His eyes lock onto mine.
But he’s too late.
Rafe grabs me around the waist and cold, sharp steel presses against my throat.
“Move any closer,” Rafe says, as casual as a Sunday stroll, “and she dies.”
Jude freezes.
“Please,” I whisper, grasping Rafe’s forearm in an attempt to create more space between my neck and his blade. But I’m not sure who I’m begging, or what I’m begging for.
For Jude to cooperate?
For Rafe to let me go?
For the curse to relent?
For fate to reconsider?
I want a different ending. But time has reached its end. Above us, the comet burns brighter. A flare across the heavens. Party-goers let out shouts of awe. They light sparklers and snap selfies and lift lanterns, oblivious to the nightmare unfolding.
All of them except Twig.
Jude picks up a rock. He brings the jagged end across his palm in one decisive swipe. Blood pools in his hand. I hold my breath as he takes a step forward, tips his palm to the stone, and lets the crimson spill.
54
WRITTEN IN THE STARS
Disembodied whispers carry on the wind, snatching hats and whipping cloaks. Spiraling gusts kick up dirt and dead leaves, sending debris in violent swirls. Contraptions tick and blink and hum, like the cemetery itself has come alive.
A ghost hunter’s last stand.
Twig’s minefield.
The epitaphs on tombstones glow.
Lantern flame erupts in pale blue.
Party-goers cry out, their bodies flickering and glitching as the ground rumbles underfoot.
A bolt of lightning forks upward.
A speaker explodes.
Teens scream.
Tree roots tear through soil and grass, rising like skeletal fingers from the grave.
Twig shouts my name as the tomb splits open.
Wind shrieks from within.
A black ring of fire ignites around its mouth.
A white flame shoots up from the abyss. Like a firework, it erupts in concentric circles. They widen, pushing apart the mist and the fog, until—for one heart-stopping moment—the supernatural realm is laid bare. Winged creatures. Chained souls. Ruined altars. A terrifying vision that twists into a single beam of pale light that strikes the pearl.
The ruby ignites beside it like a domino. The comet burns red, bathing the cemetery in a bloody glow. My heart burns in my chest. Rafe clutches his own. His knife clatters to the ground as corporeal veins pulse across the sky, emitting a euphoric song and a devastating wail that coalesce, then implode into a single beating ember that slowly sinks into the ruby.
