Page 14
“What’s going on?” Luther folds his arms and narrows his eyes at me.
“Tanner’s pissed because I knew what would happen to Sam and I didn’t stop it.” I bite the inside of my cheek almost daring Luther to be pissed at me too.
He simply nods. “Right.”
“And he has a dumb-ass idea that’s going to get him killed.” I push past Luther, ready to let hell loose on Tanner.
He’s on the couch, leaning his forearms onto his knees, and looks up when I walk in. “Have you seen me dying?” he asks, his eyes snapping to meet mine.
I stop dead in my tracks. Luther steps into the room behind me and watches us both as I try to find the words to answer Tanner’s question. “No, I haven’t seen you dying, Tanner.”
“Have you seen anything to do with what we’ve been talking about?” Tanner raises his eyebrows. “Anything at all that tells you it will end badly?”
“No,” I mutter. “I haven’t.”
“Have you seen anything that tells you Sam has to stay wherever the fuck he is in order to stop The Shadow King?”
“No,” I say again. “I have not.”
“And you’re telling me the truth?” Tanner asks, tilting his head.
“Yes, I’m telling the truth.”
“Well, then—like I said—this is something we decide together. We vote.”
“Vote on what?” Luther finally speaks up, looking from me to Tanner because he has no idea what the fuck we’re talking about.
Tanner stands up slowly. “We vote on whether I should use Nova’s blood to magnify my powers and jump into hell.” He flexes his fingers at his sides and stares at each of us in turn. “We vote on whether we try to bring Sam back.”
11
SAM
The memory of Frank’s basement replays and replays and replays until I can’t take it anymore. I feel like I’m breaking. I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t move. When it fades, relief washes over me. But when I open my eyes, I’m on stage in Spine. And this memory is almost as bad as the last.
As my wolf brothers eviscerate my skin with their teeth, I beg my mind to take me somewhere else. I know now what’s happening; I’m being tortured. Visions of my past are going to torment me until I lose my mind. There is no escape. Even though I know what’s happening, I can’t stop the fear and the pain from overwhelming me. The wounds are as raw as they were the first time, and there is no way to soften them.
As the memory resets itself and I’m once again standing in the spotlight waiting for my brothers to pounce, I look at Nico.
He still isn’t speaking or moving. He’s with me, even though he is not part of this memory. I have no idea if he’s seeing what I am or if his mind has taken him to a torment of his own. His breath is shallow in his chest. Perhaps he’s reliving the moment his father plunged a knife into his stomach, or perhaps his punishment is that he will remain like this—dying, not dead—forever.
When the wolves attack, I don’t feel the way I did the night Nova found me. I feel the way I did the very first time it happened; terrified. Convinced I’m going to die. Teeth rip open my shoulder. They are perilously close to my neck. Madame’s voice rings out. “Enough! He must live!” Blood soaks my skin.
I screw my eyes closed. Any second now, it will start all over again. Stage. Spotlight. Music. Teeth. Blood. Pain.
Except this time daggers of white light force me to shield my eyes. When the light fades, we’re no longer in Spine, or Frank’s basement, or on the lawn at The Hollow. Around us, turrets of black rock reach up toward a dark red sky. Clouds move swiftly across it as if time is moving at three times its normal speed.
The ground is black too but covered in deep grooves that glow orange in the dim light.
The same gray gauze that half-obscured The Hollow hangs around us. Still half-naked, I shiver as I move through the gray. The mist clings to my skin and makes it prickle. In front of me, a section of black rock drips with something that could be blood. Half-congealed, it tumbles slowly down toward the ground where it pools and spreads.
Movement coming from behind my back makes me stop. I feel a dark shadow looming over me. I turn slowly, fear twisting my insides. I’m afraid to look but at the same time, I know I have to look.
When I do, I fall to my knees.
A creature—because that is the only possible way I can describe him—cocks its head at me. Its eyes flash with the same bright light that made me shield my eyes only, this time, I can’t move. My arms are pinned to my sides. Even my fingertips are frozen.
It is standing. Like a man, it has two legs, but they are not the legs of a person; they’re twisted like gnarly tree trunks and bowed in a way that should make it impossible for the thing to move. A scrap of dark cloth hangs around its middle, but its chest is bare. At its sides, it flexes two sets of long, clawed fingers.
