Tarot Academy 4 - Sarah Piper Page 0,30

few things from the archives,” I say. “Then we’ll head out.”

“Archives? What could you possibly need tonight?”

“The primary sources for the prophecies. Melissa Milan’s journals, Stevie’s translations, some of the other magickal books we’ve been working with.”

“But… but what about your backups?” Casey asks. Alarm tinges her voice, filling me with new dread.

“We really need the source material,” I say.

Casey shakes her head, eyes glazing with something that looks a lot like sympathy.

My heart jackhammers in my chest, my mouth going dry. “What happened?”

“I’m sorry, Kirin. Whoever stole your computers… They hit the archives too.”

“When you say hit the archives…”

“There’s nothing left but the furniture. Everything else was completely stripped. I… I’m sorry.”

Casey’s phone buzzes in her pocket, and she finally looks away, pulling it out to check the text.

“Who is it?” Baz asks.

“Quintana. Time’s up, guys. I have to go.” Casey thumbs a quick reply, then puts the phone away and heads for the door, turning back to me with a final plea. “Promise me you’ll go straight back to Red Sands?”

I nod mutely, watching her slip out of the office and into the dark library beyond, feeling like I’ve just lost a piece of my soul.

“That sister of yours is a real charmer.” Baz grabs his duffel bag, then clamps a hand over my shoulder. “We’re not seriously going back to Red Sands, right?”

“Not on your fucking life, brother.” I scoop the backups out of the Tarot book, shove them into my pocket, and follow Agent Casey Appleton out into the lion’s den.

Twelve

STEVIE

Panic seizes my body as the rushing water sucks me under. Far above, a red light glows, soft and inviting, calling me home.

Lungs burning, desperate for a gulp of air, I fight against the current and reach for that light with everything I have, but I’m no match for the vicious churn. I try once more, only for my legs to cramp up and freeze. I’m utterly paralyzed, engulfed by the icy red darkness.

Bright spots dance before my eyes, and my mouth opens in desperate confusion, the cold, dark water rushing in to steal the last of my air…

An arm snakes around my midsection and clamps down tight. Adrenaline spikes in a hot rush, and suddenly I’m rocketing upward.

We burst through the surface, air rushing into my lungs with a force so strong and fierce, my first full breath feels like liquid fire.

“Don’t fight me!” He commands from behind, his voice dark and urgent. I try to place it, but the sound of the rushing water is too loud, too disorienting.

“Damn it, Stevie!” He tightens his hold, nearly crushing me against his rock-solid chest. “Stop struggling! I’m not going to hurt you!”

A trick. It has to be.

Half-drowned, half-rabid with fear, I kick and fight, clawing at my attacker’s arm. I dig my nails in, flailing like a beached fish, kicking his shins and thighs, gulping up as much air as I can before he drags me back down.

But the churning water renders my attacks useless, and my captor’s grip is too strong. The harder I fight, the harder he holds on, finally draining the last of my reserves.

The current thrashes me from all sides, filling my mouth with rust-red water that makes me sputter and cough. My whole body goes boneless in his arms.

“Relax,” the man says, his mouth close to my ear, his grip loosening just enough to let me breathe. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now. I promise I won’t let you go.”

His voice is less urgent now, the deep, resonant sound of it almost comforting as he navigates us through the water.

With little strength to do much else, I reach out for his energy—it’s calming and warm. Protective, just like his touch.

My heart suddenly thaws, the numbness receding from my extremities.

I know that energy. That voice. The warmth of his touch…

“Doc!” I breathe. Recognition finally shatters the spell of irrational fear, and tears of relief sting my eyes. I squeeze his arm—gently this time—to let him know I understand.

Still holding me close, he raises his free hand and recites a water spell. The vicious churning abates, and the water—frothy and furious just moments ago—settles into a gentle flow.

He guides us to rest of the way to the shore, and together we climb out, pulling ourselves to the top of the bank. I sit down hard and pull my knees to my chest, desperate to ease the chill.

Doc wraps me in his arms and pulls me close, pressing a kiss to the top of