by vibrant green ferns. On it is a carved symbol—a star with an eye in the very center.
We stop before it and almost immediately Tinksley seems confused that nothing is happening. She glances up at me, curious brow arched high.
“Are we doing something wrong?”
“No.” I chuckle, retrieving something from my pocket. “We need this.”
A large coin sits nestled between my fingers. Tinksley observes it, her head tilting aside. “What is it?”
“British currency. It’s a two pound coin.”
“Is this what Peter really needed to access the portal?”
I nod. “If he’s gone back where I think he has, yes. The portal takes you anywhere your heart desires. However, to get there, one must possess something tangible from where they’re looking to cross.”
“So if the sacrifice was nothing more than a ploy, how’d he get there then?”
“Dark magic, I’m sure, or perhaps a loophole. Not important now, though.” Slipping the coin between our joined hands, I lace our fingers tighter to form a secure seal and return my sights to the ancient symbol. "Are you ready?"
Tinksley nods, gazing at the symbol herself.
“Here we go…” I suck in a deep breath. “Portai Immorenia.”
And then...we’re gone.
♫ Look What You Made Me Do - Taylor Swift ♫
Location: London, United Kingdom
The stories I’d heard don’t do this world justice.
None of them.
Everything is so different from home; all the structures, the people, their fashion, even the food. There’s transportation of all varieties, technology most beings in Rosewood can’t even fathom.
I’m literally awed, unable to keep my sights on one thing for more than a few fleeting moments.
Callan, on the other hand, seems right at home here. Calm and cool, he acknowledges anyone who greets him, offering a “good day” or a simple tip of his head. Even at the inn—which was jaw droppingly beautiful—he checked us in without batting a single lash.
How many times has he been here?
“Fancy meeting you here,” Kaz quips later that night in his best British accent as he slides into our booth at a local pub and scoots all the way to my side.
Malik, Emil, Assad, Draegan, Leandre, and Armand slip in right behind him. Sam, too, who takes the spot at the edge near the Captain.
Hook takes a sip from his tumbler. “And Cassius?”
“He decided to stay behind. Figured someone needed to keep an eye on things while we were gone,” Sam offers with a shrug.
“Good thinking on his part. Not that I trust him to actually handle anything, but he isn’t needed here. Anyway, how’s Marlena?”
“Handled,” Emil answers, reclining back with his arms behind his head.
“Did the witches collect what belongs to them?”
“They did, yes.”
“I’m assuming this means we’re down a faction?” Callan presses.
“Last time I checked, no,” Malik chimes. “The sirens were alive and well. What Persia did after we left, I’m not sure.”
Knowing Persia, she didn’t kill them. Death would’ve been the better option for Marlena. Persia’s fury isn’t one to test.
“Guess we’ll find out when we finally make it home,” Emil muses.
“How long would you say?” Sam quizzes. He looks tired, worn.
“I’m not sure considering we still need to find the boy,” Callan states.
“Shouldn’t be too hard, Cap. Fawn and Jewel mentioned the coven was responsible for keeping an eye on Pan as he was growing up and he would spend a lot of time in Covent Garden. All we have to do is go down there and—”
“And what? Demand a coven we aren’t familiar with to help a brood of vampires?” Kaz scoffs, prompting Sam to flash him a dubious glare.
“I’m not above compulsion if I have to.”
“Absolutely not.” Hook holds a hand up. “We treat them with the same respect in which we give the Six.”
Kaz, who I’ve quickly learned always has something to say, rolls his eyes and leans back with crossed arms. “You’re losing your edge, old man. That love bug has you on some shit—no offense, T.”
I’m not offended, only stunned to hear the word love fly free from his mouth and Hook not so much as flinch.
“Perhaps, though, I like to think I’m simply mastering the art of restraint. There is a time and place for impulse, Kazimir, and I can assure you that right now is not it.”
“Kaz, please—silence,” Armand advises, another statement that sends Kaz’s eyes for a spin.
“Broody bastards.”
“Anyway, as we were saying,” comes through Armand’s gritted teeth. “First order of business: locate Pan. What’s step two?”
“We’ll need a few days to learn his patterns, his new schedule. When and where he awakes each morning, if he has a