As if on cue, the door rattles, its hinges screaming at the pressure brought to bear on them by Jaxon’s powers. “Jaxon!” I scream his name, desperate for him to hear me.
The rattling of the doors stops for just a second. “Grace! Hold on! I’m almost in!” The door shakes so much that the rocks around it start to crumble.
“Come in! You’re invited in! Please! Come in, come in, come in!” I shout the words loud enough for him to hear them.
Lia just laughs. “Not your room, Grace. Not your invitation to issue. Sorry to burst your bubble.”
The alarm on her phone goes off before I can respond, and suddenly she’s all business. “It’s time.” Raising her arms above her head, she begins to chant, her voice low and rhythmic and strong, so strong.
She doesn’t falter at all, doesn’t stumble over words even though the written spell is long gone. Looks like she wasn’t lying when she said she’d been practicing for months. Which means I really did throw myself off this altar for nothing.
My shoulder is not impressed.
I mean, logically, I know this isn’t going to work. There’s no way she’s going to be able to bring Hudson back from the dead—life just doesn’t work like that. Believe me, I know.
But I’m not going to lie, when a breeze sweeps over me out of nowhere, ruffling my hair and brushing against my skin, it chills me to the bone. As does the sudden electricity in the air that follows it.
Every hair on my body stands straight up in response. Combined with Lia’s odd chanting that’s only getting odder, it’s more than enough to have me screaming for Jaxon like the hounds of hell are after us.
He bellows in response, a primal sound from deep inside him that has me yanking on the ties around my wrists as hard as I can. It hurts—ohmygod does it hurt—but the pain doesn’t matter. Nothing matters right now but stopping Lia and getting to Jaxon.
This time the whole wall shudders under the force of Jaxon’s power. I’m facing away from the door, but I can hear the grinding of stones being pulled loose and the crash of them as they hit the floor. He’s close now, so close, and everything inside me strains toward him and away from Lia’s madness.
I can’t believe I let Flint get inside my head, can’t believe I thought even for a second that Lia and Jaxon were working together. And I definitely can’t believe I ran from the only boy I’ve ever loved. Jaxon would never be involved in something like this. Especially if that something aimed to hurt me. I know that now.
Plus, how could I forget just how much Lia hates Jaxon? No way would she bring him in to her own personal Project Lazarus.
I really am a fool. And it’s going to be the death of me.
Lia’s chant grows louder, echoing throughout the cavernous room as she grabs a long, ceremonial knife from inside the lectern. I watch in horror as she slices open her wrist and lets her blood drip onto the altar.
It sizzles as it hits the stone, where it turns into a noxious black smoke. The wind picks up, starts churning the smoke into a kind of mini-tornado that has me pulling against my bindings as hard as I can even as I scream for Jaxon.
I’m beginning to think there just might be something to this raising Hudson from the dead thing. And if there is, I want absolutely no freaking part of it. I sure as hell don’t want to be the catalyst that brings everything together.
Lia obviously has other plans, though, because she walks toward me with the knife. Her blood is still gleaming on the blade and I have an oh God, please let her clean it off before she touches me with it moment. Which seems absurd considering: One, shouldn’t I be praying that she doesn’t come near me with it at all? And two, what does it matter when I’m already covered in her blood, my blood, and some stranger’s blood? What’s a little more at this point?
Still I shrink back, pulling my legs up and trying to curl into a ball as best I can. It’s not much protection—or really any protection—but it’s all I’ve got until Jaxon manages to break through the ancient safeguards.
I expect Lia to start hacking at me with the knife as soon as she gets to me, but instead, she stands above me—arms spread wide and knife pointed directly at my midsection.
Not cut, then. Stabbed. Awesome.
I brace myself for more pain, but the knife never descends. Instead, the black smoke surrounds us, winding itself tighter and tighter as the breeze picks up and Lia finally stops chanting.
“Open your mouth!” she screams at me as the smoke centers itself directly above me.