“Did Father Odo have anything to say aboutthat?” I press.
He expels a frustrated breath. “No. But Twig found another lead. A retired professor who taught in Ohio University’s anthropology department. She specialized in folkloric studies, and piloted a class calledCurse Lore and Ritual Structure. She published several articles about the topic.”
“A curse expert.”
“She might know something. I’ve reached out several times, but she hasn’t replied.” He glances at my bedside clock. “She lives in Athens, Ohio. If I don’t hear back from her by the end of tonight, I’m heading there first thing in the morning.”
Thursday.
The eve of Halloween.
One day before Dante’s comet will blaze brightest in the sky.
Quite possibly our last day together.
I shove the disturbing thought away. And the dread that comes with it. Jude is worried for my life, but I’m worried for his. Especially if he thinks he can take on Seraphina.
My teeth begin to chatter.
He slides his hand over my knee.
The touch makes my breath catch.
“You’re freezing,” he says, shadow falling across his face. It’s as if my cold temperature, ormaybe his words, cause him physical pain. “I’ll never forgive myself for being so weak.”
I shake my head adamantly, because love isn’t weak. No immortal ancestors or fallen angels or terrible curses will convince me otherwise. I slip my hand beneath his, palm to palm, finger to finger.
My breath trembles.
He lifts his thumb and traces my lines like a palm reader. Then he brushes aside the collar of my flannel, and ever so gently, he lowers his mouth to the mark.
My pulse throbs.
I lean toward him, my heart drumming wildly, pleasure coiling in my abdomen. Then his lips move to my throat and my fingers curl into his hair.
He pulls back, his eyes dark with desire and determination. “I’ll tell Rafe tonight.”
I can’t speak.
I can hardly breathe.
All I can do is nod.
“I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you,” he whispers against my neck.
Death has become a storm cloud hovering above us. And yet, I’ve never felt more alive than I do right now.
50
THE REVELATION
Iam a block of ice on the move—hair frozen, breath frosted—lost in the hedge maze, dead ends at every turn as shadow closes in and panic rises. I must get to him. I have to save him. But when I finally reach the center, Jude isn’t there. Instead, the portrait lies on the ground like a mirror.
Birdsong fractures the silence as the locket in the painting shimmers like a sunbeam.
Ribbons of light spider outward.
The portrait splits into a gaping maw, and a black tentacle reaches out from within.
