“No?” While the young man searched, Darius placed a palm flat on the gray marble counter. Oh yes, there was steel in the frame underneath, steel in the floor girders. He sent his awareness racing out through all the metal and stone in the building, right to the patients’ beds. With his other hand, he pretended to search his phone with a frown of equal perplexity. “Could you… check again?”

  “I’m sorry, sir. There’s no one here by that name.”

  True. Toby was nowhere on the property. Even if the guild had kept him out of the computer system, Darius would have felt his familiar energy. “Oh. I’m sorry.” Darius shook his head at his phone in manufactured exasperation. “Wrong… hospice. Sorry.”

  “That’s all right, sir. Can I help you with directions?”

  “No, no.” Darius held up his phone as he started toward the door. “Got it. Thank you!”

  He swallowed his disappointment as he climbed back into the Land Rover. Of course Toby wouldn’t be the first place he looked, but he’d thought Avalon a good bet. Toby would’ve preferred the view of the well-tended courtyard garden from every patient room. Now that Darius knew where Toby’s Arcana lay, his channels should’ve been obvious from the beginning. Toby’s affinity for plants had been there, right out in the open, even if he didn’t know much about species or gardening.

  The next hospice on his route lurked nearby, amid the little farms and groves of Smith Bridge Road, not far from the state line. Sweetwater Hospice and Rehab had been a farm once, and the old barn remained, refurbished, with a sign indicating it was the physical therapy building. The hospice, a long, low brick building, sat well back from the drive, partly hidden in a stand of black oaks.

  Toby would’ve liked this one too. Why am I even considering what he might’ve chosen? I doubt they gave him a choice.

  While tidy and comfortable, Sweetwater’s building materials were cheaper than Avalon’s, with a preference for vinyl over natural materials. Darius could have worked his way through to look for structural beams, but the likelihood of a wood frame here would make the search difficult enough to be dangerous.

  Instead of striding up to the desk, he slid over to the left and into the waiting room, as if he were expecting someone. Once planted in a chair where he had a good view of reception, he waited until the woman manning the desk had her attention monopolized by an unhappy family grouping who had “only been informed that morning” about where Grandma had been taken.

  Darius had his doubts about their claims, but he was more grateful for the distraction than bent on being judgmental. He slid past the desk, again using a confident stride as if he belonged there and knew where he was going. The doors to most patient rooms were open, probably so staff could keep a better eye on the patients. Easy enough to take a quick look as he strolled by. Not Toby. Not Toby. Not Toby. So young… not my business.

  One door was closed. He pushed it open as quietly as he could and found he’d disturbed a family in mourning.

  “Sorry,” he whispered and ducked back out before he garnered more than a puffy-eyed glare.

  Not Toby. Not Toby. None of the patient rooms held Toby. He checked some of the administrative offices just in case, and disturbed a couple of doctors and a patient care plan meeting. Oops. No Toby. He went out the back onto the restful patio they’d built beneath the trees and around to some of the outlying buildings, which had the potential of being secret patient rooms.

  No luck.

  Darius breathed out a long breath as he returned to his car. He had to think of this as a quest, which weren’t supposed to be easy. Easy. Ha. When he found Toby, his only plan so far was to snatch him and run. Yes. He’d thought this through quite thoroughly.

  Briarwood, down a twisting old rural lane not far from the Coverdale Farm Preserve, was a rambling three-story mansion with patients on each floor. Happily for Darius, he could simply consult the house, since it had been constructed of stone. He knew Toby wasn’t there without even going inside.

  The last hospice, situated in that strange bit of northern Delaware between Kennett Pike and 9 Gates Road where nothing was named on most maps, had to be the one. Shadow Creek sounded vaguely like a location in a horror film rather than the cheerful modern building it was. It sat beside a little stream that perhaps someone had called Shadow Creek, the drive and front courtyard surrounded by Trinity pear trees just coming into full blossom. The expanse of delicate white blossoms softened the lines of the building and soothed tired eyes. Toby would like this too.

  Darius hesitated. If Toby wasn’t here, what then? Would they have been so devious as to keep him somewhere in secret? It felt so melodramatic that Darius scoffed at the notion. Process of elimination. Toby had to be here.

