Something is not right. Whatever trouble they’re in, I have to help. Could it be Atlas? He should be home now, and he just recently broke that curse a few months ago—
Atticus. I knew something was wrong with him at the sporting goods store, and I let Landon distract me from it. I should have said something; I should have done something.
If my intuition is right and itishim in trouble, I think I’ll die from guilt.
I park my bike next to the fountain in front of Chastain Castle a few minutes later, rushing in through the front door and taking a moment to catch my breath as I look around.
I hear nothing. No movement sounds through the estate, and that only makes me more paranoid.
But then, voices from Hall E4 drift toward me, causing my feet to walk in that direction. I keep myself calm, my pace subtle. I have no idea what I’ll be walking in on.
The chapel is empty, but after peering around for a moment, I spot the red banner that’s shoved to the side, revealing a door-shaped hole in the stone that presents a staircase.
What the fuck?
As I head toward it, the voices become clearer.
“I call your name, with these words my soul I expose; grant my wish for a price befitting.”
I think I recognize the voice speaking, but I can’t place the name or face that belongs to it.
But then—
“Julie, make him stop!Oh, god,make him stop!” Atlas screeches, and all the hesitance I had before disappears.
I descend the steps, just in time to hear that familiar voice speak again.“Prince of darkness, extend your hand, and I will be your humble—”
I approach Theodora and Abraham’s backs just as Julian shoves Atlas toward his father, taking a step toward whatever danger it is that I can’t see.
“Everyone, stop,” I command, terrified of whatever consequences await Julian if he rushes into the room.
Shoving past him and the Chastains, I have to fight to keep my expression neutral. The space is some kind of altar room, complete with a stone slab, a few bookcases, and a podium.
A podium by which a very familiar boy stands, with Atticus at his side. I’m pretty sure that boy is the one Landon and I ran into once.
But the man next to him? Let me rephrase: that isnotAtticus.
His fingers are long, pointed, and purple; his eyes are pitch-black, and his teeth are sharp fangs. Atticus has turned into something vicious and disgusting.
“Continue,” he commands the other boy, his voice distorted and cruel as he sneers.
I’m not exactly sure what they’re doing— maybe some kind of ritual or spell—but I know it’s not good. I can tell from Atlas’s reaction and the heat of the room alone that whatever is controlling our sweet Atticus is most likely a demon.
The boy next to him is staring at me like I’m his last hope, trembling where he stands. Despite his muscles and his strong jaw, he looks fragile and terrified.
I find my way into the center of the room, hoping to gain Atticus’s attention as I call out, “Atticus.”
“Leave,maga,” the demon spits out.
I’m not exactly sure whatmagameans, but I bet this demon can sense my power in some ways. And if not, then just my confidence alone is startling it.
I take a deep breath, conjuring as much of Landon’s persuasion as I can, even if I can’t use coercion. “Wake up. Or I will force you.”
“You will die tonight,” the demon tells me. “I will rip you apart.”
It’s disorienting coming from Atticus’s mouth, but I’m not necessarily scared. I was given this gift of mine for moments just like this: to protect and to guide.
So I call on my illusion and show Atticus exactly what will happen if he doesn’t listen. If he doesn’t wake up and take control of his body.
