I reached through the veil, my power winding around the thousands of glass jars. With a scream, I shattered them into millions of pieces. The souls hurtled toward their imprisoner and attacked. Each one passed through Eloise’s chest, takingback what she had stolen, and inch by inch, the powerhouse of a woman we had feared became an accumulation of her crimes.
Hudson appeared from the shadows, his scythe swinging in a deadly and final arc as he sent those robbed of their afterlife into their next destination.
My grandmother’s face never showed a single sign of regret, only resentment for falling for the trap we set. She was vulnerable, powerless, and stripped of anything that ever made her extraordinary.
I swallowed thickly as I merged my angelic half with my elemental side. Indigo became me, and I became her.
My footsteps were sure as I closed the distance between us, and I lifted my grandmother’s chin, ensuring our eyes met. My wings flared out, casting us in light, not shadows. Death was an inevitable part of us. It was as much a wonder as life was, and therefore not something that existed in the dark.
No one was perfect. By our very nature, we made mistakes. It was our intentions that we were judged on.
“You had the gift of choice and the position to champion for change,” I said, my voice settling with layers of power I would never take for granted. “Instead, you abused both. Now you shall answer for your sins.”
Her soul put up a fight as my power curled around it. Every sin, every win, every emotion, every intention—I lived it all in the space of a heartbeat. She was born like all of us, with so much potential for both good and bad, and she chose the latter.
“You don’t have the balls,” she spat.
I smiled and shook my head. “I don’t need balls. As you know, it’s not the males who hold the power in this world.”
She tilted her head back. “Do it.”
I closed my eyes and connected with my father. He answered my call, and the woman I once admired screamed as true terror overtook her.
She was the architect of her own demise.
“Goodbye, Eloise.”
She clawed at the ground, nails tearing into the earth. Her mouth opened, releasing a strangled gasp of fury and disbelief. “You,” she rasped, and for the first time, her eyes looked frightened. “You needed me.”
“I needed you to stop,” I corrected, voice calm and final. “And you never would.” I lifted my hand, and the air shivered around my fingers, veil magic humming like a taut wire. “You are made of your choices.”
Her body convulsed once, twice, then went unnaturally still as if the universe had finally decided it was done bargaining. Eloise’s essence wavered at the threshold, caught between the mortal plane and the darkness beyond.
For a split second, I felt her reach. Not for me, but for anything that would keep her from being judged. Then the veil opened like a mouth, and she was gone.
The world snapped back into place. Wind rushed through the gardens as if the earth had remembered how to breathe. The wards steadied. The stars sharpened. Somewhere far off, a wolf howled, and silence fell over Summer Grove House.
Dayna wiped blood from her lip with the back of her hand, her eyes wild. Sophia stared at the grass where Eloise had kneeled. Liz stood still, chest rising and falling as if she’d run a marathon through hell. She didn’t look triumphant. She looked free.
I glanced down at my hands. They weren’t smeared in blood, but death clung to them all the same. Deep in my ribs, something settled.
A mantle.
A weight.
A truth.
I didn’t want this, but the magic in my veins answered, quiet and absolute.
Cora Roberts—Angel of Death.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The most dangerous people are not those who want power, but those who refuse it and survive anyway.
Humanity followed the eighty/twenty rule. Eighty percent of people gobbled up the quiet eradication of that which could not be explained. They accepted the artificial intelligence excuses, or that it was all a symptom of mass hysteria or asocial experiment that got out of hand. The other twenty percent would fuel documentaries for decades. They would camp outside politicians’ homes, prod at the excuses, replay the thousands of videos that had documented the brush with the supernatural.
But no matter which side people fell on, most preferred to enjoy the thrill of it all behind the safety of their screens.
