Bracing herself on the counter, she looked up to the ceiling and realized it was the whole house. . . . Her family’s brick house, which had stood without budging on its solid foundation for two hundred years, was groaning as if it were about to be torn off from its hold on the ground.

Her eyes went to the glass wall. She couldn’t see anything but shadows moving because of the wind . . . except they weren’t right. They didn’t . . . move right.

Transfixed by the sight of dark patterns shifting around over the ground like thick oil, she felt her mind bend as it tried to form an explanation for what her eyes were taking in.

“What is . . . that?” she breathed.

“Get down behind the counter.” Isaac glanced up to the ceiling as the house let out another curse. “Come on, baby, hold your own.”

Falling to her knees, she looked at the old mirror across the way. On its wavy plane, she could see out the windows into the garden and watch those all-wrongs wending around.

“Isaac, get away from the door—”

A pealing scream filled the air, and Grier let out a shout and covered her ears. Isaac didn’t even flinch, however—and she took strength from him.

“Fire alarm,” he yelled. “It’s the fire alarm!”

He lunged for the cooktop and shoved the smoking omelet to the side, canning the flame on the burner with a quick twist. “Do what you have to,” he barked. “But make sure the fire department doesn’t show up!”

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 23

Matthias drove the last leg of the trip himself. He’d been flown into this town from his little detour over in Boston because although he could pilot a number of different aircrafts, he’d been stripped of his wings since his injuries.

But at least he was still able to drive, goddamn it.

The flight from Beantown to Caldwell had been short and sweet, and the Caldwell International Airport was a breeze—although when you had his level of clearance, the TSA types never got anywhere near you or your bags.

Not that he’d brought any luggage with him—other than that which he carried around in his brain.

His car was yet another black-on-black unmarked with armor plating and glass thick enough to give any bullet a concussion. It was just like the one he’d had when he’d paid Grier Childe a visit . . . and just like the one he’d have in any city he went to, at home or abroad.

He’d told nobody but his number two where he was going—and even his most trusted didn’t know the why behind it. There were no problems with the secrecy, however: The good thing with being the darkest shadow among a legion of them was that when you up and disappeared, it was part of your fucking job and no one asked any questions.