I slipped, falling over the edge with him, and then my hand caught onto something. Virgil’s rosary dangled from the edge. I held on long enough to watch him tumble into the mass below, chains of light and shadow wrapping around him. The souls there rose up, grabbing and clinging to him. His scream rolled through me, through the pit, through Hell itself.
He would claw. He would tear. He would sink his teeth into anything he could reach. But he would be busy while we continued to live.
“You crawl back to my world,” I said, voice raw, “and I will be there. I will hunt you every time. I will make it my only purpose.”
The last of him disappeared under the surface of the pit. I watched as the thread tied to Grace’s soul went slack, then snapped free.
Pain ripped through me. My knees buckled. The heat crushed in close as I dragged myself back up onto solid ground.
Far away, through the roar and the weight and the stench, I heard another sound.
My name.
“Peter,” Grace said. Her voice was thin, distant. “Come back. Please. Come back to me.”
Hands grabbed my shoulders. Not Bael’s. Seraphine’s.
She reached through the path I had opened, through the water, through the wards. Her power hooked into mine. Her will yanked.
Grace added hers. New and raw and trembling. She had just crawled out of a prison, and she was already reaching back in.
“Let him go,” Seraphine said. “You had your fight. He is bound. Peter, let go.”
I exhaled. For a second, I wanted to stay. Hell made a certain sense. There were no questions there. Only punishment.
Then I thought of Virgil’s body on the floor of the shop. I thought of Grace’s cheek against my hand.
I let go.
The pit and the screams dropped away. Cold water splashed over my face and I jerked upward.
My chest spasmed causing me to cough, choking as water poured out of my nose and mouth. My back slammed against the inside of the basin.
“Peter,” Grace said. “God, Peter.”
She was over me.
Her eyes were that gentle brown again. Wide. Ringed with red from crying. The mark on her skin still sat there, but it was dull, quiet, no longer pulsing.
Her hands framed my face, and I sighed feeling the warmth in her palms. Her body leaned over the basin, hair falling around us, her top clung to her from the sweat and stray splashes of water.
Seraphine knelt behind her, one hand on my shoulder, the other braced on the rim of the basin. She looked drained. Dark smudges sat under her eyes and dried blood marked her upper lip.
“You with us?” Seraphine asked. Her voice shook but held.
I nodded then blinked up at Grace. Her mouth trembled. Tears slid down her cheeks, dripping onto my chest.
“Your father…” I started.
She closed her eyes for a second. Her shoulders shook.
“I know,” she said. Her voice broke. “I know.”
She lowered her cheek into my hand. I had not realized I had lifted it, but my palm cupped her face, fingers spread along her jaw. She pressed into it as if she needed that touch to stay upright.
Tears trickled over my skin. “Ah, Gracie,” I said.
The words scraped out of my raw throat. “I am sorry. I am so damn sorry.”
