“Stop!” Willow shoves herself between us. “Leave him alone.”

“Then you tell me.”

She darts a glance at her brother. “We’ve already done more than we feel comfortable doing, but we owed Jared.”

“And you aren’t done paying your debt.”

“Rachel!” Melkin’s voice is harsh, but I keep staring at Quinn and Willow.

“How am I supposed to keep this safe if I don’t understand it?”

Melkin makes a choked noise at the back of his throat, but I don’t break eye contact with Willow. She’s going to tell me. I can see it.

“Wrap it up and hide it,” she says.

“Not if I don’t know what it does.” I lean past her to look Quinn in the face. “If you don’t tell me, if I don’t understand, I could trust the wrong person. Are you really okay with that?”

“Are you really planning to simply keep it safe?” he asks. I look in his eyes and realize he knows. He knows I’m going to use it. Knows I’m capable of it.

My chin rises. “If by keeping it safe, you mean not letting it fall into the wrong hands, then yes. I am.”

“Jared didn’t want you to use it. He wanted it given to Logan McEntire to be destroyed.”

“Logan is in Baalboden’s dungeon. To get him out, I’m supposed to give this”—I gesture toward the wand—“to our leader.”

“You can’t!” Willow says, and reaches as if she’ll take the wand from me.

I hold the wand out of reach, and stare her down. “Then tell me what it does. I have nothing left to lose. Tell me what this does, or I’ll start pushing buttons and figure it out myself.”

She looks at Quinn.

“It’s her decision,” he says quietly. Something in the weight of his words makes me feel like he thinks the consequences will be more than I can bear.

He’s wrong.

Willow slowly lowers her hands. “Fine. The finger pads create individual sound waves on a frequency humans can’t hear.”

“What good is that?”

“Humans can’t hear it. But the Cursed One can.”

I immediately slide my fingers away from the circles.

“You mean this—”

“Is a device designed to call and control the Cursed One.”

A vicious sense of power blooms inside me. I cradle the device to my chest and feel unstoppable.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

LOGAN

I’ve been on the move for at least two hours now, maybe three, and the burst of energy I felt after sleeping is long gone. So is the small dose of pain medicine I took. I can’t afford to stop for rest yet, despite the pain and exhaustion, so I force myself to catalogue the foliage I pass and come up with its scientific name. Mind over matter. Reason over pain.

The darkness obscures all but the smell and the most obvious of shapes, which adds an extra challenge that keeps me thinking of something other than the fire in my ribcage and my fear for Rachel.

I’m passing through a patch of pines. Sharp scent. Knobby branches. Widely spaced thin needles. Shortleaf pine. Pinus echinata.

What will I do if after I find her, Melkin still tries to carry out his assignment?

The low-pitched call of a great horned owl echoes from somewhere to my left. Bubo virginianus.

How can I look Eloise in the eye if I have to kill her husband?

The moss beneath my boots grows in spongy clusters that spring back easily after I lift my foot. Bryum argenteum.

Logic could work. Melkin might listen to me. Understand the only way to rescue his wife is to take up arms against his leader.

He might not.

I have to come to terms with the idea of either killing him or finding a way to leave him behind in the Wasteland so Rachel and I can get to Baalboden before him.

Sliding silently through a few loosely spaced pines, I brush up against a wide, glossy leaf adorning a tree whose thick spread of branches blocks my view for a moment. Magnolia grandiflora.

The low hooting of the owl suddenly subsides as I skirt the tree and nearly run into a man standing on the other side. The fact that his back is to me saves my life.

He hears my footfalls and turns, his weapon drawn, and I drop to my knees, grab the dagger in my boot, and thrust it up as his momentum drives his abdomen onto my blade.

Before he has a chance to do more than hiss out a breath, I lunge to my feet, grab his head with both hands, and wrench it to the side. His neck grinds and pops, his body goes slack, and I lower him as quietly as possible to the forest floor.

It isn’t quiet enough. If anyone else is nearby, they’ll have heard something. Even if they didn’t, the sudden lack of bird or animal cries around us creates an alarm just as deafening as if he’d called out to the rest of his battalion.

And it is a battalion. I can just make out the burnished dragon scale adorning the front right pocket of his uniform. He’s Rowansmark military.

I’m in deeper trouble than I thought. So are Rachel and Melkin. Being hunted by Rowansmark trackers is dangerous enough. Being hunted by an entire Rowansmark battalion turns the odds against us so completely, I feel staggered at the thought of trying to plan our way out of it. Whatever is in the package, James Rowan will clearly stop at nothing to get it back.

I pull my dagger free of the soldier, wipe it clean on his pants, and slide it back into its sheath. No highwayman would be stupid enough to attack a military encampment’s night guard. I’ve just announced my presence to the entire battalion.