Nero is running on a treadmill. His sweat-dampened, broad-shouldered frame bobs up and down as he makes Olympic leaps forward with every stride. Vatican City is visible in the large window behind him.
“Baba Yaga said she isn’t trying to kill you,” he says without wasting time on pleasantries.
“She’s not?” I ask, taken aback by the confidence in his voice.
“No. I asked her point blank. She can’t lie to me about that or anything else,” Nero says, his voice unaffected by the brisk jog. “No one can.”
“But someone just tried to kill me.” I walk up to my table, smack the phone into a stand, and plop into the chair. “That’s a fact.”
“Which is why I want you to keep your head down until I get back,” Nero says. “Stay home under the protection of your domovoi and—”
“You can’t tell me what to do on the weekends.” I narrow my eyes.
“Actually, as your Mentor, I can and have told you exactly that,” Nero says. “Remember Orientation?”
“Exactly,” I say. “That’s tomorrow, and I’m not missing it.”
“You can miss one session.” He waves a hand dismissively.
“No, I can’t. Besides, Orientation isn’t the only reason I can’t stay home. Ariel is—”
“How about we make a deal?” Nero’s running pace speeds up. “You stay home, and I prove to you Ariel isn’t kidnapped.”
“Do you know something?” I lean toward the screen.
“Does that mean we have a deal?” he asks, not hiding his smug expression from the camera.
“If you can prove to me Ariel isn’t kidnapped, I’ll stay home—with the exception of Orientation.”
“Fine,” he says. “But Kevin takes you there and back.”
“Deal.” Why would I say no to a limo ride?
“Your inbox,” Nero says. “Check it.”
Instead of interrupting our call, I open my laptop.
There’s an email from Nero with a video attachment.
An email that arrived five minutes ago.
“You bluffed me?” I say into the phone incredulously. “You emailed me something, then made a bargain for it after the fact?”
Nero shrugs, his expression turning even smugger.
“If I weren’t mad, I’d be impressed,” I mutter as I launch the video.
It’s security camera footage from a crowded place. I instantly recognize it as Earth Club, Nero’s property in Gomorrah. The camera zooms in on one of the VIP tables, and I see Gaius sitting there, drinking a dubious red liquid from a large goblet. Next to Gaius is Ariel, her face placid.
“It looks like they went there straight from rehab,” Nero says gently. “And then left together afterward.”
“But why would my vision show her sitting alone in an empty room?” I ask stubbornly. “All this does is show me the culprit.”
“She might simply be waiting for something,” Nero says. “To what end would Gaius kidnap her?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “But I’m going to ask him when I find him—oh, and our deal is off.”
“No, it isn’t.” The limbal ring in Nero’s eyes takes over a chunk of the whiteness. “Stay home and I’ll talk to Gaius to see if he can find himself another toy.” The white in his eyes is nearly gone, and even the blue-gray of the iris shrinks. “Break your word to me, and there will be consequences.”
“Fine,” I say, fighting the urge to cringe or look away. “When you ask me nicely like that, how can I refuse?”
“Smart,” he says in a calmer tone, and disconnects.
Great. I’m a prisoner in my apartment again. The more things in my life change, the more they stay the same.
Then again, maybe this bargain was worth it. If Ariel isn’t kidnapped, then this is just Gaius being her enabler—so if Nero convinces him to stop providing Ariel with his blood, she might be forced to seek help on a longer-term basis… that or find another vampire.
In any case, Nero didn’t forbid me from exploring the outside world with my powers, so that’s what I’ll do. In fact, this is a good chance to practice entering Headspace while angry.
I stand up and try to focus.
I fail. My racing thoughts make concentration nearly impossible.
I take in a calming breath, and just like that, the focus slots into place, and I find myself floating in Headspace, surrounded by eerie cuboid shapes.
Instead of thinking of Ariel’s essence, I decide to see if the shapes I first encounter are the ones something—perhaps my subconscious mind—is making available to me for a reason. Before proceeding, though, I zoom in on the nearest shape a few times to make sure the duration of the vision is fairly short.
I don’t want to waste too much power on this theory.
The eerie sensation worsens when I reach for the looming cuboid, but I suppress the hesitation and make contact—activating the vision.
An intricate coffin made of polished redwood sits in front of me.
Moisture blurs my vision and anguish squeezes my chest as I contemplate the bitter finality of this moment.
Inside that box is the dead body of—
I’m back in my room, still standing.
My knees feel weak, so I preemptively collapse on the bed and try to make sense of what happened. It doesn’t take long because there’s little room for misinterpretation.
I just saw a vision of a funeral, and the anguish I felt during it can only mean one thing.
Someone I care deeply about is going to die.