Chapter Eighteen
They met us in the plaza. There were, as both Jace and Zahrias had once feared, far more than the seven who’d raided my Santa Fe hideaway back in December. Now there had to be at least twenty of them, all armed to the teeth, except Margolis, who seemed to have taken over Miles’s job as wielder of the device. He stood in front of his band of marauders, the box clutched in his hands, and wore one of the nastiest smiles I’d ever seen.
I knew why. Because with him, wrists bound behind them, were Jace and Dani and the other djinn and Chosen who’d gone out foraging earlier that day.
The injustice of it made me want to scream. But I was attempting to take my cue from Zahrias, who stood next to me, calm, cold, surveying Margolis and his squad with the sort of respect one might
