Alone again.
“You fucking dead-faced prick,” she hissed.
Murmur wanted her alive, but apparently, he had no understanding of what was required to keep her that way. He would learn from his mistake the hard way, but that would be because she was dead.
She’d never wanted to die to prove a point, but this was almost worth it.
She shut her eyes. She didn’t bother sitting up or loosening the painfully tight bandage. She didn’t bother checking the locks to make sure everything was secure. And this time, when the despair crept in, she couldn’t summon the will to defeat it.
At least if she died, she would thwart whatever plan this fucking asshole had, whatever it was he wanted her blood for. It was shit consolation for the absolute worst-case scenario, but it was all she had.
As the darkness rose up to claim her once more, before she drifted off into a deep slumber, she whispered his name.
She would curse him to eternal torment with her dying breath.
DOWN INFLAMES
MURMUR STUMBLED, AND HIS KNEES GAVE OUT UNDERhim. They hit the ground, and he fell forward onto his hands. The knife he’d been holding clattered away, and the palm he’d cut with it smeared blood across the floor.
Black and purple smoke filled his library with an impenetrable gloom. The sharp scent of magic was still strong in the air, but it was already dissipating.
He fought to keep conscious, focusing on his breath while his head spun violently. If he passed out, he would lose control over his souls. They couldn’t do much without his necromancy giving them power, but his territory would be vulnerable. His wards were still formidable, but the patrolling souls were how he’d gained his fearsome reputation. None crossed the Necromancer when they risked attack from a formless foe.
Then again, it might be nice to pass out for a while. Enjoy the oblivion, forget your failures.
“It won’t be oblivion,” he muttered to himself. “It neveris.” He would just have the dream again and awaken in a cold sweat.
Well, that’s a poor excuse for escapism.
“My point exactly.”
He shook his head and tried to focus. It was hard to care about anything in light of current circumstances.
The spell had failed. Again.
He’d been so sure it would work this time. He’d gotten so far, so close that he’dseenthe portal starting to form amid the black haze. The hellfire had burned exactly as it was supposed to. The blood sacrifices had gone perfectly.
But the spell still wasn’t strong enough.Why? He had all the necessary ingredients; he was sure of it now. The witch’s blood was so powerful, he was certain he’d barely scratched the surface of what it could do.
Maybe it’s not the blood’s fault. Maybe you need to be stronger.
“How? What can I do differently? What more can I give?”
He pushed every drop of himself into each casting, to the point where it took him days to recover, and he felt his body becoming colder and more lifeless with every failed attempt. He’d been certain that Suyin was the missing ingredient. No, he was still certain. He had studied Gamigin’s research diligently.
He blew out a breath, forcing his eyes to focus. When he was exhausted like this, the souls’ screams rose in volume. Without his will fighting them back, they overtook his mind, pounding at the inside of his skull like a thousand hammers.
Pushing into his palms, he sat back on his heels, tipping his head back to look up at the vaulted ceiling above. The blackened point of the tower’s spire was so covered in cobwebs, it was hard to see the top.
The room started to spin, so he closed his eyes again. His body started to list to one side. He focused on keeping his spine upright.
You need to sleep.
“Shut up.” He hated sleep. Not only because his defenses were down, but because his stupid death vision haunted him without cease. He could never get away from it. He could never truly rest.
He’d been awake for two entire cycles in Hell, which was equivalent to nearly five Earth days, though demons generally needed sleep every twelve hours, as humans did. And now, he’d drained himself attempting his spell, and the brain fog was making it difficult to form coherent thoughts.
Not to mention the screaming.
