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So I let out a roar, one that expunges the pain as well as the air from my lungs, and I summon them.
The vines sprout up from the earth in droves. They’re nothing compared to what my sister can produce, but they slice through flesh all the same, puncturing lungs and vital organs, until the creatures writhe.
I only manage to fell three more of them, but the rest are spooked enough that they run, and that is enough.
Pain still rippling through my hand, I stumble to my feet, scanning the area for Marcus and Blaise.
Marcus is on his feet now, releasing arrows at a group of Others who are slowly backing him toward the tree line.
Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse more silvery beasts slink through the Rip.
Blaise… Where is she?
There.
Fighting off a pack of mere with her bare hands.
I watch as she rips the throat out of one with her teeth.
It’s rather disgusting.
I step toward Marcus, concerned for his illness. Blaise seems to be handling herself just fine, and I’m still peeved that she betrayed us, even if she seems to be fighting against the Others now.
But then I hear it.
A scream.
A scream that shouldn’t be here.
A child’s scream.
There’s a moment when the world goes still, except for Blaise, who throws the carcass of the dead mere to the side, her hungry eyes landing on me before swelling with horror. I can’t seem to get my neck to turn fast enough to look. Perhaps I don’t want to see, not truly, but my gaze hits Marcus, whose face has gone slack with fear, and is now bubbling with rage.
Because he recognizes that scream.
We all do.
I spot Amity, backed into the corner of two boulders as a mere races for her, then jumps.
Another scream pierces the air.
A scream that will be branded in my memory for the rest of my immortal life.
I summon the vines, but they can’t reach, not from such a distance. Not when I haven’t disciplined them to obey me.
So I watch helplessly as Ellie jumps in front of Amity.
I watch helplessly as the Other cuts down my wife.
CHAPTER 48
BLAISE
The agony in Evander’s sea-green eyes slices across the field, searing itself into my vision.
I recognize that cry. It’s the same one that’s been wrenched from my own twisted throat before.
It’s the cry of a mother.
