I glanced at Xander’s phone, which I held in my throbbing right hand. Why sneak this to me, unless he meant for me to use it? Use it for what, though? To call the police? No. That was dumb.
Except, maybe it wasn’t.
The key disengaged the lock to Xander’s office door, and I stepped into the room. My duffle bag was still beside the sofa, where I’d left it. I sat and opened the bag, deciding which gun to grab. I didn’t have time to charge both Glocks with magic, so I had to choose one.
“I’m not playing favorites,” I said to them, grabbing Henrietta, “I promise.” I carried her across the room to Xander’s bulky desk and set her on the surface. Charging all the runes would take too long, so I had to be strategic. I also had to find some ammunition, carve a sigil into each round, and charge those runes, as well. Maybe that’s why Xander had handed me his phone—so I could keep in contact with the vehicle and provide updates on my progress. But I had my phone for that. So why his?
Sometimes, the most obvious solution to a puzzling problem is solved through a simple question. Why sneak his phone to me? My initial thought was correct—to call the police. Not just any police, though, because I could have called from my phone. But I didn’t have Dakota’s number stored in my contacts. Xander wanted me to call her. Why?
I opened his desk drawer in search of ammunition, making a mess of his organized office supplies. The top drawer yielded nothing but a pocketknife, and the middle drawer offered even less. I pulled out the bottom drawer and froze for a second. I grabbed Xander’s phone and dialed Dakota’s number.
“Come on,” I muttered. “Answer the phone.”
After the fourth ring, Dakota’s chirpy voice said, “Hello?”
“Dakota,” I said, “shit. I thought you—”
“Just kidding. Leave a message and I’ll call you back.”
The line beeped. “What the fuck is wrong with you and your voicemail?” I took a deep breath, refocusing on the call. We hadn’t exchanged numbers since I was suspected of multiple counts of murder and she was a homicide detective, so I had to make this call vague, yet specific. “Hey, it’s me. I’m drunk at the office and need a ride home.” I sighed again, silently cursing that I couldn’t make the message more clear, but as I figured out what to say next, the phone beeped in my ear. She was calling me back. I answered. “Hey, you ever try changing your goddamn voicemail message?”
“Did it get you?” Dakota asked, giggling.
“Get to Xander’s office immediately. Park a block away on the east side. Bring 9mm rounds, too. I’ll be out there waiting for you.”
“Wait, Joey—what the hell’s going on?”
“I’ll explain when you’re here. Don’t forget the ammunition.” To emphasize my duress and the need for expediency, I hung up the phone.
The window in Xander’s office opened to the beautiful view of an alley, which led to the back of the building and across the street—away from Gladas and Annabel… and Xander. I wasn’t sure why Xander had meant for me to call Dakota. Hell, I wasn’t even sure that’s what he meant for me to do. But I couldn’t second-guess myself. I had to trust my instincts, which ultimately meant trusting him and his judgment.
His way had led directly to Annie—the Scylla—without using Gladas as our lead. Because of that, the Demi was unable to spring a trap at the cabin with an Empousa, with the Scylla, or even with Circe waiting for us. He hadn’t been able to track our movements and provide up-to-date progress to his contacts. Instead, Xander had circumnavigated that, allowing use to arrive at the cabin as a complete surprise.
Gladas’s and the Empousa’s appearance at the cabin hadn’t shocked me. The Demi had probably tracked our movements ever since leaving the office. When he realized we were heading out to Annie’s cabin, he most likely called in a surprise of his own to incapacitate us. But why had he helped me find a cheat to access my new power? Why spill his cooperation with Circe? I didn’t have an answer to those questions, but I had to trust that Xander did. That meant trusting my gut feeling and allowing my instincts to guide me—because, though I hated to admit this, Gabriel was most likely using me right now to protect Xander from Gladas.
Opening the window, I stuffed Henrietta in my back waistband like a badass and hopped into the alley. As I neared the back of the building—and as my shitty-ass luck would have it—an Automaton stepped around the corner and cut me off. It had dark hair and no shirt and maybe possessed more tattoos over its body than I did. It held a pipe wrench in its right hand. Rapid footsteps sounded behind me, reverberating off the alley walls. I glanced back and saw another Automaton sprinting toward me. This one had to be no older than seventeen. If Gladas were into boys, he would’ve loved this skinny kid duel-wielding butcher knives.
“Guys,” I said, “how did you even find me here? Never mind, don’t answer that. I really don’t have time for this shit right now.”
With my right arm in a crude cast and my torso wrapped in bandages, stiffening my movement, I didn’t stand much of a chance against two Automatons—but what choice did I have? Allow them to take me to Hephaestus and barter with him? After I disrespected him and broke our pact in every possible way, he had allowed me a small head start. That would be about all the compassion the Nephil of the Forge had to offer. I doubted he would listen to more than two words from me before smashing my skull in with a hammer, or cursing me into an Automaton for eternity.
Even if I were at full health, these Cursed beings could probably
