Nox shuddered.
Ridley in chains. In captivity. Begging for her life. Nox felt ill at the thought, especially knowing how much Silas would enjoy it. “Do what you want. I’m not partial to Sirens myself.”
“Too many memories?” Silas leered. “Because if I remember correctly, your mother had no problem granting all my wishes when she worked for my grandfather. At least, when she wasn’t busy being Abraham’s little whore.”
Nox fought back a wave of hot anger.
Steady.
Instead, he imagined taking the Charmed switchblade out of his pocket and holding it to Silas Ravenwood’s throat. How the skin would part, how the blood would rush to the surface. How the body would fall.
Nox drew a breath, leaving his eyes fixed on Silas. “Fine. Take them off my hands tomorrow night. It’ll be easier if I lock them up at the club and you come and get them.”
“Tomorrow?” Silas was caught off guard, it seemed.
Nox shrugged. “The hybrid’s unpredictable, a real pain in the ass. But he’ll be playing at the club, which means the Siren will be there, too. I’ll shut them up in the supply room in the basement.” He smiled. “À la carte and to go.”
Silas thought about it for a minute. Finally, he nodded.
“Be sure to knock the Incubus out first. We’re a lot smarter than you Casters, so you have to take precautions. If he’s learned anything about Traveling, he’ll know he can take the Siren with him.”
“Naturally.”
Silas stubbed out the cigar on the railing, next to Nox’s hand. “Tomorrow night. If they’re not there, you’ll be the one to pay for it.”
Nox tried to keep his expression unreadable. “As if I’d expect anything less.”
“Have I ever showed you my tattoo?” Silas rolled up his sleeve another few inches. Two words curved around the front of the Incubus’s bicep.
No mercy.
“My grandfather cut it into my arm himself.” Silas let his sleeve fall. He snapped his fingers and the door of the observation platform opened behind him.
After Silas was gone, Nox stayed on the roof. There was one more thing he needed to do, and he wanted to do it before he changed his mind.
He pulled a matchbook from his pocket and ran his fingers over the six letters on the cover.
Nox couldn’t see his own future, but he wasn’t sure it mattered, not anymore. His future wasn’t the one he needed to see.
He had to see hers.
Nox had seen the fire and the chains, and he’d started the biggest con of his life. He needed to know if it was going to work—if he could protect her.
No matter how she felt about him, he still had to know.
He struck the match. The smell of sulfur crept into his nostrils.
He lifted his eyes, and there, in the darkness, he saw the last days of Ridley Duchannes’ life.
For the third and final time.
And then, as the clouds rolled in, he did something else. He made a plan to change them.
The four of them sat eating hot dogs on a pile of rocks in Central Park, shrouded by trees. The sky was dark, and rain was on the way.
Only rain, if we’re lucky.
But when are we ever lucky?
Rid could still hear the traffic from Central Park South. The sound of the chaos was comforting. After what Nox had told her, Ridley didn’t feel safe anywhere, but there was only so long the others were willing to stay sandwiched between protective candles.
Hiding in crowded public spaces—Mortal spaces—was the only other idea she’d come up with.
And sticking together.
“That’s the big plan? The best you could come up with?” Floyd sounded skeptical. She shoved the rest of her hot dog into her mouth.
“Yeah.” Link glared. “Seein’ as the marines were already busy.”
“You think this could actually work?” Necro tossed her dog back into the paper. “Silas will buy it?” She was bouncing back faster than anyone had thought she could, especially considering it had only been a day since she was lying unconscious on her deathbed.
Even so, the hot dog was ambitious.
“He might.” Link sighed. “Maybe.”
Ridley couldn’t eat, either. “It’s a long shot. If you guys don’t want to do it, I understand.” She jammed her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket and shivered.
“What does that mean?” Necro picked at the awkward bandage on her neck.
“It means that I wasn’t straight with Link, and I wasn’t straight with you. And I’m sorry about that.” Ridley sounded miserable. “About a lot of things.”
Necro looked at her. Floyd didn’t.
Link stayed silent.
In the distance, two taxi drivers cussed each other out. Horns blared, and cars roared past.
“You want to know what I think?” Necro asked.
Rid wasn’t sure.
“You, Ridley Duchannes, are a giant bitch. A full-blown Yoko Ono.” Necro said the words slowly. Then she looked at Floyd, who shrugged.
Ridley stiffened. “And?”
“And I think John Ono Lennon was one of the greatest musicians in the history of the known universe.” Necro smiled.
Ridley was caught off guard. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Every band needs a Yoko. And Silas Ravenwood can suck it. Nobody messes with my band. Right, Floyd?”
Floyd wadded up her hot dog wrapper. “The girl has a point.”
Necro held up her fist. “Pound it, sister. Silas Ravenwood is going down.”
Floyd held up hers.
Then Link. “Don’t leave a guy hangin’.”
Ridley didn’t.
“Now,” said Necro, rubbing her blue faux-hawk. “Think you can do anything with this hair? I’m feeling like tonight calls for a Brooklyn Blowout.”
“No time. We have to meet Nox back at the apartment.” Ridley slid down from the rock, her short kilt snagging on the way.
“Tell me he’s bringing us a pizza,” Necro said, sliding down after her. “Anything but hot dogs.”
“Even better,” Ridley said as Link and Floyd climbed down from the rock. “He’s bringing us the blueprints to Sirene.”
CHAPTER 34
Symphony of Destruction
This is a hellhole,” Ridley muttered from her seat on the dank basement floor.
“You think?” Link sat next to her, staring up at the ceiling, where some kind of plumbing leaked through the planks and plaster.
Not just a hellhole. A prison, she thought. You could almost hear the rats scurrying behind the kegs.
How did I end up in a dirty basement in the bottom of a nightclub in Brooklyn? Afraid for my future? Hiding from Silas Ravenwood?
They waited in silence. There wasn’t much left to talk about at a time like this.
Twenty-four hours of planning didn’t make tonight any better. The band had still ridden to the club in tense silence. The moldy basement beneath Sirene was still dank and deserted. Nox was still pacing in his office as if it was opening night.
It wasn’t.
There were no Casters crowding in. No DayGlo Sirenes selling Nectar of the Gods. No bartenders, no band.
Not on this level of the club, which had been locked off from the rest of the world, just as Nox had promised Silas it would be.
This storage room made the Underground look like the Happiest Place on Earth.
Ridley could feel the bass beat begin pounding through the walls. Nox had his house DJ covering for them. Every sound made her jump.
“Music’s come up,” Link said, listening.
“Yep.” Won’t be long now, she thought.
“We should be out there.” He sounded wistful.
“Not tonight, we shouldn’t.”
“Guess not.”
Rid smiled at him. “You had a good run, Shrinky Dink.”
“Yeah. Sirensong.” He said the name like he was filing it away in his graveyard of failed bands.
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Who Shot Lincoln. The Holy Rollers. Meatstik. Sirensong.
Rid picked at a pink glitter nail. “It wasn’t all Nox, you know. Not all of it.”
Link didn’t take the bait. “Sure. It was also his mom’s Siren lyre.”
“Link.”
“Guess there’s no way to find out now.” Link sighed and looked at her. “It doesn’t matter, Rid. We gotta get outta here and get safe.” Get you out of here and get you safe. That was what he was thinking. Ridley knew Link well enough to know that, no matter how mad he might be at her.
She had always been his first priority. Taking care of her. Doing the right thing by her. Caring about her. She didn’t know why it had taken her so long to believe it.
Guess there’s no way to find out now.
She resisted the urge to reach out to him, if only to lay her hand on his arm. It was strange, having to remember not to touch him.
I did this.