I wanted to set all the souls free.
I slid one hand across my stomach and felt the book still safely hidden in the tight folds of my clothes. The voices had said that all would be destroyed once I opened its pages. I needed to make sure the only soul left here was Hemlock’s besides mine—since I had to be here to open the book.
My other hand swept over the first row of jars I saw, flinging them in the air. Each one shattered like an explosion of fireworks when they hit the floor. Light and sound zipped around me as I swung my arm across another row, spilling and freeing each stolen life. Shards of shimmering glass and light seeped into the black stone slabs beneath my feet, making intricate webbed designs like unfurling scrollwork into the familiar faces of Ravenswood’s ghosts.
Each soul burst into bright lights and whipped around my body, heating the air then quickly vanishing into nothing.
My feet crunched over the glass and I felt like I spent forever in the room and yet no time at all, toppling over all the jars I could reach.
Jar after jar, light and flames bursting and extinguishing, heat and sparks, until there was no one left but me in a cold empty room.
A clap sounded out behind me, slow at first then quickly gaining speed. “Well done, my pet.” Hemlock’s applause died with his words.
I turned slowly around to face him.
“Always look for the women with broken hearts and blood beneath their nails. They’ll always teach you how to survive.” He followed my gaze over the shattered mess of glass around the room and my chest pressed in on itself.These would be my last few moments alive.
I was going to die.
His eyes watched me; I felt them like a dirty layer of skin.
“Were you looking for this one?” he asked, pulling a chain out from his shirt. He dangled the small, trembling ball of light in front of me.
“No, I wasn’t,” I said, lifting my chin. “I was looking for everyone’s but mine.”
“And why is that?” He actually looked perplexed, and it gave me a bit of a thrill to think I was a step ahead of him, for once.
“I did it for love.”
I slid my hand inside the folds of my dress as if I were fixing the wrinkled material.
“Yes,” he hissed, “Undress for me.”
“I’ll never let you touch me.”
“I don’t need your consent,” he chuckled. “And now it’s just you and I here. There’s no one left to save you.”
“What about me?” I asked, voice shaking. I squeezed my fingers over the leather cover of the book.
“You’re going to save yourself?” he laughed.
“No. A better word is sacrifice, I think.”
“Stupid human, you know nothing about sacrifice or saving yourself or love.”
I shook my head and laughed. “You know what I love?”
He stepped forward and lowered his head to mine, “What, mortal?”
“Books,” I whispered, pulling out the leather-bound tome and opening it.
Chapter 22
There was a moment just before I opened the book, or maybe it was right after, when I was aware ofwhoI truly was. But it was the feel of the paper and the binding and amount of blood and ink that were written on each page that made me aware ofwhatI was.
I was Ravenswood. Lost and lonely and forgotten.
Loved and cherished and protected.
