I let the call go to voice mail, but he doesn’t give up. While I’m finishing getting ready to leave, he calls two more times, and then sends a text.
Tobin: 911! I must show you something. Call me!
I wonder if he’s found another bit of information that I can’t tell him will lead to another dead end, but I decide to respond or he’s probably not going to stop all day.
Me: Can’t talk now.
Tobin: Then I’m sending it to you.
A few seconds later, my phone buzzes again. He’s texted me a picture. It’s of a list of names.
Me: ?
Tobin: That’s the list of names of girls who’ve gone missing from town. The one in my mom’s files. I went to double-check it last night to make sure I didn’t miss anything … and I saw that a new name has been added. Look at the bottom of the list.…
I enlarge the picture and scan through the typewritten names—and then land on the name Daphne Raines written in crisp, clean handwriting at the bottom.
Tobin: Your name is on a list with a bunch of missing girls! What does that mean?
I know exactly what it means. The mayor—Tobin’s mother—isn’t only aware of the girls going missing in her town; she is complicit beforehand in letting it happen.
But I can’t tell Tobin this right now. I can’t tell him via text—or phone call, even—that his sister is dead and his parent is somehow involved in what happened. I can’t think of a worse betrayal than that.
A new text comes in, but this time it’s not from Tobin.
Haden: Are you ready to go? I can be there in fifteen minutes.
Talking to Tobin will have to wait until I get back. I send him a text.
Me: I really can’t talk about this now. Call you later.
And then I send a text to Haden, telling him I’m on my way over to his place. I know I could wait for him to come pick me up, but I can’t stand the thought. I don’t want to sit around waiting one more minute. I need to be moving. Maybe I’m crazy for going anywhere with an underworld prince who’s full-on admitted that he wants to steal me away. Maybe I’m crazy for thinking I can change his mind. But I have to do everything in my power to try.
Haden is loading a duffel bag into a Tesla Model X in his garage. It’s a strange car, with three rows of seats and doors that raise up like falcon wings instead of opening outward. Haden nods when he sees me, and an expression of relief crosses his face—as if he’d convinced himself I wasn’t really coming.
He takes my suitcase and places it in the trunk next to his.
“Where’s your Model S?” I ask, referring to the car he usually drives. It had kind of become synonymous with him in my mind. His electric black chariot …
“Dax took it out this morning,” he says. I can tell by his tone that things are still strained between the two of them. “I almost stole his Roadster but figured this car would be more comfortable for a longer journey.”
“So Dax isn’t coming with us?” I wasn’t sure if he would, but I had kind of liked the idea of having a buffer in the car.
“He said something like, ‘This is your journey to take, Haden.’ ”
“How very Gandalfy of him.”
Haden raises his eyebrows like he has no idea what I’ve just said. “Are you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” I look around the garage. “Did he give you the information?”
“Yes.” He hands me a slip of paper.
I open it up. “Seriously?” I laugh, but it sounds more like a groan.
“What?”
“Sarah Smith. Las Vegas, Nevada. That’s all he told you?”
“Yes. Is that a problem?”
“Only because there are probably, like, a hundred or more Sarah Smiths in Las Vegas!” When Dax told me he could give me a name and a town, I had pictured something more like Ellis. You can walk into any shop on Main Street and give any shopkeeper the name of any resident and you can get step-by-step directions to their house. “Vegas is huge, and Sarah Smith has to be one of the most generic names in the world. You sure Dax isn’t yanking your chain?”
“He wasn’t yanking anything,” Haden says.
This time I raise my eyebrows.
“Oh. I mean, he was quite earnest when he gave it to me.”
“Okay, sparky. We better get on it, then. I’ll start making phone calls to every S. Smith in the Las Vegas phone directory while you drive.”
“Just one last thing,” Haden says. He opens his duffel bag and riffles around in the contents, then zips it back up without taking anything out.
“What was that for?”
“Just making sure we didn’t have a stowaway. Brim wasn’t too happy when I told her she couldn’t come.”
“That’s too bad.” Even taking a cat along would feel a little less awkward than the two of us on the road together. Alone. To Las Vegas.
“Believe me, sharing close quarters, like a car, with a hellcat is not a good idea. I should know; I’ve had to keep her hidden from Simon in my room for the last three months.”
“Poor baby,” I say, meaning the cat, not him.
“I just hope she doesn’t get out of my room. She might follow us all the way to Vegas.”
“She could do that?”
“She and I are bonded in a way. She can find me anywhere.”
“Who’s Simon?” I ask. “The person you’re hiding her from?”
“My guardian, I guess you could say, and my father’s emissary. As in, the person I’m going to be in deep kopros with if he gets wind of this trip before we get out of here.”
“Let’s get this over with, then,” I say, gathering that kopros is the Underlord slang for stuff that starts with an sh and ends with an it.
I’m in the process of buckling my seat belt, and Haden is pulling out of the garage, when he suddenly slams on the brakes. I look up and see that Haden’s younger cousin—Garrick, I think—is standing in the driveway, blocking our exit.
Haden honks the horn and waves at him to get out of the way. Garrick doesn’t move.
Haden puts the car in park and gets out. “What are you doing, Lesser? Get out of my way.”
“I can’t let you do this,” Garrick says.
“And how do you intend to stop me?”