Sheriff Villanueva sat deep in thought as well.

“Is there any way to check hospital records on the day that the man was stabbed?”

“Not sure,” he mumbled. “It’s unlikely I could get anything concrete with the amount of time we have, but I could try. A stab wound isn’t all that common.”

“What about arrest records?” Mac asked.

“You think he’s been in prison?”

Mac nodded. “Why else would it take him this long to organize a second attempt? He wanted what’s inside Lorelei. He didn’t get it. Why would it take him this long to try again?”

“He did want it,” I said. “He summoned Malak-Tuke specifically. Only one demon came through the portal he’d opened. Hundreds of spirits, but only one demon.” I held up an index finger to emphasize my point.

“He had to have thought he could control it somehow,” Mac said. “I mean, demon possessions don’t typically end well.”

Cameron licked his fingers loudly, then said, “Lorelei is the only one we’ve ever heard of like this. Most don’t live longer than a month or two.”

“Exactly, but that’s because of who Lorelei is. He chose to be inside her. If Malak-Tuke had possessed Dyson, Dyson would surely have had a way to control him without it killing him first.”

“If he did have a grimoire,” Jared said, “maybe he had a means of controlling it once it got inside him.”

A wave of unrest rippled within me. I wrapped an arm around my stomach even though it wasn’t centrally located. It was everywhere. In all my cells at once.

Jared leaned over and whispered to me. “Are you okay?” He smelled clean, like rain in the forest.

“Yeah, I think Malak knows we’re talking about him. And I don’t think he likes the idea of being controlled.”

“Who does?”

“Pix,” Mac said, seeming hesitant about what he was about to say. “Can you communicate with it?”

I lowered my head. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I mean, right after he entered me I felt him. It was like we thought the same thoughts, the same feelings. We were one. But I lost that a long time ago. He just kind of disappeared. Became a part of me.”

“Are you sure you can’t talk to it?”

I let a hapless smile through. “No. I’m not sure about anything.”

“For a long time after the incident,” Grandma said, “she never used the word ‘I’ anymore. She said ‘we.’ We want this or we want that.”

“And let me guess,” he said, fixing a knowing gaze on me. “They looked at you worriedly. So much so, that you eventually repressed that side of you, that part.”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Truth was, I hardly remembered that time of my life. I just remembered the emptiness of losing both my parents in one shot and knowing it was my fault. I’d led them to their deaths. Pointed the way. I could hardly look in a mirror for months afterwards.

“Do you think you could try?” Mac asked.

“Sure. I can try.”

* * *

Maybe because the end of the world was nigh or maybe because their parents didn’t like me anymore, but that night Brooklyn and Glitch were ordered to go to their respective homes. Brooke’s mom took her out of school, so she wouldn’t be going tomorrow. Both sets of parents were members of the Order. They believed. They knew what was coming. Neither had qualms about their children helping us, but they did want to spend some time with their kids. Just in case.

I could understand that.

Kenya, Mac, and my grandparents as well as several other members of the Order were still up, chatting downstairs. Though they invited me to stay with them, I chose to go to my room. I sat alone, but I knew my ever-diligent bodyguards were hard at work below. Cameron was probably camped out in his truck. His dad had brought him takeout and a blanket, so he would probably be there all night.

And Jared would be on guard from his apartment. He’d had to run out for a little while that afternoon and see to another possession. Each time, he gave the spirit a chance to leave the human willingly. They never chose to do that. They’d possessed their prey on purpose, for that very reason. So that Jared would have no choice but to extract them, to end their existence in this realm and all others. They would simply cease to be.

Sheriff Villanueva wasn’t having any luck with prison records that fit our time frame or with hospital records of men with stab wounds. He was widening his search, but we just didn’t have that much time left. I didn’t hold out much hope, but I knew I’d recognize him if I saw him again. In fact, I had seen him. A lot. I just couldn’t place where. It was the same feeling as having a name stuck on the tip of my tongue. It was right there. So, so close.

And I had one day to remember. One day before Dyson opened the gates and the earth was flooded with thousands, possibly millions of dark spirits and demons. The thought crushed me. I felt like I should be doing something to prepare, but what?

I took the journal my dad found off my nightstand. I’d already looked at the drawings in it a hundred times, but could I go into them? Could I get anything from them? Why would my grandmother Olivia swipe this from the nephilim who took her? Why would she risk her life for it? What significance did it hold?

I decided to give it a shot. I scooted down so that my head was nowhere near my headboard. A concussion now would not help our cause. After settling in and preparing myself mentally, I concentrated. Gradually, like someone pressed slow motion, I entered the picture, only this time I didn’t go into a scene. The drawing of the picture was the scene. I literally watched as the image I’d chosen was being drawn, but it was wrong. The world was wrong. Out of focus.