Scott rolled his eyes from side to side, as if to catch movement on the edge of his vision. My stomach tried to heave itself through my chest and out my throat. I knew that motion. I did the same thing when I peeked into the Netherworld. When I tried to get a clear view of the heard-but-unseen creatures skittering and sliding through the impenetrable gray fog.

Could he see the fog? Could he see the things? Was something from the Netherworld talking to him?

No. It’s not possible. But my chill bumps were as big as mosquito bites.

“What is he saying?” I was past the desk, four feet from him now, and closing. When Nash came back, I would peek into the Netherworld to rule out that impossibility. To verify that Scott wasn’t seeing and hearing something from that other reality. From a world he didn’t even know existed.

Because creatures that couldn’t cross over couldn’t shout across the barrier, either. Right?

Scott looked up and smiled, but it was the kind of smile a cancer patient wears when he’s realized chemo isn’t worth the pain and nausea. When he’s finally decided to give up and let Death claim him. “Take me to him. He’ll fix me if you take me to him.”

Dread burned like ice in my veins, and I edged back when Scott stepped toward me. “Take you where?”

“There.” He rubbed his brow, as if to soothe a bad headache. “Where he is. He says you know how to cross.”

Cross. No. My eyes closed briefly, and I sucked in a long, devastated breath.

Scott’s shadow man wanted me to take him to the Netherworld.

11

“WHO IS HE, SCOTT?” I shuffled back another step and trailed my fingers over the top of his father’s desk, hoping the smooth, cool surface would ground me, in spite of my rapidly thumping heart. I needed to peek into the Netherworld, to see for myself who was talking to him, but I was afraid to take any of my attention from Scott.

“Take me…” he whispered fiercely, matching each of my steps with a larger one of his own. “We have to cross!”

Not gonna happen. I might not have Harmony’s experience, or my dad’s wisdom and pathological caution, but I was nowhere near naive enough to believe that whoever was tormenting Scott would simply “fix” him if I took him to the Netherworld.

The Netherworld didn’t do charity. This shadow man would claim us both, body and soul, and we’d never see the human world again.

Over Scott’s shoulder, the doorknob turned, and relief washed over me as Nash’s voice called out. “Kaylee?”

But the door didn’t open—it was locked—and I never should have taken my eyes off Scott.

“Nash, he’s not having delus—”

Scott grabbed my arm and jerked me forward. He pinned me to his chest and I gasped, more surprised than afraid.Something sharp bit into my throat, just below my jaw, and the shout I’d been about to unleash died on my tongue.

“Take me…” he demanded, and a cold, nauseatingly sweet puff of Demon’s Breath wafted over my face.

My breath hitched as I tried not to inhale, and my pulse pounded in my head. I wasn’t sure exactly where my jugular ran through my neck, but I was pretty sure accuracy wasn’t as important as enthusiasm in the art of throat slashing.

“If you don’t take me, I’m gonna die. And you’re gonna die with me,” Scott whispered, his voice shaky with terror.

His skin was cold, even through both layers of our clothing, and the blade—something small…a paring knife, maybe?—felt warm by comparison. “Scott, you don’t want to go there.” I had to force the words out, afraid that any movement of my throat would force the metal through my skin. “Trust me.”

“Carter, what are you doing?” Nash asked through the door, and I was worried by how composed he sounded—his best friend was about to cut my head off! Not that Nash knew about the knife…

“She won’t take me!” Scott hissed, his grip bruising my arm.

“He has a knife,” I said as loudly as I dared with the blade still pressed against my skin.

“Take you where?” Nash asked, ignoring my contribution to the exchange. And that’s when I realized he was Influencing Scott—trying to talk him down with a little bean sidhe push. “Let me in, and we’ll talk about this.”

“He’s not delusional, Nash,” I said, struggling to stay calm. “Something wants me to cross over with him. Could you please help me explain why that’s not a good idea?”

I needed Nash to do the talking, if there was any chance of his Influence actually working. And I was fighting complete panic at the feel of the blade against my throat.

In theory, if my time was up—if my name was on the list—I would die, and no amount of talking or fighting would stop that.

And if it wasn’t my time, so long as I stayed in the human world and avoided Netherworld elements, I wouldn’t die, no matter what. That not-death could come about in any number of ways. Scott might turn out to have colossally bad aim with a knife, or Nash might do everything right to stop the bleeding. Or Tod might blink in, then blink me instantly to the hospital. Or we might actually talk Scott out of violence.

Or…Scott could maim me beyond recognition and normal physical function without actually killing me.

But no matter what might happen next, crossing over would be worse. Our expiration dates meant nothing in the Netherworld, which officially made it the scariest place in existence, and the place I was least likely to take Scott.