She should have gone willingly with the Brotherhood when they’d first arrived, but she’d panicked. They didn’t evaluate the guilt of their prisoners, because they operated with one hundred percent certainty. To be honest, she’d never questioned them before either. The Brotherhood was always right, and the world needed them to act decisively or the demons would win.

At least, they’d always been right until now.

Now, even Josiah wouldn’t be able to help her. Kind of hard to claim you were innocent of magic when you ran off clinging to a shadow mage’s chest.

Her dark hair whipped wildly around her head, and the wind stung her skin through her blood-soaked shirt. The mage had offered to help her, but there would be a price. With mages, nothing was ever what it seemed.

She forced herself to block out the agony. They raced down Mass Ave, heading for Harvard Square—the location of the Brotherhood’s Chambers. Why the hell would he take her to the Brotherhood? But as they wove through Harvard Square’s congested intersection it was clear the mage had other plans. He was probably ushering her to his demon harem right now.

She felt sick. Her life was over, and she didn’t even know why. Sure, she’d screwed up tonight, but she was innocent.

If anyone had answers to this catastrophe, it was the shadow mage. She wanted to ask him everything he knew, even though he turned her stomach in knots of fear.

“Why do they think I’m a mage?” she shouted as they tore down Brattle Street.

He ignored her.

They zoomed past a row of old Victorian mansions before veering sharply left—heading right for wrought-iron cemetery gate. It swung open just as they approached.

At the sight of the gently sloping paths and marble graves, she shuddered with cold recognition. He’d taken her to Mount Auburn Cemetery. The place wasn’t so much a graveyard as a full-blown Victorian necropolis—a walled city of the dead, complete with street names and towering mausoleums.

And this was the point where she’d learn how she would die.

Chapter 5

She ran through the options of what might happen in the next hour. Hanging? Impalement? Crushed to death by rocks? Like an idiot, she’d come here willingly—though her shoulder hurt so badly that death almost seemed like a mercy at this point.

Just as their bodies shimmered back to visibility, the mage pulled up outside a looming gothic chapel, its towering walls built from dark granite. He parked his bike in the shadows and turned off the engine.

She loosened her grip on his waist, grimacing at the pain when she shifted position. “What are we doing here?”

“This is your safe haven. Abduxiel Mansion.” He stepped off the bike. “I’m going to heal your shoulder, and then you’re going inside.”

Rosalind gritted her teeth, crippled by pain. It felt like the bullet must have shattered her collarbone.

He moved closer. Gently, he tugged down the collar of her white shirt, exposing her wounded shoulder.