This Friday, the 23rd. 6 p.m.

Invitation admits 2.

Marcella smiled, turning the card between her fingers.

What now? June had asked. You’re going to throw yourself a fucking party?

Marcella knew the girl had meant it as a joke, but Stell had tipped his hand, the night they met, and let a face card show.

No more grand displays. The last thing this city needs . . .

But, of course, Stell hadn’t really been talking about the city. He meant EON. Yes, a little publicity would be bad for their business.

And so, that was exactly what Marcella planned to give them.

She was done playing by other people’s rules. Done hiding. If you lived in the dark, you died in the dark. But stand in the light, and it was that much harder to make you disappear.

And Marcella Renee Morgan wasn’t going anywhere.

XXVI

TWO DAYS AGO

IV: Judgment Day

ON THE ROAD

MITCHELL Turner had a bad feeling.

He got them, now and then, the way other people got migraines or déjà vu.

Sometimes it was dull, abstract, a sense of wrongness that crept in like night, slow but inevitable. Other times it was sudden and sharp, like a pain in his side. Mitch didn’t know where the feelings came from, but he knew to listen when they did.

Bad feelings were warnings, when you had bad luck.

And all Mitch’s life, he’d had bad luck.

Bad luck made sure he was the one who got caught.

Bad luck landed him in jail.

Bad luck crossed his path with Victor’s—though he didn’t see it at the time.

It was like a rubber band. Mitch could only get so far away before the invisible hand slipped and he went crashing back into trouble. Other people were always surprised when bad things happened. When good things stopped. Not him. When Mitch had one of those feelings, he listened.

Watched his step.

Kept one eye on the breakable things in his life.

He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Sydney, curled up in her red bomber jacket, booted feet draped over Dol. She was wearing a

pink wig, the synthetic strands falling over her eyes. Mitch shot a surreptitious glance at the passenger’s seat and saw Victor staring out the window, his face unreadable as ever.

Merit rose in the distance ahead of them.

“Everything that goes around, comes around,” said Victor. His cool blue gaze cut sideways. “You should keep driving.”

Mitch frowned in confusion.

“If this doesn’t work,” added Victor softly. “Even if it does. Take Syd and—”

“We’re not leaving,” said Sydney, bolt upright in the backseat.

Victor sighed. “I should have,” he murmured.