Page 108 of Bewitching the Wolf

Immediately the cape springs from my shoulders and, to my utter surprise, throws itself on the ground in the center of the Opal Office.

A second later, a great yawning chasm forms and the cape rises above it. Cautiously, I move closer to see a huge abyss that sinks down through the fifty floors of Devine Tower, through to the basement, the foundations. and further still, until it reaches the bowels of Earth.

From a corner of the room, there’s an outraged high-pitched squeal. Looking up, I see the cape is rounding up Marsha, like a sheepdog would a stray sheep.

She tries to scuttle in one direction, then the next. She tries to hang onto the leg of a chair, but the cape just keeps sweeping her inexorably toward that hole. All the while she screeches and rants like a miniscule banshee.

But all to no avail. She is getting closer to the abyss.

Finally, she teeters, clinging to the jagged edge with blackened claw-tips.

“May you rot in hell,” she screams at me, her red eye bugging out of her sunken skull.

“I’ll leave that pleasure to you,” I murmur. “Goodbye, Marsha.”

The cape gives her one last nudge, and her grip loosens…

And then down, down she goes, carried away in a swirling gray mist. Strange belching noises erupt from the abyss, and a sudden red flame throws out the image of Marsha’s demon face, distorted into a silent scream for the briefest of seconds before it, too, is swallowed up.

With one last puff of noxious smoke, and the distant echo of a bell tolling, the hole closes.

A wisp of vapor is all that remains.

I almost burst out laughing.

Vapor. It holds no power over me now.

But I know what it signifies.

Marsha Winters has been returned to the hell realms.

And there’s no way she’s ever coming back.

CHAPTER 34

TIPPY

A moment after the glass shattered into a thousand pieces, there’s another explosion. It sounds like it’s coming from the foundations of the Vault.

A deep boom resonates around the room. The walls shudder and shake.

Finally, the echoes die down, the shaking ground calms beneath us, and all is still.

I dare to peep through my claws.

Everywhere around us on the floor there are fragments of glass. Aurora is helping my aunt to her feet. Luckily, none of us appear to be hurt.

The books on the plinth are completely still.

“What happened?” I look to Aurora for guidance. She cocks her head, as if tuning into something.

I wait, watching her face, my breathing erratic. “Listen,” she whispers, holding up her hand.

And then I detect it. The distant echo of a bell tolling.

“The gates of hell have closed,” Aurora says quietly.

“Is that a good thing?” I ask, my heart still pounding fit to burst out of my ribs.