  He strode through the automatic doors at the front and even dredged up a smile for the young person behind the desk. At least, he hoped it looked like a smile. Young person lifted a pierced eyebrow at him and looked a bit concerned.

  “Help you, sir?”

  “I have an appointment.” There. He’d said it smoothly and all at once as he’d practiced it in the car. “Toby Jones and family.”

  “Oh.” Puzzled searching of the computer followed as it had at Avalon. “I don’t see… give me a moment here.”

  He took advantage of their search to grab one of the metal legs that held up the reception counter. Metal… metal… yes, I-beams, steel wall supports, metal-framed hospital beds…. Toby…. Toby…. Darius frowned at the counter. He had to be missing something, so he started at the beginning and tried again, feeling carefully through the building’s structure, checking every room.

  He wasn’t here. Toby wasn’t here.

  “I don’t have anything for a Toby Jones, sir. I’m sorry.”

  “There aren’t….” Darius flailed inwardly, trying to think of a good way to put it. “Off-record patients… anywhere?”

  Their frown deepened. “I worked as an aide for a few years, sir. I know all the rooms here. All of them are full. No Toby Jones.”

  “Taylor? Is there a problem here?” A doctor in a white coat had approached on soft-soled shoes. She glanced from the receptionist to Darius.

  “This gentleman was looking—”

  Darius waved his phone, as if it could put a magic shield between him and the hospice staff. “Sorry. My… mistake. Location.”

  With that, he hurried out. If the doctor became suspicious, she might call around. It would get back to the guild director, and damn John anyway for putting him through this. Toby wasn’t there. Darius got back in his car, drove out of sight of Shadow Creek, pulled onto the shoulder, and banged his head on the steering wheel.

  What in all blazing fucks do I do now?

  “TOBY? SWEETIE? Can you hear me?”

  Blurs swam above him. Toby blinked, trying for focus. Wasn’t working too well. The voice, though…. “Mom?”

  “Yes. It’s Mom.” Her voice cracked and thickened. She sounded like she’d been crying a long time. “Dad’s here too.”

  “Hi.” The greeting sounded absurd in his own ears, and he snickered. Part of his brain registered that the situation wasn’t funny, but he didn’t have much control. “Where?”

  A strong hand gripped his. Dad’s. “You’re in a really great private hospice, Toby. They called us when they brought you in. We flew right out.”

  “Arms tired?”

  Dad pulled in a heavy sniff. “What?”

  “Said you flew.”

  “Ha! Funny guy.” Dad’s laugh was horribly forced. “We heard what happened. Why didn’t you call us when you started having problems? Why did you go see that… person instead?”

  “For help. Dad….” Toby tried to squeeze his father’s hand back. He wasn’t sure he managed. “Don’t want to die.”

  Mom burst into tears, and Toby’s eyes stung at the sound. He didn’t want his parents to cry. If he could make them understand, they wouldn’t have to.

  “Director Whittaker’s coming,” Dad choked out. “He said… well, I didn’t want to get your mom’s hopes up, but he said you might have channeled?”

  “Animus. Don’t let them kill me.” Some of the fog was fading. He could see his father’s eyes now. Two eyes. Why was that important?

  “He’s going to test you. Toby, this is important. If you managed to channel, you need to concentrate. I know it’s hard when your Arcana are new, but you can do this.”

  “Drugs.”

  “You’re coming out of it.” Mom’s voice shook so badly, Toby wondered if she’d fly apart.

  “Okay.” He supposed he was if his clearing sight was an indication. Would he come out of it enough to make a run for it? Right. He didn’t even have a direction to run. “Where is this?”

  Dad shrugged. “They picked us up from the airport. I wasn’t paying much attention.”

  A couple of nurses bustled in and helped Toby sit up. They let him rest on the edge of the bed for a few minutes, working on a sippy cup of ice water, then manhandled him into a big rolling recliner. There was a name for those. Toby couldn’t remember. He sat by the window, blinking at the just-leafing rose bushes outside, trying desperately to think.

  “Can I have Darius?”

