Page 113 of Elysian

As I backed away, I slipped it into my satchel hanging across my shoulders. Without the weight of the grimoire it seemed so light.

“I will be,” I said, squeezing her arm. Cassiel waited expectantly for me at the base of the staircase.

I squared my shoulders and mentally prepared for the long travel to The Barren.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Blood Path

The Barren was a cold, frightening place. The leaves bore no color. Trees varied. Some were hollowed out with thin fibers that connected at disjointed places. Others leaked a thick, brown, syrupy liquid.

We had reached the entrance, where green turned to gray, and began walking. We had not stopped since. A very faint mist coated the ground. The sky was shadowed by the looming, towering trees that reached high into the sky. It was clear that dusklight was near.

“We have crossed that tree,” Archer said. Even though he was quiet, it sounded like a scream. “I am sure we passed this.” He traced the tree’s shape in the air.

Liadan walked to the other side of the tree, eyeing it. “Bloody Saints,” he muttered. He reached for something out of view and lifted a small white stone. The same type he had been dropping occasionally.

“Fuck.” Jude rubbed his head as if it ached.

“This happened last time. I reached a moment where no matter what direction I went, I could not pass,” Liadan commented. “When I exited the threshold to this side, I would have died wandering if not for the Sanguine Stone growing colder the further I was from the threshold.”

“That would have been a good thing to know,” Archer snapped, shoving his hand into his bag.

“It would not have worked unless we reached a certain point anyway.” Liadan shrugged like a chastised boy.

“There is no need for the stone until we are done and have to leave. The Sanguine will only draw out the threshold, not the cenote.”

‘Saints, Amara,’ Cassiel growled into my mind, already gathering that I had left out vital information.

“You are hiding something,” Archer accused.

I grabbed the slim dagger and did not even let them see as I sliced my palm. Red blood trickled down my hand. My wrist was taken and yanked harshly.

“What are you doing?” Cassiel snarled.

His anger radiated. I could taste it on my tongue. Fortunately, he had grabbed my hand with the knife. Meanwhile, the blood dripped off my fingertips. From the corner of my eye, red glowed. I ripped my hand from his grip.

“Amara.”

The ground absorbed the blood. It sank into the dirt as if drinking the droplets, as if slaking its thirst. The ground breathed beneath my feet. Gasps that intertwined with cursing came from all around.

“The blood disappeared,” one of the men whispered. A line of scarlet, the thickness of my pinky, spread forward from where it fell. Scarlet seemed to mingle with black, turning the red a shade darker.

“The path,” I whispered, following the thin line of red leading through The Barren.

“Where?” Archer murmured.

‘We do not see it, Amara,’ Cassiel said.

“Follow me,” I whispered. “And keep close. Once we begin down this path, there is no escaping.”

I did not know how accurate my translations were at times, but that part was unmistakable. I took the lead, but had only taken a few paces before the line began to disappear. Another slice across my palm had blood dripping from my hand again.

Cassiel had my arm in a hard grip in the next instant.

“Gnash your teeth at me all you want,” I snapped. “But you are prolonging this.” We stared each other down, both of us heaving. I twisted my arm until he released it.

Not waiting for him to do something else, I continued down the path. The gash I created across my hand had already begun to heal, but I kept it angled so droplets fell in a rhythmic plop.