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It wasn’t easy. Neither of us listened to Rutger ramble on. Though he dressed his words in as much magical palaver as possible, his basic intent was to claim the Ferox Cor. Without the amulet. Lord only knows where he dug up the binding spell.
And he meant to kill Rafe to power his ritual.
A bright, clear anger burned away my fear. I’d claim the Cor myself if I had to, before I’d let Rutger harm Rafe Gallagher.
The rope fell away from Margaret’s wrists. She fumbled for the handle of the knife and went to work on the ropes binding me. Rutger set the basin on the ground at Rafe’s feet and produced a dagger from inside his robe.
His voice rose as if he was excited to be placing the dagger against Rafe’s chest. “And with this sacrifice,” he said, “I shall call upon the Ferox Cor and bind it to me.”
He raised the dagger. My heart beat so hard I could hear it. I jerked my hands free of the rope. Plunged my hand into my pocket. Flipped open the box and grasped the amulet.
“I so declaim,” Rutger screamed, but as he brought the dagger down, Rafe doubled over. The blade missed him, and Rutger screamed again. “What are you doing?”
Rafe straightened his earlier tension replaced by something much colder. “I am the Ferox Cor, and your silly games have no power over me.” Rafe raised a hand, pointing at Rutger.
“No. Stop.” Rutger clutched at his own throat. “I call the Ferox Cor to me.”
Rafe laughed, a sound that could have come from Hell itself. A faint beam of light passed from his fingertip to Rutger’s face.
Rutger fell to his knees, still demanding the Cor do his bidding. Rafe didn’t move until Rutger had collapsed altogether. Then, he turned toward us.
“I will kill them all,” he said, his voice so low and threatening my mind went blank with terror.
“No,” I whispered. Rational thought might have left me, but I knew in my bones Rafe would never forgive himself for that kind of destruction. I must do this. In this moment, the choice was no choice at all. Madam Munro would either understand or she would not. Rafe would either forgive me or he would not. Cold with certainty, I unlatched the box in my pocket.
Slowly, hoping that Margaret would plunge the knife into my heart before I could cause too much damage, I raised the amulet.
“He who holds the amulet controls the Cor.” My lips were dry, my words a papery whisper. “I call the Cor to me.”
The amulet was pretty, its gold and jewels flickering in the lantern light. Rafe gave a great cry, flinging his arms wide, and though I could not see it, I felt the Cor leave him.
Fear choked the breath from my lungs. The Cor would enter me, its voice a nonstop reminder of my own failings, and—
An unseen force knocked me to the ground, yanking the amulet from my hand.
Della Gallagher stood over me, the amulet raised high. “Come to me. Now.”
The crack of a pistol broke through the scene. Della put her hands to her chest, blood running over the golden amulet. Oliver Stevenson strode through the square of candlelight, his pistol now pointed at Rafe.
Everyone moved at once. Margaret ran to Della and Rafe tackled Stevenson, knocking the gun from his hand. I grabbed it, waving it at the Stevenson’s young cronies. There were four of them, though they looked like they were more likely to run for the dock than to trouble us further.
Another crack, louder than the gunshot, drew my gaze to the center of the candlelit square. A seam of darkness opened in the air, and the specter of Martin Gallagher stepped through. He walked toward Della, who lay sprawled on the grass. Reaching her, he bent down and touched her head. A momentary fog concealed them both, and when it cleared, Martin’s specter had a companion: a ghostly Della, who still held the amulet.
She floated rather than walked, coming close to Rafe. I couldn’t read his expression in the dark but I went to him anyway. His mother – or her specter – brushed a hand over his brow. She lacked the coins over her eyes, but still her expression was impossible to read. Rafe shrunk, reduced by the sudden onslaught of grief. I wrapped an arm around his waist, grateful that he allowed me the contact.
Della rejoined Martin, and a third, a being of darkness, drifted between them. Martin led his little party to the seam.
They stepped through and disappeared. The dark night was as it had been.
Rafe clutched at me. I would have pulled him closer, but Stevenson distracted me.
“You think you won this, but you’re wrong. I’ll—”
I raised the pistol and my shot went true. The bullet hit him in the belly with a dull thud, and he dropped to the gravel beach. His companions were gone, and I had no time to offer him aid. Instead, I dropped the gun and drew Rafe close.
I reached for Margaret with my other hand. Shuddering, she rested her forehead on my shoulder. The three of us stood together long enough for those who had come with Stevenson to make their escape.
I was too wrung out to care.
