A spasm of fear sharpens my voice. “Where’s Hawthorne? Is he here?” I force back tears of rage.
“Hawthorne. Now there’s an interesting story. You think you know him, don’t you? I’d wager that you believe you’re the only person that Hawthorne Trugrave dreams about. As it turns out, he doesn’t dream of you at all. Do you know who fills his mind?” I can’t answer. If I do, my voice may crack and betray me. “He dreams about Agnes Moon. You remember her, don’t you? She was his lover before he met you—before I beat her to death for helping you escape me. Hawthorne obsesses over every shape she’s ever taken.” Agent Crow leans near my ear, whispering, “Every time he ever touched you, he thought of her, and it stopped him from wanting you. Are you sure he ever loved you?”
“I’m not surprised,” I lie, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “Hawthorne cared about her. I promised him I’d help him kill you to avenge Agnes.”
“Hawthorne will never have revenge. He’ll die fighting for me.”
“You should be worried. Your devices aren’t infallible. Your control is slipping—it has already failed with me.”
Agent Crow’s look turns sour. The light on the side of his head flickers. Cherno’s grip on me tightens. I wince, finding it hard to breathe. Agent Crow’s attention whirls back to Ransom. “You promised me that her device would correct itself in time!”
Ransom doesn’t flinch. “Typically, an implant requires weeks to adopt neuropathways in a subject’s brain,” he replies matter-of-factly. “In some cases, it can take months to capture those connections. You’ve insisted on taking the subject from the lab too soon. She isn’t ready for this type of operation yet. Her device hasn’t had a chance to integrate fully.”
“Nonsense! I’ve taken several subjects from the lab with far less recovery time, and I’ve never had a problem!”
Ransom doesn’t waver or show weakness. “As I’ve said before, every mind is unique, and every subject responds differently to the device—”
“No one has ever awakened on their own before!” Agent Crow seethes.
Ransom’s shoulders round a bit. “You’re right. It’s unusual.”
“I know I’m right!”
“I’ll take her back to the lab with me and run some tests.”
Agent Crow’s scowl deepens. “My first inclination is to turn my soldiers on you now, Star, and let them devour you.” The threat hangs in the air for a moment. “If I didn’t have assurances from other agents that you’re the most gifted scientist and innovator in your field, you’d be dead right now. As it is, I’m giving you one last chance. I want full access to Roselle’s mind. Anything less and you won’t live to regret it.”
Ransom grimaces and hunches his shoulders. “I’ll make certain she’s ready soon.”
“Do,” Agent Crow says. The crowd of transmuted soldiers remains unmoving, watching the flames. Agent Crow turns and walks away from Reykin’s demolished home, through one of the precise rows of soldiers, toward a waiting Verringer in the distance. The luxury airship resembles the one Clarity Fabian Bowie owned. It wouldn’t surprise me if it is one and the same.
Cherno’s brutal grip eases. He turns me loose but remains close enough for me to feel his brimstone breath on my neck. All the Black-Os—the entire field of them—animate at once. My flesh crawls at the sound of the garbled ticks and pops of their speech, which is indiscernible as language, and yet, at the same time, a tingling in my spine somehow suggests what they’re communicating. They’re negotiating. I look toward the golden throne, and I know what they’re haggling over. They’re devising a means of returning the monstrous thing to the airship. Several nearby soldiers lift the heavy, gilded seat from the ground, and hoist it over their heads. It’s then passed to the next soldiers down the line, who pass it on further, until it disappears.
Beside me, Ransom extracts a small disc from his pocket. It resembles Crow’s mind-control apparatus. He touches it to his temple. The disc adheres to his skin like a magnet would to metal. It strobes with green light.
Cherno’s expression changes from a blank, emotionless mask to one of confusion. He seems conflicted. His arms open, releasing me, and the towering soldier takes a step away. He pauses, then walks until he reaches the mossy bark of an oak tree. His back to us, he stops so close to the bark I’m sure his nose presses to it.
My gaze meets Ransom’s. “You can control them?” I stutter.
“To a point,” he replies. “You saw how he resisted me. It won’t take long for his directives from Agent Crow to overtake mine again.”
“If you can do that, how could you let them burn your home to the ground—kill Mags?” I ask with a harsh whisper.
He looks as if I slapped him. “Mags is dead?”
My eyes narrow. “She threw herself into the fire.”
He swallows hard. “Like I said,” he replies, his voice hoarse, “my control’s limited. I didn’t know what Agent Crow planned, and by the time I did, it was too late. You couldn’t stop them either.”
“At least I tried,” I hiss.
“It was my home once.” His eyes are baleful, but he doesn’t look at the wreckage. “I grew up with Mags. Do you think if there were any possible way of stopping what happened, I wouldn’t have taken it?” His expression reminds me so much of Reykin’s.
“I don’t know what to believe. Whose side are you on?”
“There are no sides, Roselle. There’s just survival and revenge.”
We’ve gained Cherno’s attention. He has turned back to face us. The draconic demon takes a struggling step in my direction, fighting whatever control Ransom cast over him.
“We don’t have time to talk now, Roselle,” Ransom whispers, his eyes following Cherno’s progress. The Star’s attention turns back to me. The green light coming from the device on his temple flickers. Buzzing in my ears makes me dizzy. I sway—my brain vibrates. I hear myself speak involuntary words: “Am I yesterday?” His arm around my shoulders, Ransom braces me against his side. I want to resist him, but I feel so lethargic.
“You’re the future, Roselle,” he whispers in my ear, “and it’s time for you to awaken.”
I feel a pop sensation in my head—the world becomes as shiny as a star, and I’m falling from the sky.
Chapter 3
Altered
I open my eyes to dawning sunlight filtering into the bedroom.
The long, golden rays grow sharp like knives on the wooden floor beneath the windows. The linen sheets covering me are impossibly soft. My fingertips smooth over the fabric. I close my eyes again, and I lie on my side, savoring its silkiness. Smiling, I stretch my legs. The toes of one foot slip from the rumpled folds. My other foot shifts in the opposite direction until it meets the warmth of a hairy, masculine shin. I press my heel flat against his leg and curl my toes around the muscular calf. A quick gasp of air sounds from the pillow behind me. A large hand slides over my side to rest on my hip. Soft, rumbling laughter vibrates. He snuggles into me, his bare chest against my back—his lips press against my hair. Delicious warmth spreads through me. He inhales. His stubbly cheek shifts and brushes the sensitive skin of my neck. Desire for him kindles an inextinguishable fire.