A human who’d turned. Like Tanis. Like the Horde. It was no wonder that the people of the Histories would come to a nasty end, as was spoken of in hushed tones around campfires—more than mere legends.

“I’m sorry your travels between the worlds had to come to such an abrupt end so soon, but I’ve been patient enough.”

“You’re bluffing; you only have three of the books,” he said.

“I assure you, I have the blue book, complete with the smudge of Darsal’s blood on the first page. I not only have it; I’ve used it to enter the simulation—Paradise—many times. I assume you know about the simulation. The skin of this world.”

“I’ve been there once. The man in the desert.”

“Oh, that—Red, one of Black’s creations gone rogue. As was White. Never mind them. I have all four books now, which is the key to the final three.”

“You’re underestimating Karas,” Johnis said. “She’s probably already on a jet, chasing you down.”

“Is that so? To where?”

“Turkey.”

Miranda grinned, then flattened her mouth. “Turkey is where the books were collected before they went to the monastery. They disappeared again, but not to Turkey; I’ve exhausted my search there.”

“Then where?”

Miranda walked to the door, opened it, and stepped outside. “Romania,” she said, and shut him into pitch darkness once again.

THE FLIGHT LASTED FOR MANY HOURS, AND AT ONE POINT Johnis was sure they would perish. The flying contraption bounced around like a tube strapped to a stallion’s rear quarters. He cried out in alarm a dozen times, begging for Elyon to take him quickly, but if anyone was listening, he neither responded nor settled the bucking ship.

It occurred to him after an hour of being thrown about that they must be under attack. Karas had found them and was giving chase! It was the only possible explanation. Surely she realized that if the jet crashed to the ground, he would go with it! But when they finally hauled him from the craft in the dead of night, no one showed any concern of having narrowly escaped disaster.

They bound him in the back of a square, black car and sped through darkness, led by another car that carried Miranda Card. “Bucharest,” one of them said, when Johnis asked where they were. And then, with a chuckle, “Welcome to hell.”

Johnis still had some advantages they might not know about. His speed, his strength. His superior intelligence, although according to Karas, his mind would need time to make the adjustment.

Neither his speed nor his strength offered any advantage as long as they kept him in shackles. They seemed to have taken all the necessary precautions.