Extraits

Tell the world the legend of Prince Cruce of the Court of Shadows.

“You know how my mind works,” I said finally.

“At the fucking speed of light?” he said dryly.

When I was a kid, my thoughts were so linear: point a to point b. There was what I wanted and what I did to get it. But when you get older, you suddenly have all these c’s and d’s and z’s you have to factor in, too.

“I defined myself by defying you.”

Didn’t know you’d figured that out.

“Mac,” he says roughly, and I know what he sees: his precious little Mac, all blond and bouncy, defiled and vile—it doesn’t escape me that VILE becomes EVIL becomes LIVE, more proof my supremacy was destined.

“Is it a tattoo? Is that how you know Mac’s location?”

“You’re wondering if Ryodan can track you.”

“Yes.”

“Did he finish the tattoo?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

He whipped that silvery gaze to me then and spoke inside my mind. If I don’t make it, help her rescue Shazam. ASAP. And that means as-soon-as-the-fuck-possible-nothing-else-has-priority. Swear it.

I nodded.

Take care of her.

Always.

I shaped a No, I’m busy, with my lips, prepared to toss it over my shoulder. Instantly, a vision exploded in my head: dropping by tomorrow to find him dead. Last word he’d ever heard from me a “No.”

His heart was my cage.

“Why is that so hard to ask? You just have to say, ‘Dancer, are you Caoimhe’s lover?’ ”

But I think whenever you put other people in a cage—any kind of cage—you start to think of them as less real.