“I know,” I say.
“How did you do it?” Raven asks. She holds out my gloves to me, gifting them a second time. I slide them back on. My skin still tingles, as if I’ve been shocked by static electricity.
“I told you the story. When I touched that man on the subway, the one who was in cardiac arrest, I felt like I was in cardiac arrest. I almost died. Maybe I did die for a moment, but I lived, and the man survived.Isurvived. Somehow my power allows me to absorb more than just memories.”
“You never told me that,” she says, sounding hurt.
“Oh, right—I told Atticus.”
Atticus blushes, and Raven looks at us keenly. Then she sighs. “Whatever. Go on.”
“Anyway, I had no choice. I just acted…and it worked. We’re alive.”
“You saved me,” says Atticus, “and you risked your own life to do it.”
“We’re not out of this yet,” I say, noticing the malum.
It’s still here. The creature paces, slinking like a silent cat. Its faceless head turns toward us as it walks on all fours in a grotesque prowl. My blood turns to ice when it looks at us.
“I had hoped that sunlight might banish it,” says Raven. “It hasn’t.”
I try to stand, but I’m too weak. I can’t run, not yet. And even if I could, what would be the point? The malum has us trapped. If we leave this cell, it will tear us to pieces.
Then there’s a low rumble from above.
The whole chamber shakes. Dust rains down from the ceiling, and I cough, choking on the debris. Through the gaps in the ceiling, there’s the unmistakable shape of a bulldozer.
The demolition. I almost forgot.
“Help!” Atticus calls. Raven and I join in, screaming, but the roar of the heavy equipment drowns out even our loudest cries.
We’re alone with the malum, and soon this whole chamber will be demolished.
“We have only one choice,” Raven says.
“Choice?” I ask.
“Yes, we can’t run, can’t stay here, so we fight.”
“The malum?” I ask. “How?”
Raven’s eyes glitter, cold and hard like diamonds, when she says, “With magic.”
27
Raven
Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it.
—Mary Shelley,Frankenstein
A boom rattlesthe floor, sending Atticus and Dorian crashing together. I stand firm, not taking my eyes off the malum. I refuse to die here. I refuse to die, period.
“With magic?” Atticus asks me. “Are you sure?”
I have to be sure. “Dorian saved you with it. Maybe I can save all of us.”
I remember the spell, and what we needed to cast it. I have summoned fire before, and I know I can do it again. Unceremoniously, I spit on my hands, still red with Atticus’s blood, and smear it around in my palm. Kneeling down, I draw the symbol for fire—an upright triangle—on the floor.
