s all, I guess.” He crumpled the paper in his hands. He sounded sad, like the words in his song.
Because it’s how I feel. It’s all true.
When he finally glanced up, his friends looked stunned, but Johnson smiled. “You got a real gift. Don’t waste it.”
No one had ever told Link he had a gift before, let alone a talent for something he actually cared about. He looked as shocked as his friends.
“Unless I find my girl, it doesn’t matter.” Link took a deep breath. “Help me find her, sir. Please.”
“Wish I could, son.” The bluesman shook his head sadly. “But I just can’t remember.”
John almost jumped out of his seat. “What are you talking about?”
“Your head wasn’t the only one Abraham messed with.” Johnson pointed at his temple. “There are things I can’t remember. Things he didn’t want me to remember.”
Link dropped back down in his chair, shoulders sagging. “You don’t know where the labs are,” he mumbled. “You can’t help us. We’re screwed.”
“Come on now, keep your head up, son.” Johnson patted Link’s shoulder. “Just because I can’t help you doesn’t mean I don’t know somebody who can.”
“Sir?”
“Are you willin’ to make a trade?” Johnson asked.
Link swallowed hard. He didn’t want to give the old man his soul, not that he figured it was worth much. And the stories had never exactly gone in favor of the guy making the trade—including Johnson’s.
But I’ll do it for Rid.
“I should probably tell you right up front that I’m a pretty big sinner,” Link said. “At least, accordin’ to my mom. And she practically lives at church. So you probably won’t end up at the Pearly Gates with my soul.”
The bluesman raised an eyebrow. “I’m not interested in your soul. I want that.” He pointed at the sheet of paper in Link’s hand.
“You want my song?” Link was shocked. “The one I wrote?”
“It was really good, Link,” Necro said.
Johnson nodded. “Like I said, you’ve got a gift. And I’ve been lookin’ for somethin’ worth playin’ for a long time. Gets lonely out here.”
Link didn’t hesitate. As far as he was concerned, the guy could have every song he’d ever written and every song he was ever going to write. “It’s yours. Just tell me where to find this person who can help us.”
Johnson tucked the page in his pocket and walked back to his armchair. “I can’t make you any promises, but if anybody knows how to find those labs, it’s the Girl with the Velvet Voice.”
“Who?” Floyd and Liv asked at the same time.
“She’s the Caster Archivist,” he said matter-of-factly.
For a second, Liv didn’t say a word. “You must be confused, Mr. Johnson. I’ve never heard of a Caster Archivist, and I’m studying under some of the most knowledgeable Keepers in history.”
“Well, she’s as real as you and me.” Johnson ran his fingers across the frets of his guitar. “She monitors the whole New Order. All that crazy stuff, since the world got all shook up and back again.”
At the mention of the New Order, Liv looked rattled.
The bluesman pointed at Link. “When you get to New Orleans, find Madame Blue’s House of Voodoo. Ask for the Girl with the Velvet Voice, and tell her I sent you.”
“You’re sure about this, Mr. Johnson?” Link held his breath waiting for the answer.
Johnson put down the guitar and looked him in the eye. “I’d bet my soul on it.”
CHAPTER 12: NOX
Every Rose Has Its Thorn
Nox stared at the picture so intently that the rest of the room began to blur around it.
She looks like a corpse.
In the photograph, Ridley’s eyelids were heavy and she was leaning against the wall for support. It was unclear if she even had any idea her picture was being taken. But the way the photo was tacked over some of the others made it look like a recent addition.
He had to hurry. He snatched her picture off the wall.
I’m coming, Ridley.
He barely noticed the other rooms along the hallway as he rushed past them, stopping just long enough to be sure no one was inside. The only thing he could think about was finding her. Nox heard voices somewhere far behind him, maybe back in the trophy room, but he ignored them. He was almost at the end of the hallway now.
Just a little farther. Make it to the door.
When he reached the end of the hall, he saw an elevator on one side and a stairwell on the other. Both led in the same direction: down.
Good enough.
Just as he reached the first stair, he heard louder voices coming from below him. But he had an even bigger problem. The voices behind him were suddenly growing closer, and unless he continued down the stairs, whoever was coming would definitely see him.
At that moment, Nox wished he had the ability to Travel. Unfortunately, no Incubus had lost that ability to him in one of his high-stakes card games yet. What was in his arsenal of TFPs? Among all the talents, favors, and powers he’d won at his clubs, there had to be something.
Come on. Think.
Then it came to him.
The Evo.
He’d been saving this particular power in case he needed it to get Ridley out of the labs, but if he got caught before he found her, it would be worthless.
An Evo had lost his powers to Nox in the same winner-take-all series of Liar’s Trade that Ridley had almost won. It had been a nasty game, but Nox remembered it fondly. It was that night
that had first brought Ridley into his club.
Evos had the ability to Morph and make themselves look and sound like anyone they wanted—a power Nox could use right about now.
Nox pulled the queen of hearts out of his jacket pocket and whispered the words to make the power his. At least temporarily.
Quid opus est me.
Make me who I want to be.
Morphing into Silas was too risky, considering he could be somewhere in the labs right now. So Nox picked someone else.
Someone insignificant and unnoticeable. Someone who could move through the hallways without attracting any attention.
The tingle started in his toes and traveled up his legs and torso until it felt more like a sting, only one that radiated across his entire body. He glanced down at his arms, now hidden beneath a white lab coat, and flexed the fingers that looked nothing like his own.
It’s done.
Nox caught a glimpse of the woman first, as she came up the stairs. She was abnormally tall—most likely a Darkborn.
The Incubus next to her looked like one of Silas’ standard thugs. He glanced at Nox. “What are you doin’ here, Doc? I thought you said you were leaving.”
“I am,” Nox said. “I was just finishing up a few things.” Nox realized how lucky he was that he’d heard the guy in the lab coat talking in the hallway. Even an Evo couldn’t impersonate someone else’s voice unless they had actually heard it before.
The Darkborn hesitated for a moment and gave Nox a strange look.
Nox shrugged.
All he could think about was Sampson’s crazy instincts. He had no idea how far they extended, or if they were unique to Sampson.
Please don’t ask where I’m going, since I have no clue.
The Incubus hit the Darkborn on the shoulder lightly. “Let’s go.”
She nodded. “Take it easy, Doc.”
A moment later, he heard the two of them talking to someone else. They must’ve caught up with whoever was coming.
Nox rushed down the stairs, careful to keep his footsteps silent. The tingling had turned back into a sting, and he didn’t know how much longer this Evo power would last. That was the problem with borrowed powers; they were unstable by nature. And the more powerful the Caster they belonged to was, the longer they lasted. The guy who had lost his powers to Nox must have been pretty low on the food chain.