“Mmph,” he moaned around a mouthful of chips. “You guys get the best food, I swear.”
“What are you even doing here?” Logan asked Ajax, leading me to one of the chairs. I sat in it, wincing at the dull ache in my side.
“And where’s Rego? I need his healing balm,” Logan told Ajax. “Paige got injured pretty badly dealing with an incindia today.”
Ajax shuddered dramatically before cramming another handful of chips into his mouth.
“Nasty things. I hate dealing with them,” he said after he swallowed. “I had some updates on a situation I’ve been monitoring for Rego, so I decided to swing by and deliver them personally.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t exactly trust his new messenger.”
Ajax ate another chip and resumed speaking in a normal tone. “He’s back there in his office, just wrapping up something.”
“And now he’s done.” The stern, businesslike voice boomed through the small room, and I spun around in my chair to see the curtains get impatiently flicked aside by a tall, impressive man who strode out to greet us. Now, this guy was intimidating: Rego stood straight and confident, with flawlessly straight black hair that framed an angular face and fell just above his broad shoulders, which were draped in a long, military-style black coat. The coat reminded me of what people in 1776 might have imagined citizens of the future would wear during battle. Where Ajax’s uniform looked lived-in, like functional fatigues, Rego’s double-breasted outfit was sleek, trimmed in leather and shimmering with rows of X-shaped silver buttons. Pointed silver-toed boots splattered with some kind of dark liquid peeked out from underneath the long hem. The same liquid—blood?—was splashed on the sword slung into his low silver belt. “Hi, I’m—” I began, and Rego held a long-fingered hand aloft, cutting me off.
“I know who you are,” Rego interrupted, giving me a polite smile that didn’t meet his gray eyes. “A pleasure to meet you, Paige.”
Yeah, right, it’s a pleasure to meet me. You look like you’d enjoy a hammer to the eyeball more.
“But I must say, meeting our new friend is quite unexpected, as she shouldn’t even know I exist, let alone Ajax here.”
“Things didn’t exactly go as planned today,” Logan said, surprising me with how hesitant and unsure he sounded. “It started with the rage demon this morning—”
“And ended up with you revealing this place to the target you were supposed to protect?” Rego interrupted Logan. “What if she gets taken? She could expose us all.”
Logan’s brown eyes narrowed, and he took a step toward his uncle.
“She’s not going to get taken. And she’s injured. She got hit with a spark from the fire demon.” Logan’s fingers curled into fists at his sides, betraying his calm composure. “So, we’re going to give her something to cure her burns, and then we’re going to tell her what’s going on.”
“It’s in her best interest if we erase her memory,” Rego said, his sentence sounding more like an order than a suggestion as he took a step toward Logan. “Knowledge will make her a liability. She shouldn’t know—”
“No!” Logan shouted, and Rego stepped back in surprise. “She saved my life. And she doesn’t want her memory erased.”
“She doesn’t get to make this decision.”
“She’s also in the room,” I volunteered, and was rewarded with a venomous glare from Rego. Dial it back, Paige. Don’t poke the bear. Don’t poke the angry, warlock bear.
“I refuse to erase her memory. And, Ajax—” Logan pointed at his friend as he dug for crumbs in the bottom of the chip bag “—you’re not doing it either.”
“Are you sure you don’t want the spell?” Ajax interjected, his full lips curled in a teasing grin. “They say ignorance is bliss. Don’t you want to be blissful?”
“I think I’ll pass,” I replied, hesitantly taking my eyes off Rego and Logan’s standoff to look at Ajax, who had crumbs down the front of his shirt.
Ajax merely shrugged in reply. “Just as well, my bliss-less friend. I’m really bad at it, so I’d probably turn you into a chicken or something.”
“I’m definitely going to have to say no, then.”
“My sweet, I’m sure you’d make a lovely chicken,” Ajax replied.
“No one’s doing any spells on Paige,” Logan shouted, his voice determined. “So, Rego, unless you’ve learned how to pull off a somnorvik spell lately, this discussion is over. I owe her. And you know I always pay my debts.”
Rego arched his eyebrow as he appeared to evaluate his nephew.
“Very well.” Rego turned on his heel and disappeared behind the dark curtain. As he pulled the fabric back, I got a better look at the living room. Well, in a normal apartment, it would have been the living room. Instead, the walls in this room were lined with dusty, ancient-looking treasures and medieval-looking weapons—ornate, slightly tarnished brass and steel sharing shelves with brilliant, shiny gold.
Rego returned with a small, scratched mason jar, filled with a bright blue gelatinous cream that quivered in the glass.
“Apply this to the affected area. It should heal immediately. Your skin will be unblemished, as if you’d never been injured,” Rego said, arrogantly adding, “It’s my own brew, so it truly works wonders.”
“Thanks,” I said, opening my bag and stuffing the jar inside.
“Paige, don’t you want to take care of that now?” Logan asked me. “We’ll wait.”
“No. It barely hurts anymore,” I fibbed. My side still stung, but I was anxious to finally get some answers.
I leaned forward in my chair and folded my arms on the table. Rego sat in another chair and pulled a massive scroll off the stack on the kitchen table.
“Paige, why do you think you were attacked?” Rego asked, one black eyebrow arched as he dismissed the scroll and pulled out another one. The question felt like a test.
“I assume it was because I can...well, I can talk to ghosts,” I said, my tone very businesslike and matter-of-fact. After all, I was talking to a demonslayer, a warlock and a...whatever Ajax was. My talent, for once, didn’t make me the weirdest one in the room.
“That’s half-right. You don’t talk to ghosts exactly,” Rego corrected, “although I can understand why you’re under such a misapprehension. You can speak to spirits that are trapped in an alternate version of your world.” He spread his palms, gesturing to the apartment around him.
“There’s the world that you know. The human world, so to speak. And then there’s the other world.”
“The Dark World?” I asked, then hastily explained, “My friend calls it that—but I thought she was just stuck in purgatory or limbo or something.”
“Your blonde friend, right?”
I met Logan’s gaze as he leaned against the wall nearest me. “You can see Dottie?”
“And hear her. I told you I didn’t think you were crazy,” he reminded me.
“Can we focus, please?” Rego demanded, and I turned my attention back to him just as he was unrolling a scroll in front of me. It was an aerial map of New York City—a surprisingly vibrantly colored and accurate map, considering how ancient the parchment looked. There was even an illustration of a high-rise that was under construction near my school.
“This is the world you know. The one you live in every day.” As we studied the map, the building shimmered, growing taller, and I gasped in surprise.
“It’s an active map,” Logan explained, seeing where I was looking. “It reflects the changes in this world.”
Rego placed a piece of cloudy vellum on top of the scroll, and the map morphed. The buildings became more angular, with warped, sloping sides. The colors were darker, gloomier. A building on the East River crumbled into ash as I stared. My eyes reflexively sought out my street—West Forty-Fourth was a blazing inferno.