The stone vibrates—alive once again.
It’s as though my lacerations have reactivated it.
But the air neither hums nor crackles.
Instead, darkness oozes between my fingers.
With a yelp, I drop the stone.
It clatters to the floor.
I yank up my sleeve, unravel the bandage around my arm, and gasp. “Do you see this?” I ask, looking up at Rafe, who is standing too close not to see.
He trails his thumb alongside my glittering wounds, a featherlight touch that makes my breath catch.
His eyes meet mine. “These are from the plant?”
Swallowing thickly, I nod. Then I pull my arm from his and take a step back. With a shaky inhale, I toe the onyx warily with my boot.
“It responds to pressure,” Rafe says, picking it up. To prove his point, he gives it a squeeze and the shadow oozes again, sliding through his fingers in cords of vaporous smoke, reminding me of Halloween night, when those same cords slithered around my neck and squeezed.
I take another step back.
Rafe stops and the shadows disintegrate.
“What about this one?” I ask, nodding at the pearl. “Does it respond to pressure, too?”
“I don’t know what makes that one work,” he replies, looking—for the first time since his return—truly uncomfortable.
The power to reveal what is hidden.
I eye him curiously, wondering anew what he’s up to. Not for a single minute do I believe he’s helping me out of boredom. Given all the lies he has told, all the things he has hidden, it’s no surprise to see him more comfortable with darkness and shadow than truth and revelation.
I narrow my eyes—not at him, but the pearl.
I came here to see if either of these amulets might open a rift.
The onyx doesn’t.
Maybe the pearl will.
This time, I brace myself. And sure enough, as soon as I touch the stone, my lacerations burn and the torchlight flares. Orange flame erupts into mist and when the haze clears, I catch a glimpse of a vaguely familiar clock, its hands spinning wildly.
I don’t let the strange vision distract me. I clasp both hands around the pearl and bring it beneath my chin. Squeezing my eyes shut, I beg a rift to open.
Please, open.
The pearl goes cold.
My lacerations stop burning.
When I look, the firelight has returned to normal and Rafe is watching me. “I do hate to say I told you so.”
With a scowl, I square my shoulders, refusing to concede defeat. I might not have figured out how to open a rift, but that’s not all this crypt was good for. Surely there’s enough evidence down here to make a believer out of Kate.
I pull my phone from my pocket. With one tiny bar of reception, I text Twig.
Can you bring your sister to St. Fortuna’s?
