Page 120 of Heart of Thieves

“Nic,” my mouth barks, a warning, and then horror lances through me as another sensation unfurls in my chest.

The icy curl of my magic.

It’s like there are fingers in its stream, eddying the currents, splashing clumsily, looking for purchase. Whoever has commandeered my body seems to be able to make me wield my power, as well.

Who are you? I scream in my head.

But they must not have access to my thoughts, because there is no response.

“Nic, get out now!” my captor snaps through my teeth.

Sweat beads on his brow as he fumbles with the wires.

“I tore out the gear shift,” my captor growls impatiently. “Even if you manage to start it, you’re not going anywhere.”

But when Nic still doesn’t even glance my way, my captor turns to face their army. As my eyes scan each face, I recognize several of them from previous rounds of the game. Players I competed alongside back in the University of Aethera library and again at the Warthington Theater.

Is this part of round three, somehow? The barest sliver of hope feathers through me. Maybe this is the final challenge—finding our way out of not a location but the captivity of our own bodies?

If that’s the case, then there will have to be clues. I just need to look for them.

Seized with a determination that borders on insanity, I search for a chink in my captor’s control. A weakness. A crack.

“Ah,” my captor says, eyes landing on a man at the center of the crowd. He moves forward stiffly, weaving between the others, each movement jerky, as though his limbs don’t quite work right. When he steps into the line of the headlights, I recognize him instantly.

This was not a player in Nocturne’s game. It was Nic’s head of security, Paol Chen. Dark, glossy hair hangs over terrified black eyes.

“Paol!” Nic’s cry is little more than a gasp.

Paol’s gaze flicks toward Nic in a silent plea.

“If you don’t get out of that vehicle right now,” my mouth says, calm yet lethal, “I’ll have Enzo here drain his soullight.”

Blood roars in my ears. If this is part of Nocturne’s game, surely she wouldn’t hurt Paol, right? This has to be a test. Or maybe a clue.

My mind races, but dizziness churns through me, the pounding of Lola’s heart intensifying until it’s all I can do to stay upright. Sweat prickles, cold on my brow.

Nic glares at me. “You’re better than this, Laurel.”

Laurel?

My captor curls my hands into fists so tight my fingernails dig into my palms. “I am, but apparently you are not.”

My body moves forward, pressing one of my empty voratium pendants to Paol’s slender throat and pulling his life force out of him. Clumsily at first, but as my captor gets the hang of my magic, they pull it in harder and faster.

Suddenly, all I hear is that priest’s rasping breath as I sucked out his soullight, so ravenously hungry I could not pause even if I wanted to.

Stop, I try to say to whatever force is using my body. Nocturne? Laurel? Whoever you are, STOP!

“Laurel, stop!” Nic repeats my words aloud, stumbling out of the vehicle, pelting for us.

He reaches us just in time to catch Paol’s body as it drops.

He and I gape at his friend, who stares unseeing at the sky, ashen and pale as though I drew out his blood alongside his soullight. Horror streaks through me like lightning.

This is not a game.

“Are you ready to let me back in?” My voice comes out a whisper, a rasp. Light as moth wings, dripping with warning.