Zorakkov sends another bolt of pain sizzling down my arm, and the priest lifts his arms once more.
“By the bonds of blood and magic,” he begins, and I know if he gets the rest of the words out, if he finishes the rite, I’m done.
“…with the blessing of the old gods and the new,” he continues, and the demon grips me tighter, so certain of his victory, of his power.
“…so shall this oath be—”
“Bullshit,” a voice interrupts, strong and clear. Familiar.
Mine.
And with a surge of adrenaline, I—the witch who never stands up for herself, the witch who has no power, the witch who never had a fucking choice—grab the discarded athame off the floor, rocket up to my feet, and shove that blade right through the demon’s throat.
I’m stumbling down the altar steps before the blood even reaches the collar of his fine white shirt.
And without so much as a glance toward the monsters who sold me out, I bolt.
Chapter Ten
DRAEGAN
I’ve always enjoyed the view from the open bell tower. It’s quiet up here—far enough removed from the hustle and bustle of the streets below to grant me a moment’s peace, but not so distant it makes a man forget what tethers him to the world.
It also gives me a chance to visit the gargoyles perched on the corners of the balustrade. Even in their stone forms, my oldest friends can see, hear, and feel everything that goes on around them, just like Rook, Jude, Augustine, and I can. Butunlikethe four of us, these gargoyles can’t shift out of their stone forms at night.
Or ever.
None of the city’s gargoyles can. That is a privilege—a burden, too—reserved only for us.
I place a palm on a familiar stone wing, noticing a new chip at its crest. Probably hail damage.
“I’m sorry, Miguel,” I whisper, but of course he can’t reply. Can’t tell me if he’s cold or in pain. If he remembers my name or even how such a cruel curse ever befell him.
My heart sinks under the weight of regrets too ancient to name, but I didn’t leave the wedding ceremony to fly up here and sulk about the long list of things I cannot change.
Help her, Draegan… She’ll need you before the night is through…
The strange, otherworldly voice echoes through my mind once more, just like it did in the nave when Westlyn Avery appeared. I don’t know where the command originated, but the moment I heard it, there was no doubt in my mind I’d obey.
Augustine’s odd behavior at the girl’s arrival only cemented it for me; he was entranced. Perhaps I would’ve been as well, but the whispers in my mind were accompanied by a vision.
I’m not sure how or why, but Westlyn Avery is going to jump to her death from this tower tonight. And unlike the curse that trapped my friends in eternal stone, that girl’s death is a tragedy I can actually prevent.
Whoever the girl is, whatever fate has in store for her… somehow, our paths are connected. I may not understand it, but I learned long ago to neither question nor ignore the mysterious whisperings of fate.
So here we are. Waiting for what? I’ve no idea. But I’ll know it when I see it.
I always do.
The rain that’d been battering us on and off for the last few hours finally lets up again, dark clouds shifting to offer a glimpse of the full moon. I use the opportunity to pace the perimeter of the small tower balcony, checking on each of the gargoyles and making notes about any new damages. Rook might have some ideas for extending the tower roof to offer the gargoyles a bit more protection from the elements.
I text him my notes and ask about security on the main level—seems all is well. I’m curious as to how the ceremony’s progressing, but I don’t dare distract Augustine from the all-important task of keeping watch over the girl.
Several minutes later, I’m about to text Rook again to see if he’s had any luck tracking down our missing Jude, but a sudden commotion on the ground level interrupts me. Peering over the balustrade, I catch a wave of confused wedding guests pouring out of the main entrance and onto the street, chased by what appears to be a flock of...
Ravens?
My phone buzzes—Augustine. But frantic footsteps on the tower staircase leave me no time to answer. I quickly shift into my stone form, clinging to the balustrade as if I’m part of the architecture.
