AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Enough,” I interrupted softly, not wanting to think about why Nightmare had crusaded for revenge all these years—because her husband died and she blamed me, Death. Everyone that had suffered at her hands could be traced back to me and the force I embodied. “On three, speak the incantation. And you’re right, Miz, we kill anyone who comes through.”
Tor nodded brusquely. Miz uncrossed his arms and reached for a swath of shadow, pulling out a knife. He nodded too, and we stepped forward, onto each corner of the sigil, shadows flowing around our feet to power the symbol in lieu of fire and blood. As much as I wanted to strike Nightmare a blow, I wouldn’t kill for it.
Followers of Nightmare, you are summoned. Appear here, or suffer for eternity.
Our voices blended, overlapping in a droning chant of power, and at first nothing happened.
But then movement flickered from the rivers of shadow cut into the ground—pale silvery light. I caught my breath. It was working.
Figures were torn through the triangle of power, so many trapped in its magic that I lost count. Relief nearly weakened my knees. Her followers were here. We could deal her a dangerous blow, weaken her, and get the upper hand we needed to keep Miz and Cat safe.
But I realised too late, the figures were too transparent to be living.
The fifty people who appeared were dead. Ghosts. And the symbol had only been drawn to contain the living.
They swarmed before I could throw up a veil to shield us, their hands as cold as bone.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CAT
We dropped the black canvas bag into the shallow water at the edge of the lake, neither Honey or I speaking but our rough breaths broadcasting panic and terror. The second the bag’s weight tore the handles from our hands, I felt the dead weight of Nightmare’s command lift from me and I sank to my knees in the mud.
Honey knelt beside me, shaking so violently that her teeth chattered when she wrapped her arms around me. “How do we stop her?”
“I don’t know,” I choked out, trying to speak past the tightness in my chest. Nightmare’s magic left a residue, like oil covering my hands, taunting my soul.
I gagged, wanting to scour every trace of her off me.
Now I could move and breathe and think for myself again, I began to tremble. Why had it been so hard to pull a bag of hay? I knew hay was heavier than I might realise, but it wouldn’t have been backbreaking for two people to drag a bag full of it.
“Cat?” Honey whispered when I pulled away from her and reached for the bag. In the shallow water, it had caught on a rock protruding from the lake and it had stuck only a few feet from the bank. I waded a step into the water, so icy and numb I didn’t feel the cold water fill my shoes or soak my jeans. I had to know. I didn’t want to, but I had to.
“Cat,” Honey said, almost a warning, a plea. She didn’t want to know, but I couldn’t live with never knowing what we’d carried across the woods.
So I pulled down the zip—and staggered back onto the muddy bank, a shudder wracking me from head to toe.
It wasn’t hay. It was a person—pale and cold and empty-eyed.
“Who is that?” Honey whispered, grabbing my arm so tightly it hurt.
I couldn’t look away. My stomach cramped.
“It’s Dean Fairchild.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
TOR
Note to self: when you’re performing a ritual based on a dead language, get very fucking specific with your wording.
I trudged up the stairs of Lawrence House to my girl, weak as fuck after being drained by ghosts for hours, and my head pounded a warning that I was weak. Turned out we should have specified Nightmare’s living followers. We’d paid the price for that little error. Miz passed out, looking pale and fragile, but that was his regular look these days. Death was watching over him, and I was here to watch over our girl. Our wife.
Usually that thought, that precious fucking title, filled me with energy and thrill, but I was too exhausted for that. I wanted to collapse into her bed and fall asleep with my wife in my arms. It would be the first time I’d spent the night alone with her. It would have been nice to not be out of breath when I reached her floor, to have the stamina to give her at least half a dozen orgasms, but I’d be lucky to give her one.
“In the morning,” I promised myself, even my voice weak.
Honestly, fuck ghosts.
