Page 98 of Cursebreaker

Jack coughs.

His eyes widen.

Blood splatters the front of Margaret’s gown.

He reaches for her. Looks down.

And suddenly nothing makes sense. Nothing makes sense because there’s something sharp sticking out of Jack’s chest. And there’s someone standing behind Jack who hadn’t been there a moment ago. Someone who had appeared, as if out of thin air, cloaked in shadows.

Time unravels, streaming past me in a blur as the guests scatter, fleeing the beach.

Jack drops to his knees, and Margaret throws herself to the ground to shield his body with hers.

Will stands over them both, his cursed dagger crackling with green light.

I lurch forward as Titus draws a blade from his hip.

But we’re too late.

Will thrusts his blade down, as if to strike Margaret.

I scream, drawing the pistol strapped to my thigh, but while Titus and I are too late to act—while we’re not fast enough to protect her—Henry is there, his spine flush with Margaret’s.

Will halts, his blade an inch from Henry’s throat.

Henry stares up at him, his chest heaving, teeth gritted.

But Will just cocks his head, amusement glittering in his eyes as he looks between Henry and Margaret. “Ah, I see,” he purrs, his voice deep and dark. “You’re welcome, then.”

He straightens, a cool grin tugging at his lips as he turns to me, ignoring Titus altogether. “My invitation must have gotten lost in the post, hmm? I guess it’s a good thing I decided to drop in.” He doesn’t remove the blade from where it lingers, a breath away from Henry’s flesh. “Unfortunately, I can’t stay long.” He shrugs, even as Jack’s blood drips from his dagger. “I’ve only come to retrieve something that belongs to me,” he adds with an impish smirk, cutting a glance at Titus before turning his golden eyes back to me. “Tell me where you’re keeping the Elysian Navigator, and I will spare your friends and family.”

“It won’t work for you,” I say.

“Right, yes, of course.” He snaps his fingers. “Your blood is the key, is it not? Lucky I still have this,” he says, retrieving a small handkerchief from his pocket. He holds it up, the linen stained black with dried blood—my blood, from that night when I pricked my finger in the conservatory all those months ago. “Really, there’s no need to complicate things. Just tell me where I can find—”

I spit in his face.

He smiles, revealing teeth that gleam with otherworldly light. “Remember, Aster, I tried to be merciful.”

He vanishes in a plume of black smoke, and when I look up, I see the dark shape of a bat flying toward the Pearl.

Alarm bells ring out. My heart thuds painfully with every chime—six of them, meaning a ship has been spotted entering the Dire. It could be days before they reach the Red Island. It could be hours with the aid of windwalkers and bloodletters. It could be sooner.

The warning is a call to arms, and somewhere close by I hear Mother shouting.

Owen grabs hold of Rook and Diana before they can protest, and in a blink, the three of them vanish—transported to safety by Owen’s vortex. And then he’s back, grabbing hold of Albert and Lewis. Then Charlie. All the while, Margaret’s voice trembles as she presses her hands to Jack’s chest, attempting to stanch the flow of blood.

“Gabriel!” she cries. “Gabriel, help—”

But when Gabriel drops to his knees beside them, he just shakes his head. “Margaret,” he says softly.

“I can fix this,” she says, face pale, her expression fierce—determined. “I can fix this!”

Jack smiles up at her, even as blood dribbles past his lips. “Just a scratch,” he hisses through gritted teeth. He reaches up, cupping Margaret’s jaw in his bloody palm. “I’m not going anywhere. We’re going to be old and gray together, right? My wife,” he says, stroking her face. His fingers leave a streak of crimson across her cheek.

Margaret continues to pack the wound, her focus sharpening.

“Margaret,” Gabriel says again, his voice strained. “It was a cursed dagger. The wound—it can’t be healed.”