Hellsing set a fast pace. His grip never loosening on me. His jaw flexed and the drawl in his voice deepened when he barked at the crowd to move.
“Clear out, y’all,” he said. “Make room.”
People shifted when they saw the cut on his back and the look in his eyes. Not to mention what we must have looked like at a distance, the bat in Seraphine’s hand, the smear of dried blood on the wood, Harley Quinn being dragged down the street by a Cowboy, of course they’d make space.
Inside my head, something pressed down.
There was distance between me and my body. I felt it in every step. My legs moved, but the command did not come from me. My fingers twitched, my shoulders rolled back, my hips swayed, my chin lifted, and yet I was not the one setting that posture.
I was behind my own eyes, pinned there.
I tried to pull forward. I strained. My throat tightened with effort, but nothing happened.
A voice slid into the space right behind my thoughts.
Stay put, witch.
Bael.
The name dropped through me like a stone.
I pushed against it. My soul felt thin. Every shove drained more of me. Pieces crumbled and fell away inside my chest. There was a slow withering that had nothing to do with flesh. I was peeling away from myself, flaking into nothing.
I tried to scream as my body kept moving.
We turned a corner and the noise of one bar faded, the hum of another grew. TheMidnight Wytchappeared ahead, solid and dark, the painted sign above the door still had not been replaced.
“Move, kid,” Hellsing snapped. “Open up. Now.”
Josh, the young man Hellsing had told me about didn’t argue. He pulled a key from his pocket, unlocked the door, and pushed it in.
We stepped inside. The air in theMidnight Wytchwas thick with incense and herbs. The shelves held jars once again. Bundles in canvas and candles lined the counters.
Seraphine got to work, setting up tall black candles and lighting them up to burn along the counter. She ordered the men to get to work. Josh placed a bowl of water at the center of the room, its surface still. Seraphine drew a circle of chalk along the floor, ringed with salt and small stones.
She handed Hellsing an old witch’s book. “Do what you do best.”
He looked down at the pages and shook his head. “These won’t work.”
She grabbed him by the arm, tugging at him, almost shaking him to react. “Youare the strongest one out of the two of us, Exorcist. I do not need you to lose faith right now. Either snap out of it or get the fuck out.”
Hellsing stared at her for a moment, then glanced back at me, concern etching his brow. I wanted to tell him to do it, that I was okay, but I couldn’t and my frustration just kept growing.
He lined the room with sigils, covering the inner line in careful strokes. When finished, Seraphine took my hand, and we moved toward the circle.
I wanted to run in the other direction. I wanted to throw myself into Hellsing’s arms and cling to him and tell him I was slipping away. I wanted to bury my face in his neck and breathe him in, feel his hands on my back, hear him mutter comfort into my hair in that soft voice he kept just for me.
My legs stopped at the edge of the circle. I tried to force myself over the salt line, but it was to no avail.
Suddenly Hellsing was there, lifting me into his arms and carrying me over it.
“Gracie?” He said my name, as if questioning if I was still here but I only felt myself smile at him.
“Sit her down,” Seraphine said.
He guided me to a low wooden chair that waited inside the ring. His touch was careful. His hands were gentle even when he was desperate. He pressed me down onto the seat and crouched in front of me.
“Grace,” he said. “Cher, look at me.”
