kit like the one Cal used a few days ago, but he’s not in the small foyer. “David? Dr. O’Connell?”
“Did we get the address wrong?” Cal steps back and checks the number on the house. “One sixteen, apartment B?”
“Hang on.” I double-check the address David texted me. “Yeah, this is it.” I push open the door and step inside. Even without my magic, there’s this feeling of wrongness to the air. I pause in the living room, unsure if I should venture any farther into the small space.
The apartment shows signs of rushed, late-night cleaning, but it’s still hopelessly cluttered. There are stacks of papers on nearly every surface. A spilled pile of what looks like half-graded chemistry assignments sits beside a short stack of thick leather notebooks.
Cautiously, I crack open the top journal. I’m greeted by page after page of tight swirls and methodical loops. “Do you think this is his research?” I ask Cal, keeping my voice low.
Cal peers around me at the pages of coded notes. He lets out a low whistle. “Looks like it. Are all three journals full?”
I quickly flip through the two other books—careful not to make too much noise so David doesn’t catch us going through his things—and find them similarly packed. “There’s so much. Can you read any of it?”
“With time to properly learn this style? Probably. But right now, it’s as meaningless to me as it is to you.”
“Well then,” I say, closing the books and making sure they’re in the same order I found them, “we’d better make sure David agrees to help.” I continue deeper into the apartment. “Dr. O’Connell? It’s Hannah Walsh. We were supposed to meet here this morning.” I’m practically shouting now, but I still get no response.
The small kitchen is clean except for a pan of burnt eggs on the stove and a plate of cold toast beside it. Smoke lingers in the air, but it’s taken on a stale edge. Is David running late? Did he give up on his sad attempt at breakfast and run out for something to eat?
Deeper in the apartment, I hear the steady spray of water and trace it to a bathroom. Thank the Middle Sister. I cast my eyes to the sky, even though I know the Sister Goddesses don’t have any say over what happens here.
“Excuse me?” I knock on the bathroom door. “I don’t mean to disturb you, but—” The door swings open, and steam escapes into the hall. I avert my eyes, heat warming my face. “Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to open the door.”
The spray of the shower against the tub is his only answer.
“Dr. O’Connell? Are you okay?” Cal steps closer and peers into the steam-filled room. “Dr. O’Connell?” Worry pitches his tone, and when the Caster still doesn’t respond, Cal turns to me. “Hannah, can you?”
“I’ll try.” I reach for the particles of water in the air, let their power hum in my chest. Magic prickles along my skin, and I think of Morgan. Of the way her smile lights up my insides. The heavy door that blocks my power feels more like a sheer curtain, and I reach through and grasp hold of the steam.
The air whispers danger across my skin, and the sudden fear cuts the tether to my power. Pain strikes hot and fast down my spine, and my knees buckle. I hit the floor, and something wet seeps into my pants.
“No. No, no, no.” I scramble forward to David’s still body and put pressure on the small hole in his chest. Blood coats my fingers. It soaks deeper into my clothes. I shut my eyes, desperate to block the horror of his vacant expression. “Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead.”
Behind my eyes, a parade of horrors crashes through my memory. Gemma bleeding out in my car, her injury turning the water pink then red as we sank farther beneath the surface. A pool of blood on Veronica’s floor. Savannah tied to a chair, telling me my ex had been shot. Dad’s eyes rolling back in his head, his body beginning to shake.
My throat closes, and I press harder on David’s chest. No one else is going to die. The Hunters can’t take any more of us.
But then I register the cold against my skin. The stillness of his chest. The warm hand tugging hard on my arm. I force myself to look at the scientist—to really look. His eyes are glazed and unseeing. Behind me,