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"I make no guarantees, but I believe Menolly is strong enough to make it through the rite. If she's to have any hope of confronting her sire, she must master her fear. She must rid herself of the chains he forged between them. Do you understand?"
Camille's voice broke in. "It makes perfect sense, but listen to me, Monk. If you hurt her in any way that isn't part of the ritual, if you try to fuck her up, I'll rip out your heart and feed it to a Corpse Talker. Do you understand me?"
There was a brief pause, then, "You make yourself perfectly clear, Daughter of the Moon." Jareth busied himself at something. The sound of blood trickling into a goblet reached my ears. The fragrance filled the room, metallic and brilliant and beautiful. Then a bell chimed three times and I sensed him circling around the table, widdershins, going against the sun.
"Once I begin, we must finish. You understand this? There's no stopping, or the energy could backfire." Jareth was standing near my head.
I let out a shudder. "This whole trip isn't going quite the way I expected. Get on with it."
Angel of glory, angel of blood,
rise to meet your maker.
Angel of glory, angel of blood,
rise to confront your sire.
Angel of glory, angel of blood,
rise to reclaim what is yours.
Angel of glory, angel of blood,
return to the time you were newly born.
He was circling the table, his voice drifting on a stiff breeze that had suddenly sprung up to sweep through the room. The energy shifted and I felt myself drifting lower, my consciousness lulled by the cadence of his speech, by the rhythm of his heartbeat.
Surrender your expectations. Surrender your doubts.
Surrender your fears. Surrender your strengths.
Surrender your anger. Surrender your control.
Three drops of blood splashed on my forehead, their scent enticing me. Even though I'd drank just a few hours earlier, the thirst rose and I found myself ravenous. I jerked against the cuffs, wanting to be free to go and hunt. I can't, I thought, I can't leave. I can't just go traipsing off in search of fresh blood on the city streets.
Creature of the night, demon of the blood,
Turn back the clock, turn back the minutes
and hours and years.
Return to the night you were born anew.
Return to the night of your siring.
Three more drops, but this time he placed them against my lips, pressing gently with his fingers. I forced myself to keep from biting the warm flesh as he withdrew his hand.
My tongue snaked out and before I could stop myself, I licked the blood off my lips.
"Holy crap!" A searing flame ran through me and I convulsed against the chains. For a moment, I thought I'd been staked, but as the pain subsided I realized it was magic, carried within the blood I'd just tasted. I had barely digested this thought when I began to tumble, spiraling away from my body, away from the room, away from the table and Jareth and my sister and Morio.
"What the—?"
I stopped as I landed on a hard surface. As I opened my eyes, I realized I was back in the cavern where Dredge had taken me after he caught me. And he was there, standing over me, a dreadful expression on his face as he latticed my body with his nails.
The pain rolled over me in waves. It seemed like hours since I'd lost my ability to scream. I was lying naked on a stone slab deep in the cavern complex.
If I could only faint, pass out until it was all over and I walked among my ancestors. I tried to will myself into unconsciousness, tried to coax the fog of forgetfulness out of hiding. But my mind was too strong, my grasp on the present too firm. If I closed my eyes, I could almost grasp the edge of oblivion, but each time I started to slide into that blessed abyss, Dredge dug in a little harder, twisted my flesh a little sharper to bring me back.