  “What?” Dad seemed to have a new favorite word.

  “For the test. Can I have Darius? He helped me channel. He’d help me with it again.”

  “No. That bastard’s not coming anywhere near you,” Dad snarled.

  “Paul, please.” Mom reached over and put a hand on Toby’s arm. “Director Whittaker thinks that man, that Darius person might’ve lied to you. Might’ve made you think you’d channeled.” Mom twisted a tissue in her free hand, staring at her lap. “That would be incredibly cruel. And if it’s true, they should lock him up somewhere like a rabid dog.”

  He could’ve wasted energy arguing, but there wasn’t much point. Either he could do this or he couldn’t. Not that he had any doubts about what had happened at Pine Creek. Darius had guided him. He’d channeled. It was amazing. End of story. Except, yeah, this might be the end of his story for real.

  Mom and Dad tried to chat about little stuff. How the flight had been. How the vegetable garden was coming along back home. How everyone here was so nice and so friendly. Every conversation gambit petered out when it became obvious Toby was only half listening.

  “I’m glad you’re here.” Toby looked down at his feet, trying to make them move. “I’m not glad you’re here for this. Can we just go? Please? You can wheel me out. We’ll drive to Darius’s house, where I’ll be safe. Where I can learn to control this stuff. Here, I’m gonna die.”

  “That psychopath brainwashed you.” Dad shook his head. “Don’t give up now, Toby. If you really did it once, you can show the director your Arcana. Even a trickle. That’s all it takes.”

  Toby finally had reliable feeling back in his fingers by the time Director Whittaker arrived.

  “How’s Darius?” Maybe Toby was shooting himself in the foot, but he was too angry to be his usual sweet self.

  The director pulled a chair up close, apparently unperturbed by surly young mages. “Hello, Toby. Darius is home. He’ll be fine. I made certain he was resting comfortably in his own bed before I left.”

  “Zubayr?”

  “Also home. I was extremely disappointed that he’d assisted in Darius’s criminal actions. He used to be a man of better sense.” Director Whittaker patted Toby’s knee. “But now you’re here and everyone’s safe.”

  “Uh-huh.” Safe from me. I see you thinking that.

  “Now I hear you keep insisting that you’ve had a breakthrough and found your Arcana. Is that right?”

  “I’m insisting because I did. Everyone makes it sound like I’m delusional.” Toby stopped all the angry words that wanted to tumble out. “I don’t want to die. I really don’t want to die.”

  “No one wants you to,” the director said gently. “If you can show me that you can access any Arcanum, anything at all, we’ll go back to the guild. We’ll get you proper teachers and make certain you learn in a safe, sane environment.” He leaned forward and took one of Toby’s hands between his. “But if you can’t, the hospice is the only good alternative. I’m sure you’ve heard about Kara. I don’t want you to suffer as she did, torn apart internally by magic she couldn’t control. Do you understand?”

  Toby fought the constriction in his chest. This wasn’t the time to cry. This was when he had to step the fuck up and save himself. But, oh crap, how he wanted Darius. “Yes, sir.”

  “All right. Mr. and Mrs. Jones, I need you to step out of the room. For safety’s sake.”

  Dad helped Mom up, and they clung to each other, looking back several times as they left the room. Toby pulled himself out of his own mire of dread to give them a wave. I can do this. It’ll be okay, Mom and Dad.

  The second they stepped out, two extra-large nurses stepped in, the one man pushing a tray with injections all pulled up and ready.

  “Look at me, Toby.” Director Whittaker took both of his hands. “They’re just a precaution. Do you need anything for this?”

  “Can I have a plant?”

  The director nodded. “Good. Yes. Some Animus mages react strongly to plant consciousness.” He turned to one of the nurses. “Could you, please? Any live plant will do.”

  One of the nurses brought back a fern that had seen better days, but it was alive. That should be all that mattered, right? He set the fern on the bed tray and rolled it over so Toby had it within easy reach.

  “Center yourself, Toby. Take your time,” Director Whittaker urged softly.

