Page 97 of Heart of Thieves

I am turning her away. I am closing down my casino. I am running, running, running.

I claw for purchase, but I’m in a tunnel. I’m underwater. I’m buried alive.

There is no air, no breathing, no feeling in this place. Only cold, cold, cold.

“Nic!” Lola cries from somewhere far away.

The Liar puppet laughs.

But I do not.

Because I am not a liar, and I am not a puppet, and while I may have made mistakes, I won’t let this be my fault.

I drag myself upward, outward, into my arms and my legs, my eyes and my heart, claw through with teeth and with fire, with anger and with passion.

Lola, I try to say, but my mouth only laughs Laurel’s laugh.

Stop! I try to shout, but she raises my hands, wields my magic.

I have done terrible things, but there is no immortal god ready to rain fire on my head nor judgmental parent to rain blows to my skin. Now that I am free of them, what do I fear?

A curse screaming in my ears telling me I deserve this. Pain in my veins reminding me I am wrong, I am bad, I am worthless. Magic freezing me solid to shield me from my wickedness.

But I am more.

More than the curse, more than the mistakes, more than the liar I’ve become.

As that thought takes root, the shame in me roils into something warmer, and I twitch a finger.

It moves, ever so slightly.

And that’s when I realize what Laurel’s magic feeds on. Not sins, as she claimed, and not fear, either.

Laurel’s magic feeds on shame.

I think of the people she targeted at Nocturne’s opening ceremony. How she focused on the man who begged for forgiveness for minor infractions, but ignored the one who purposely wronged people and felt no remorse. The difference wasn’t their sin. The difference was the hatred they heaped upon themselves for it.

Have I given shame the ability to control me?

Laurel’s hold slips. I claw my way through the cracks and back into my own body, seize my hands and feet, my arms, my head, my heart.

I lunge for Ostena just as Forsyth’s pistol goes off.

And then there is only pain.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

LOLA

“No!” I scream as Nic crumples, blood soaking from a garish wound at the juncture where his shoulder meets his neck.

Ostena lunges at me with the dagger, and Forsyth pelts my way with the pistol raised.

I drag in Nic’s magic—suddenly graspable again—and blast it at both of them. Not of pain, like I sent Ostena before, but sheer terror.

They falter, their weapons still raised. I increase the flow, ramming it at them with everything I am until they finally stumble backward, faces paling, eyes wide. Then they whirl and sprint out of the room.

I chase after them until I’m sure they’re truly gone, then rush to Nic’s side and roll him onto his back.