“They’re right.” Colin’s voice cracks. I can tell he’s trying to be strong. I want to tell him he doesn’t have to, but the words won’t come.

He shakes his head. “I couldn’t even defend myself, Anna, let alone you. The one time I needed my powers, I couldn’t even summon something. I’m a danger to you all. I should go.”

“But—” I start, the truth on the tip of my tongue, but stop when Nora lays a hand on my shoulder.

“Let him go, honey,” she says gently. “It’s just until we figure things out.”

Uncle Roy steps up beside him. “Come on, I know just the place.”

Chapter 19: Colin

Everything happens so quickly.

I gather my things from my room, packing them all into my battered old bag. It isn’t until I zip it closed that I realize part of me had hoped I’d never need to pack it again.

Part of me had hoped I’d found a home, that maybe when Liam returned, we could stay here forever.

I hold my breath, refusing to let my emotions get the better of me as I rejoin Roy on the front porch in the biting evening air. He offers me an apologetic look, and I want to tell him it’s okay, that I’m fine, but the words won’t come out. We climb into his truck in silence.

The last image I see as we circle around the drive is the Charger sitting in the dark.

My thoughts hound me the whole way, as merciless as the rain pounding against the truck’s windows. The windshield wipers screech with each brush across the glass, punctuating each thought:

I’m descended from the King of the Dead.

Screech.

Because of me, Anna got hurt.

Screech.

I might have killed Max’s friend.

Screech.

I stare down at my hands and imagine them coated in blood.

Roy fiddles with the radio, but only static comes through, and he eventually turns it off. The whine of the windshield wipers and the hum of the truck’s snow tires on the wet highway fill the silence.

It only takes a few minutes to reach town. Roy turns the truck down a series of side streets before pulling into the parking lot with a glowing neon sign that reads, WHEN IN WICK and below it, MOTEL.

Something cold and broken in me actually laughs, and Roy gives me an uneasy look. I realize he might think Fin is doing something to me now, but I don’t have the energy left to explain that my life apparently begins and ends with motels.

He pulls the truck into a parking space and cuts the engine.

“A, uh, friend of ours owns this place,” he says after a moment’s silence. “A witch. It’s warded, so you should be safe.”