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I veer toward her. Deciding Lita’s right, it’s time I confront her, demand to know what she’s up to—what it is that she wants. Having just reached her when the rain ceases and becomes something else.
Something lighter.
Drier.
Something that lands in small white squares at my feet.
I lift my chin, close my eyes, and allow it to drift softly onto my cheeks.
Heart soaring in triumph—knowing I did this—I’m responsible—it’s because of me that it’s snowing!
Excited shouts reverberate all around me, as the club empties into the alleyway, crowding the street. Throngs of people pushing and shoving, eager to get to it first—to take part in the miracle, my miracle, the one that I wrought. Voices overlapping, they call, “Snow! It’s snowing—you’ve got to come see it!”
I turn, searching for Dace, needing to see his reaction. Finding him still beside the fence with his hands splayed before him, welcoming the bright white squares that fall onto his flesh.
His chin lifting, gaze darkening, as he motions to me—urges me to see what he sees.
It’s not at all what we think.
Snow is crisp. Pure. Wet.
It doesn’t smudge.
Doesn’t leave a trail of charcoal when rubbed.
Only ash can do that.
We gaze at each
other, separated by a shroud of white ash falling steadily between us, and a surge of people eager to witness a miracle that’s really a curse. Dancing and twirling under the deluge, not realizing they’ve got it all wrong.
Not realizing they’re in the grip of something far darker, far more sinister than they could ever conceive.
The earth beginning to tremble as those same squares of ash become a torrent of flames that fall from the sky.
It’s the prophecy come to life, just like the codex foretold:
The other side of midnight’s hour strikes a herald thrice rung
Seer, Shadow, Sun—together they come
Sixteen winters hence—the light shall be eclipsed
Leaving darkness to ascend beneath a sky bleeding fire
All around me shouts of excitement quickly turn to fear, as a crowd of people fight to take cover, push their way back inside. Forcing me to shove my way through them, my need to confront Phyre all but forgotten, as I go in search of my friends. Warning Xotichl, Lita, and Auden to run, to find a way out of here—to get as far from this place as they possibly can.
“What about you?” Xotichl’s face pales as her fingers push into my sleeve, understanding all to well just what this means.
“I’m going to stop this. Fix this. If it’s the last thing I do.”
I jerk free of her grip, aware of her voice calling after me but unable to distinguish the words as I race toward the vortex.
forty-three
Dace
“What have you done with her?” I grip Phyre by the shoulders, demanding an answer. Last I saw, Daire was standing before her, and now she’s as good as disappeared.
