The Liberator (A Dante Walker Novel) (Entangled Teen) by Victoria Scott Page A

leaves, and the motion startles her. Then I flip her soul light on. Just as I expect, this broad’s soul is squeaky clean. Only a few seconds, that’s all it takes to release a blue seal. Then I remove my hand from her vehicle. “Never mind. Forgot what I was going to say.” She takes off, completely unaware that she just offered a ride to a guy who’s technically dead.
    Sealing as a liberator wasn’t as unnerving the second time around, I decide.
    After the broad is gone, I calm myself down and crawl inside my beat-up car. Then I stare forward in a daze. What the hell just happened? And who the hell was that guy? Just some dick with an anger problem, most likely. But it still sits wrong in my stomach.
    He wasn’t a collector , I tell myself. That’s all that matters .
    I’ve been in Denver for all of an hour, and already I’m calling attention to myself, as Valery would say. Maybe I’d better not mention this to her judgmental ass. She’d be all, “Why are you the only one this crap happens to, Dante?”
    Breathing in deeply, I rub my hands over my face a few times. Then I turn my car around and head toward the highway.
    “These mountain people are batshit,” I mumble.
    My phone vibrates in my pocket. When I pull it out, I see it’s a text from Charlie.
    Wish u were still here.
    You and me both , I think.

7
    Cigarette Halo
    After settling into my charming abode of a hotel, AKA the Holiday Inn, where they have luxuries like free ice and shower caps, I head toward Aspen’s house. It’s the last and final address Valery texted me, and I’m so looking forward to meeting this charming girl.
    No.
    Glancing down at my phone, I wonder if I have enough time to call Charlie before I get to where I’m headed. But then I see my turnoff and decide I’ll talk to her once I get my bearings. Besides, I want to wrap this assignment up quick. The faster I complete this job, the faster I can get home to Charlie.
    As I think this, Valery’s words come back to me: “ …as much you want to protect her yourself, you’re doing more damage by being nearby.” I also think about what Valery said at the airport. That she is important. But my question remains: was she talking about Charlie, or Aspen?
    I shake the thought from my head and look for Aspen’s address. I’m on the right road but don’t see any houses. Flipping through my texts, I realize what Valery sent isn’t really an address at all. It’s just a street name. Idiot. How could she forget the freaking house number? And how could I have headed out without thinking to check for one? I start to text Red back when I spot something. A house. Or maybe I should call it a hotel. Or a castle. Because a house doesn’t spread over the land this way, like it’s devouring everything in its path.
    I suddenly realize why this place doesn’t have a number: the street was created for this house alone. Because a house this big needs an entire street to itself. The exterior of the home is covered with dark red and black brick, and the abundant English windows are made of diamond-shaped glass. Sheets of ivy crawl up the walls like a gremlin’s fingers, and twisted, barren trees surround the property. And everything, every last part of the house and grounds, is draped in a blanket of snow.
    Though the fresh powder has a virginal appearance, the place still looks like Boss Man—err, Lucille —could call it home.
    As I approach an oversized iron gate, I notice there’s one of those box things where you have to ask permission to enter. I narrow my eyes because I’ve never asked permission for anything, and I’m not about to start.
    Almost like the gate reads my mind, it slides open, groaning and clicking as it moves.
    Pausing for only a beat, I punch my fist lightly on the steering wheel. Then I head down the flagstone driveway, navigating a near-totaled lime-green Kia Rondo toward this completely sick mansion. But I’m not sweating it, ’cause I know this chick will take