I hauled her out, nearly drowning myself in the process. The seconds before she spluttered to life on the sand were the longest I’ve ever counted.
“It was so quiet, Elle.” Her voice was dreamy through salt-cracked lips when she could finally do more than wheeze. “Like falling asleep.”
A tart, sweet scent captures my attention. Douglas’s figure slowly emerges from the door. First his long-fingered hands appear—palms out as though pushing the door. Then his nose, followed by thick eyebrows and an illusion of ruddy cheeks from the color of the wood behind him. The gash across his neck has burst again. It drowns his beard and neck in red.
I didn’t ask for his help, but he immediately went to check on Liney. Our mutual drive to protect her was enough.
“She collapsed,” he reports. “What did you do to her?”
“Nothing! Go back and undo the bolt, quickly.”
A spark of light and crack of thunder emphasize him.
“You think I didn’t try that?” He narrows his eyes. “I exhausted my physical connection going to the dock.”
I waste time in baffled silence. Seconds I could be spending getting to Liney. I slam against the door again, a panicked animal.
“Find something to break it down.Quickly.”
I swallow down my response—What does it look like I’m doing?—and look around. My knife is too weak; the fireplace poker is too small. I rush down to stand in the middle of the room and turn until I finally spot it. Among a pile of nets and socks that Liney brought in, there’s an axe. I pick it up, hefting its weight in my hands.
“Finally.” Relief floods Douglas’s voice. “Come—what are you doing?”
I ignore him. I have some natural strength, but even with an axe, it’s not enough to reach Liney through the door in time.
I must tap into the power that brought us here, lurking in my blood.
While the tendrils’ touch earlier may have been sensed by Mr. Pratterman as only an echo, calling on it directly is much more likely to take his notice. But I’d sacrifice a thousand more souls to him if it meant saving Liney one more time. This power was lent to me to protect her. Am I not following our contract to the letter by using it now?
Rain pounds against the windows, loud and insistent. The storm will likely shift between water, ice, and snow falling on us to create a slick mess by morning.
I close my eyes. Douglas calls my name, but his voice falls away. A familiar, uncanny chant has begun under my feet. Resonant whispers climb from the deep, unnatural chasm. A spiral of rock and devoured souls formed by the Devil himself. I can’t understand the words, but their desire is clear. Their fury wields me. My breathing, the rippling hunger pains—it all slips out of my focus. Only what will get me to my sister remains.
Molten power from the spiral seeps into me. Tendrils become infernal veins. My hands warm the wood of the axe handle. The darkness of my eyelids changes to blinding red, like staring into the sun. Painful, dangerous, but beautiful.
The unrefined rage adopts my desperation. She’s no longer only my sister. She’sours. We must reach her. My mind splinters down to its most basic, brutal components: Run. Strike. Snatch.
I open my eyes. The world is coated in red.
I sprint up the stairs. This power is unpredictable. Explosive. With Liney on the other side, I must regain control. I tighten my hold on the axe and swing down beside the door handle. The wood flakes apart like soft cod. Boards splinter to the floor, scattering at my feet. I hack until the lock mechanism is exposed. Then I drop the axe and grab the metal. The black, burnished surface hisses under the heat of my fingers. I take one readying breath. Both feet planted firmly on the small landing, I claw my fingers into the metal until they melt dents I can grip.
I heave. The lock sticks in place as the wood creaks around it, but then it’s dislodged and in my hands, and I’ve lost my balance.
I take a heavy hit midway down the stairs on my hip, then another against my forearm as I tuck in and roll. I thud against a surprisingly soft landing at the bottom. It’s a throw pillow that Liney sewed last summer. That wasn’t there earlier. It was on the chesterfield. The lock weighs down my stomach, making me gasp for air.
“Get up.” It’s Douglas, gruff and just as frantic as I am.
Did he use his small influence on the material world to protect me?
No. For Liney.
I throw the lock aside and haul myself up the stairs again. Six up one octagonal side, six up the second, and six up the third to the landing, this time meeting a hollowed-out door. A small window beside me flashes with another lightning strike. I pray hail won’t break through.
The door resists when I push. I peer through the hole. Liney is slumped against it. I must push her to edge my way in.
I press my hands on either side of the door. One breath in. The spiral’s heat fills my lungs, twin flames surrounding my heart. I pour that heat through my shoulders, into the sinew of my arms and out to mypalms. Sparks fly from the edges of my fingers. I budge the door one inch, take a step forward, another inch, then the weight gives as Liney falls forward.
I wipe my heated hands against my shirt and slip through, ignoring the burnt handprints now stuck to the broken door.
