His words seemed to lodge somewhere in my chest, but I shook them off. Torin had been a part of my life for, well, all of my life. When Mom and Finley had gone out on missions, he had kept me company. And after Finley disappeared, he was the only one I could talk to about my sister. Which is why that niggling suspicion, the one Pascal had picked up on, bothered me so much.
"Your mum is simply worried about you," Torin said, pulling me out of my thoughts. "She's lost one daughter. I'm sure the idea of losing another is particularly hellish for her."
"I know," I said, the guilt returning with a vengeance. What if I'd gotten myself killed tonight, all because I let one stupid vamp mess with my mind? Where would Mom have been then?
I tugged the rubber band off the end of my braid and started unraveling the strands. A thin layer of vampire ash rose from them. Ugh. Apparently I'd been closer to Pascal than I'd thought.
Wrinkling my nose with disgust, I hopped off the table. "Okay. Shower, bed. Thanks for the debriefing."
Torin made a little flourish with his hand, lace cuff falling back from his wrist. "Any time, Isolde."
I was nearly to the door before I turned back. "Torin, you..." I trailed off, not sure how to finish. Finally I took a deep breath and said, a little too fast, "You swear you don't know anything about Finn, right?"
I'd asked it before, the night Finley disappeared. Other than her belt, there'd been no sign of my sister in that rickety house. But there had been a mirror. A big one with a thick wooden frame, carved cherubs grinning at me. And while it could've been a trick of the light, I could've sworn that the glass had glowed slightly.
But I'd been beyond freaked out that night, confused, upset. I couldn't be sure what I'd seen, really.
In his mirror, Torin came up close to the glass. "No, Isolde," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "I do not know where your sister is."
"Right." I ran a hand through my hair, blowing out a long breath. "Right. Okay." Reaching out, I flicked off the switch.
From out of the darkness, Torin added, "Besides, Finley was never of much interest to me. She isn't the Brannick who will set me free, after all, is she?"
It was a wonder I could speak given how tight my throat had gone. "That's never going to happen, Torin. I may be nicer to you than my mom or Finn, but you'll be chatting with my grandkids from that mirror."
Torin only laughed. "I've seen what I've seen. The time will come when you will finally let me out of this cursed glass prison. But until then, go wash that vampire out of your hair and get a good rest. You and Aislinn will be taking quite the journey tomorrow."
"Where are we going?" I demanded. "What did you see?"
But there was no answer.
CHAPTER 3
When I woke up the next morning, Mom was already dressed and waiting for me at the kitchen table. She frowned at my tank top and pajama pants and pointed back up the stairs. "Get dressed. We're leaving in five minutes."
"Leaving?" The clock said it was just a little past six. Apparently Torin had been right. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. "Where are we going?"
But Mom just said, "And now it's four minutes. Go."
There wasn't much to the bedroom Finley and I had shared. A bunk bed-Finn had claimed the top-a dresser, a battered desk, and a mirror. Finley's clothes were still folded in the drawers, and almost without thinking, I grabbed one of her black sweatshirts, tugging it over my tank top. I traded my flannel pants for jeans (my own, since Finn had been taller than me), and added a scuffed pair of black boots.
Jogging back downstairs, I twisted my hair into a sloppy braid over one shoulder. Hopefully, wherever we were going didn't have a dress code.
Mom was just outside the front door, and when I appeared at her side, she didn't say anything, merely jerked her head toward the woods surrounding the compound. Years ago, all the Brannicks had lived in this secluded spot deep in the woods of northern Tennessee. There were still outbuildings and training yards to accommodate at least a hundred people, but I'd never seen the place that full. By the time I was old enough to remember, the only Brannicks left were me, Mom, and Finn.
The woods were full of noise that morning, from the cracking of branches under our feet to the birds singing, but Mom didn't say anything and I didn't ask any questions.
Nearly a mile into the trees, we came to the Itineris. To anyone walking by-not that many people ever just "walked by" in these woods-the portal wouldn't have looked like anything but a small opening in a bunch of branches. They wouldn't even know it was there unless they accidentally stepped into it.
Which would probably be fatal since the Itineris was too intense for humans. We could only use it because we had some residual magic in our blood.
Mom held out her hand to me, and I took it, ducking under the branches and stepping into the Itineris.
One of the weirdest things about using the Itineris is how it feels. There's no rushing wind or sense of motion, but a crippling, sickening pressure, as though the weight of the whole universe is pressing down on you.
Suddenly, we were standing on a paved road.
Well, Mom was standing. I was on my knees, gasping. The portal was always rough on me.
Mom helped me to my feet, but that was clearly all the TLC I was going to get. As soon as I was steady, she started walking down the road.
"Where are we?" I asked, following.
"Alabama," she replied.
I didn't ask what part of Alabama, but between the sand and the slight tang of salt on the wind, I guessed we were somewhere near the beach. We hadn't been walking long when we came across a path of crushed shells. Mom turned onto it, her boots crunching and sounding too loud in the quiet.
At the end of the driveway was a small, one-story house that actually looked a little bit like our place. An ancient Jeep was parked just by the front porch, and several sets of wind chimes twisted in the breeze.
The screen door creaked open, and a woman stepped out, squinting down the drive at us. She seemed to be about ten years or so older than my mom, and her dark blond hair, shot through with gray, was piled on top of her head in a messy knot. Her arms, bare in a black tank top, were pale and flabby. Roughly a dozen necklaces and pendants hung around her neck, and she held a coffee cup in her right hand. "Ash?" she asked, frowning at us.