Page 122 of Fallacies

“I’ve got to do something.”

Anything is better than sitting here, counting down the seconds until the stars come out, having no idea what she’s going through until then. I can’t do it. I simply can’t.

Devon leans forward, glaring at me over the top of the flames. I expect him to tell me I’m a fucking idiot. To prattle off at least three reasons why it’s a bad idea. But then he says, “I’ll go with you.”

No argument. No judgment. No scolding.

Pax looks just as confused at his response as I am, but I think Devon knows I’m going either way. With or without him. And there’s no way in hell he’d let me go alone.

So, I nod, returning to my dinner.

Blissful silence falls, the crackle of the fire and the occasional ruffle of leaves the only sound. I finish my dinner, setting my plate aside with everyone else’s and return to my seat, watching Pax beat Phoenix in another hand of cards. Nix curses, sliding a handful of candy into Pax’s pile of winnings.

Easton has a book open, something about wards if I had to guess, and he looks pensive about whatever it is he’s reading. So does Hunter, who leans over his shoulder, trying to make sense of what he’s looking at.

Devon reaches over the fire, moving to grab the empty pot off the metal rack, when an explosion of sparks knocks him backwards.

I jump to my feet.

“What the fuck?” Pax curses, standing so fast he knocks over the crate he and Nix had been playing on.

“Was that you, Nix?” Hunter asks, slowly circling the fire.

“No,” he denies, raising both hands in front of him. “I swear.”

I pull my attention off the fire only long enough to look at Devon. “D?”

“I’m good.”

Another burst of sparks explodes between us, and the flames triple in size. Deep red and orange hues burn so high I can no longer see Devon across them.

Beside me, Easton surges forward, his hand extended to snuff it.

“Wait!” I rush out, grabbing his sleeve.

He freezes, noticing it in the same moment I do—the shifting of the flames. One second, they are moving like fire, and the next, they are curving into shapes. Twisting into the spitting image of⁠—

“Delia?”

Her face appears between the sparks, her head turning in my direction. “I have to be quick,” she says, her voice distorted.

Gods.

“Holy shit,” Nix swears.

Apparating is a power reserved only for the Dianic coven—to appear in a place your body isn’t. It’s rarely used because of the toll it takes on their bodies and their magic. Even a few minutes of the act can require weeks of replenishing.

What the hell could be worth that risk?

“The Nyrith had a vision,” Delia confesses, and my blood runs cold.

Pa hasn’t had a vision since we were kids. Diviners can catch glimpses of future events, suggestions on how things will play out, but a Nyrith vision is a forced revelation of Fate. They are rare enough that we really don’t know much about them.

The image of Delia burns a deep orange, a pinch between her brows the only indication that this is draining her. “A vision...of the Hound.”

Easton shoots me a glare, brows halfway up his forehead in a silent ‘I told you so.’

He’s the only one who thought it might be possible—the Hound on Vita. He’d suggested we be prepared just in case, but there is no preparing in that scenario. There’s no fighting, and there’s no running.