Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,173

curling my chin to my chest, struggling for air, that I realize what scarf I’m wearing.

It pulls a startled, disbelieving laugh from my throat.

It’s the scarf I knitted for Heston.

I started it on a whim, that day I was trying to make him feel better. We’d watched that episode of Lakevale together over cold Chinese food. After his whole rant about the school colors, I got the idea to make one just for him; black and neon green.

Black, to represent the persistent state of decay.

Green, to represent growth and life.

It’d all felt so stupidly cerebral at the time, like I was making some grand statement in the form of yarn. I’d crawled out of his bed later that night and gone straight back to my dorm to start it. Of course, once I’d finished it, I realized it looked hideous.

In short, it was perfect for him.

Now, I wish I’d burned it.

The cold slaps me in the face when I step out of the car, squinting in the direction of Underworld’s entrance through the dense fog. It looks dark and empty, no signs of life. It isn’t until I turn to cross the intersection that I see him.

Heston’s car is parked across the road, his silhouette perched on the hood, tipping back a large bottle to his mouth. I cross my arms tight around my middle, ducking my head against the wind as I warily approach him, eyes scanning the surrounding lot.

When I get close enough, I can make out the details. Despite the biting cold, he’s wearing nothing but jeans and an old, faded hoodie. When he sees me, throat bobbing with a swallow of whatever he’s drinking, he looks just as exhausted as he had before, only now his eyes are red and a little glazed.

We stare at each other for a long moment, something sharp and bad-smelling burning my nostrils.

His face is unreadable, marked with tired lines and tense edges, but his eyes say enough. “I couldn’t find it.”

I say nothing, watching as he drops his gaze to the bottle in his hand. Inside, my stomach turns over on itself, knowing that it’s over.

“I looked—I swear I looked everywhere, and it’s just…” He pushes his hair back, shoulders curved into a defeated line. “It’s a big fucking building. It’d take me weeks to go through everything. But I don’t have weeks.” His smile is sharp, laced with bitterness. “Gene’s going to come tonight to get it, and I can’t do anything to stop him.”

My mouth works around my dry, paralyzed tongue. “Who’s Gene?”

Heston licks his lips, a distant streetlight catching on the flat press of them. “Doesn’t matter. It’s not about him. It’s about me.” A gust of wind cuts through the lot, making his hair sway lifelessly in front of his eyes. “I just needed you to know, because you’re the only good thing in my life. Everything else has been a constant avalanche of shit. My family. Collins. Gene. Everything just always fucking sucks now. But you? You’re the one thing here that’s worth half a damn. And I fucked it up.” He finally looks up, meeting my gaze. My blood runs cold at the deadness there. “I fucked up, Georgia.”

“Heston…” I try to inhale, lungs burning from either the cold or the panic clutching my chest at the defeat in his eyes. “There’s still time. I can help look. We can get the Devils to come, we can all—”

It’s like he doesn’t hear me, raising his eyes to the building behind me. “I fucked it up, because aside from swimming and fucking, that’s apparently all I’m good at. I see that now.” He spreads his arms wide. “It’s my superpower. I can ruin anything I touch.” He raises his bottle of whisky to something over my shoulder, looking weirdly proud. “Case in point…”

I turn, feeling completely lost, deciding he must be too drunk to make sense.

My eyes grow wide when it hits me.

The eerie glow in the sky isn’t the distant skyline of Northridge.

My lungs aren’t burning from the cold.

It’s not foggy out here.

Above the arch of Underworld’s entrance, flames lick at the sky. Thick, black smoke billows like a rolling cloud above the roof. My arms drop limp to my sides as I look on, wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

“Thank god for shitty wiring.”

“What the hell—”

“I know what you’re thinking. Don’t worry.” At some point, he’s sidled up to me. Unable to peel my eyes away from the flames slowly rising out of the roof, I