Chapter 8
I let out a yelp, but it’s no match for Nigel’s outrage. His voice comes through the speaker on Malcolm’s phone, the sound of it full of fury that makes my ears ring. Has Prescott been making this deal right in front of us? I think of how he placed his palm on the lid from time to time during our drive here. Those dots of sweat sprouting on his forehead, the strain of muscles, the tightness around his eyes.
Yes, he has.
Prescott raises his hands in an attempt to silence us. “The deal is this. We find the gateway between its plane of existence and ours or, failing that, I let it reside in me instead of Carter.”
Carter sags, and his shoulders slump, not with relief but guilt.
“I’m stronger,” Prescott continues. “I can hang on until Prem or Reginald arrives to help.” He spares