  Drug haze still drifted through Toby’s brain as a light ground fog, the kind you could kick your way through. Shouldn’t be a problem. Just remember what it felt like. What you did. He slowed his breathing as he had with Darius, though it took a few tries to get started. His breath kept hitching every time he thought of his griffin. Soon he had it, though. Eight count in, twelve count out. In and out. Quiet. Slow.

  He reached out for the plant beside him, carefully, feeling his way, trying to recreate how it had felt in the woods. His fingers started to tingle. There, that was his magic. He knew… dammit, he knew what it should do now. Reaching… reaching… the connection had to be there. Had to be. Come on, fern. Talk to me.

  Nothing. He was getting nothing but his own struggle, the pain in his hands growing by the moment. He had to get through. This was his final chance. It had to be there.

  “Injections! Now!” Director Whittaker cried out in a panic-stricken voice. “He’s going into a wild magic seizure!”

  “No!” Toby tried to throw himself out of the chair, to escape the hands grasping after him. He was too clumsy, too slow, too disoriented by his magic damming up again. Two hissing pops and two sharp localized pains, one in either arm, were his only warning. The drugs hit his system fast and hard enough to put the lights out.

  Darius… I’m so damn sorry. I wish you were here. I wish I could call to you like Professor X or something. Why aren’t there any telepathy Arcana? I love you, Dar. Gods, I wish I could tell you.

  Chapter Thirteen

  THE KOI needed feeding. Darius hunched farther into his cardigan against the evening chill. He shuffled out to the shed in his slippers. Why bother with shoes? They just hurt his feet, and he wasn’t certain he could bend down to tie them.

  He could have filled the birdfeeders while he was out there. It was spring, though. The birds could fend for themselves a day or two, just until he had the energy. The koi swam in an excited knot to see his shadow above their pond, and they eagerly accepted his offerings. Beautiful, but the sight of them made his heart so heavy it might plummet and drive a hole through the Earth’s mantle. Toby had loved the koi. He’d failed Toby so badly. Failed to protect him, to keep him out of the hands of those who would harm him, good intentions notwithstanding.

  Darius had failed to find him, and now Toby lay dying in some sterile, lifeless room somewhere. He sat on the bench with a soft thud, unable to stand for a second longer. Maybe if he just stayed there by the fishpond, he could quietly fade away. No mess. No dramatics.

  The tears had begun again at some point. They hurt by now, since there’d been too many. Everything hurt. He should never have had the gall to think he could be anyone’s hero. He should never have—

  A huge bee buzzed somewhere. Odd since it was dark. Wait. The insect was in the house? No. Phone. Huh. Darius shuffled the few steps inside and stared at the caller ID showing Zubayr’s name. Had he given anyone his number?

  “He… llo?”

  “Dar? Are you all right? You sound terrible. Where are you?”

  That certainly was Zubayr. Darius picked up his twitching through the phone. “Home.”

  “Where’s Toby?”

  The lead pipe Darius suddenly found blocking his throat prevented him from answering long enough that Zubayr repeated the question twice. Finally, he got out in a rasping whisper, “Don’t know. They…. Zu, they took… him.”

  “Okay. Deep breaths. We’re about an hour out and on our way to you.”

  Darius aimed an angry swipe at his tears, certain he wasn’t following this conversation well at all. “We?”

  “Yes. I went to Elias as soon as the guildmasters and their minions left. We got in his car and went to retrieve Arden.” Zubayr hesitated as someone spoke in the background. “I know.” His voice was muffled as he spoke to the other person, then clear again as he came back to the phone. “We weren’t there for you when we should’ve been. We let the guild scare us off. Shut up, Arden. Give me a second. But we’re coming now. Just sit tight, Dar. You’re not alone anymore.”

  “Okay.” The raw whisper was all he could manage before he ended the call.

  The night wasn’t any blacker. The gaping hole in his heart hadn’t changed in shape or size. But he found the energy to shuffle through the house, unlock the front door, and turn on some lights. He hadn’t realized until then that the house had been completely dark. Positioned in one of the fussy armchairs in the front parlor, Darius stared out at the driveway, heart hammering, trying not to count the minutes. Not precisely fear, this strange nameless dread, but not being alone had become desperately important all of a sudden.