Immortal Consequences(65)

“These wards weren’t naturally created,” noted Masika as they approached the cottage. “I bet these were placed as part of the trial.”

“Well, good thing we have you.” Irene nudged her. “Defensive magic does seem to be your specialty lately.”

Masika smirked. Of course. Irene was still slightly bothered by Masika’s ability to dismantle the ward outside Calligan’s office.

Masika approached the house and glanced into the front window. Through the foggy glass, she could see the target soul standing at the foot of a bed. It was a kid. A girl no more than eight or nine. She had dirty-blond hair and unruly bangs falling over her eyes, rosy cheeks soaked with tears.

And, more importantly, she was staring down at her dying body.

Nobody knew exactly why certain souls found themselves unable to cross over, stuck between the world of the living and the Other Side. It had been vaguely explained to Masika upon first arriving at Blackwood. Lost souls died with a set of perfect ingredients—a traumatic death, excessive baggage, and a relentless desperation to hold on, no matter the cost.

Which meant that most people who died could cross over without a hiccup. But there were a stubborn few who needed their help.

She reached her hand out, examining the pointed thorns sprouting from the thick branches. Strings of gold trickled from her fingertips, wrapping around each individual thorn like a cocoon.

Masika glanced over her shoulder. “You want to help with the other side?”

“Already on it.”

They worked in silence. It was a tedious and arduous process, one that required total concentration. Masika could feel herself becoming increasingly drained, a palpable exhaustion weighing down her bones.

She was being leached of her magic.

With every push, with every inch of the ward she dismantled, a dense pressure swept over her, inundating her with fatigue. By the time she finished dismantling her side of the ward, she could barely keep her eyes open.

Irene hobbled over, snow crunching beneath her boots. The skin beneath her eyes had begun to darken, a constellation of broken blood vessels marring her face. Masika had no doubt that she probably looked just as wrecked.

“Finished.”

Masika nodded, fiddling with the last of her section. “I’m about done.”

“They really outdid themselves with this one,” muttered Irene with a scowl. “Imagine if we hadn’t partnered up. It would have taken you hours.”

Masika could only nod in response. She’d suddenly become too tired to formulate coherent sentences.

“Well, let’s get this over with.” Irene stepped forward, walking straight through the wall as if it were nothing but air. Masika followed after her. The wallpaper on the other side was chipped and peeling, the floorboards rotten and warped. The more decay present, the more the soul was suffering.

A brief yet overwhelming rush of sorrow struck Masika’s chest.

She’s only a child.

For a moment, the little girl didn’t appear to notice them, too fixated on her dying body to pay them any mind. But then Irene cleared her throat and the little girl’s gaze snapped up to meet hers.

“Hello,” Irene said simply. “What’s your name?”

The little girl gawked up at her in disbelief, jaw slack and eyes wide. Irene shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. When the little girl remained silent, Irene leaned forward and snapped her fingers in front of her face.

“Helloooo? Can you hear me?”

“Don’t snap at her,” Masika bristled. “She’s not a dog.”

“Well, what the hell is wrong with her? She’s catatonic!”

“Just give her a second,” Masika pleaded.

Irene scoffed. “I don’t have a second. We have to go find my soul next, remember?”

“I thought you said you weren’t worried about being late.”

“I’m not!”

And then a noise cut through the air. A biting, grating noise that shocked them into silence.

The little girl had begun to sob, wailing with her head thrown back and tears streaming down her face.

“Oh, no.” Irene staggered backward, horrified. “No. Absolutely not. You deal with that.”

Masika winced as she approached the young girl. Her cries were earsplitting, like fingernails scraping against a chalkboard. But as Masika knelt in front of her, dropping to her eye level, the little girl’s cries subsided into a muffled sniffle.

“Hey,” Masika whispered, wiping a tear from the child’s face. “Are you okay?”

The girl rubbed her eyes. “Am I…am I really…am I really—”

“Jesus Christ,” Irene muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Masika shot her a warning glare. Irene rolled her eyes and mimed zipping her lips.

She turned back toward the girl. “Don’t worry. We’re here to help. It’s time for you to pass on.”

“Pass on?”

“You get to cross over. And only the very best souls get to cross over.”

The little girl tried glancing back at her body, but Masika stepped in front of her, delicately placing the tip of her finger against the girl’s chin and angling her face toward her. “I wouldn’t fixate on that. How about we get you ready to cross over? Does that sound like a good idea?”