had let her down in the worst way possible. There had to be something he could have done, some other road he could have taken.

Darius crushed the clover in his gloved fist. He shouldn't have left her alone. He should never have let Jervais and the crew take him. He should have fought. Should have stayed. If he had, Georgia wouldn't have had to come for him. She wouldn't have had to use the death magic.

Darius shivered. It didn't take an expert to know power like that left a mark. Now that mark was on him. He could feel it; putrefaction and rot whispering over his skin, burrowing deep into what was left of his soul. Terrifying. Illicit.

Thrilling.

On the other side of the planter box, he heard theup again. His throat tightened. "I don't think that would be a good idea."

Father Gregory studied him for a moment. Then his eyes softened. He glanced at the sky. "Come with me. I don't know about you, but I don't much care to get heat stroke up here."

He held down a hand. Darius grasped it and scrambled to his feet. At the last minute, he reached back and plucked his leather jacket off the ground.

They retreated to the cool, dimly-lit rector's office. Darius folded himself into the same chair he'd sat in before. Father Gregory rummaged around behind the desk, reemerged with two bottles of water. He passed one to Darius, then sat down in the other chair. "Do you want to talk about what happened?"

Darius looked down.