Trent shook his head, and my heart seemed to stop. The strip hadn’t broken. I had destroyed it. I had destroyed it with a wish, with a want, and I’d done it without access to the ley lines. There was only one way to do magic without access to a ley line, and my jaw clenched.

I had mystics in me. I might not be able to hear them, but they could hear me. And I think Al knew it. Was counting on it, maybe. He wanted me to close the lines, and it would take magic to open them back up again.

“Trent—” I started, then scrambled to grab my phone when it began humming again. It was Ivy, and I thumbed the answer tab, fingers shaking. “Ivy! Where are you?”

A velvety, angry voice flowed out, chilling me. “Don’t wait too long,” Uric said, and the phone clicked off.

Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Trent’s tiny car was plush, the fan pushing a warm breeze over me, making my hair tickle against my neck. My hands were on the wheel, but we were parked in one of the few spots on the street right outside the I.S. building. It had been a good hour since leaving the square, and Ivy was probably in there by now, settled in whatever cell they’d picked out for her.

Fidgeting, I tapped my nails on the wheel. I’d chipped one somewhere, and I ran my thumb over the rough edge as I looked at Trent drowsing, slumped against the window on the passenger side. Jenks was in the back window doing the same. I didn’t want to wake either of them, but if I waited much longer, Cormel would start tormenting Ivy. I had one shot at getting her out, and I was lucky Trent was with me, sleepy or not. His bangs shifted as he breathed, and I stifled my urge to arrange them.

He shouldn’t be here. He’s too important, I thought, but Trent had flatly refused to leave. And I could use his help—a lot—so I sat here in his car hoping something would happen and I wouldn’t have to risk Trent’s life in order to save Ivy’s.

Love stinks.

My attention flicked behind me to a car beeping as someone locked it. Trent stirred, quickly placing himself and straightening with a soft sound and a stretch. From the back, I heard the hum of wings. “How long have we been sitting here?” Trent asked, fuzzy with sleep.

“About five minutes,” I lied, then shot a look at Jenks to shut up when the pixy darted into the front, his dust a tattletale orange. “You were tired. I was thinking.”

Trent frowned as he looked at his watch and then to a smug Jenks. “About what?”