Red dotted lines, my name in places it never should have been, a deal to kill my own father.
I swallow the bile in my throat and tighten my grip on the bell. Whatever it was that grew the bitterbloom, I pray it is still there. The force not even my father could explain. My father, Vicar Thorn. My father, a Reaper, Death incarnate.
I suppose that will take some getting used to.
One of the Haunts swoops low to a courtyard, the same one I walked through only a few days past, when Ransom called me to his castle. If only I had seen the true reason for the rotting and mildew slipping down the walls. All the dead girls buried in the earth, trying to show me, to cry out and help them find peace.
I study the castle walls, nearly impregnable under the watchful Haunts. One finger grazes the curve of the bell. Without giving myself time to rethink my plan, I stand up from the bitterbloom.
“Adelaide,” Clara hisses from behind me. “What are you doing?”
I stop, watch the shadows undulate around the blackened walls. Truth is,I do not know. I have neverknown. But I have always felt. And that is what I have right now—afeeling.
“We’re going inside, we’re going to find Bram, and we’re going to take him home.”
Her brows draw in. “So, we’re just going to walk in.”
I turn back around, jaw set. “Yes, we’re just going to walk in.”
It is a task easier said than done. Thick brambles weave through the undergrowth. We make our way up the hill toward the castle.
“You know,” Clara says, struggling over a twisted root pocked with thorns, “it would be so much simpler if the Haunts caught us and flew us in.”
I stop and tilt my head back, watching the darkened forms whirl about us like poisoned mist. It is a wonder they haven’t spotted us. I fidget with the bell, weighing my options. But there aren’t any, not really.
I could be throwing everything away. Bram could be dead; Ransom is already a lost cause. Part of me screams to turn back, to run and run and run until we are safe, can ring the bell, and return to Rixton. We are both alive, no souls stolen, and do not need anything else.
And trapping Father here…would that be the same as killing him? I close my eyes, the memory of my name signed in wine and blood. The consequences if I do not carry through with my end of the bargain.
Bram’s voice comes to mind.He will hunt you down and take your soul.
“Addie?” Clara’s voice at my back steels my spine.
“Rascal.” I call the dog to my side.
He looks up at me with those harvest moon eyes. It is like he knows what I am about to ask him to do, and he wants nothing to do with it. I kneel beside him, sinking fingers through his warm fur. He smells like apples, cedarwood, and soft wool. I bury my nose in his coat. Feel the comfort and courage that can only come from another creature.
“I need you to give us away, Rascal. I need you to let them know where we are.”
He paws at the ground, his whine thin and low.
“We have to get Bram,” I say. “We have to get Bram and go home. Please, Rascal.”
There is something akin to pain in his eyes, a worry only he can feel. Butthen he tips his head back, peels open pink gums, and sends a howl up into the ruddy mist. A chill cascades through my bones.
It doesn’t take long for the Haunts to hear the sound. Three swoop down almost immediately, arms dragging long behind them. I recognize their faces—what is left of them. The three who took Bram, Rascal, and me from the church. They wear their broken-doll smiles, necks set at unnatural angles. A flock of downed swans.
“She has been looking for you,” the one in the middle slurs through lips like rotting rose petals. “She will be so glad you’ve come back.”
I hold my chin high, my jaw tight, even though every bone inside me is shaking. Even my marrow slips against me like it wants to run.
“Take me to her,” I say.
The darkness envelopes me like water, lashing up in great folds when I am lifted from my feet. The scent of vinegar floods my nose, and I am drifting, drifting, drifting, nothing to carry me but these winds of darkness and the bell that thrums against my palm.
When I open my mouth, all I taste is the darkness. It hums against me like water, thick and cold. I blink heavy eyelids, searching for any light. My mouth is coated in film, and I struggle to my feet.
The bell. My fingers hurry for it, relief spreading through me when they wrap around the solid brass.
