Wraith.
Reagan and the staff went to move, to end the creature. But Varian flipped his palms open. The creature stilled.
“None of that.” He waved them away.
Because he wanted the Wraith here. Because he had summoned it before they arrived.
All three of them were rigid on their knees while the Wraith hovered slightly closer. A grotesque, black tongue flicked out as though it could taste the power thrumming in the room. Its gaping maw quivered with anticipation, so abhorrent it was almost impossible to stare at it.
Varian’s words sank in all of us.
“It is here for you, cousin,” he said. “I hoped we could avoid this, but I need you weak. So remember what happens if you fight it.”
Reagan observed the monster under straight brows.
But Varian had miscalculated. Reagan wouldn’t surrender Mountheim. He would put the estate above everything. The curse had to break for his people. He wouldn’t hand it over, not when it would fall into Varian’s hands. Mountheim came first.
I waited, tense, for him to rise, to stop the creature, silently urging him to act. Not long after, I felt his eyes on the floor, earnest and unwavering, and I thought better of it.
Varian watched Reagan, eyes narrowing, as if searching for the faintest crack in his cousin’s resolve, the faintest hesitation in his expression.
“As long as you don’t harm her or them,” Reagan said, “I’ll agree to your terms.”
We yelled, the staff and I, our voices overlapping.
Varian acted, sliding a hand over the metal bracelet on his forearm as he stared at the creature, and the Wraith obeyed.
He gave it up. He gave it all up.
Black smoke spilled from the creature’s maw, closing in on Reagan’s face. Inky tendrils flew out and curled into his mouth. His neck strained with it.
My breath hitched when I saw the way his skin turned ashen, dark hollows forming under his eyes. White, silver power flowed from his mouth into the smoke, toward the Wraith’s maw.
It was draining him, siphoning his power, his strength.
“Stop!” I yelled, my voice cracking. “You don’t have to do this.”
My pleas fell on deaf ears. Varian’s expression remained cold, detached, as though he was merely observing a tactic unfold rather than orchestrating torment. Around us, the staff thrashed against their bindings, staring in horror as Reagan collapsed onto his side, his breath ragged, his body sagging as if he was about to lose consciousness.
I stared at him, my chest tightening. No air. There was no air.
“You’ll kill him,” Finnegan snarled, struggling on the floor.
The seconds dragged on, an eternity of helplessness and screams, before Varian gave the order. The Wraith withdrew, its smoky tendrils dissipating into the air. Reagan barely moved, his chest rising with shallow breaths.
“Reagan?” I called.
A hacking cough wracked his body, a sound that made me hold my breath. But then he shifted, his voice raspy, faint. “Fine.”
“You think you can get away with this?” Gwinifer spat, glowering at Varian. “You’re stupider than I thought.”
Varian said nothing, and his disregard for the risk set my teeth on edge.
The night had deepened, and the storm outside had quieted to a steady drizzle, the kind that felt like nature itself had grown exhausted. Frost crept along the edges of the door, and my breath billowed in the frigid air.
I shivered. My arms hurt so much, still suspended in the harsh stillness. But my focus was on him, lying on his side, a faint bright light shining in his chest, quickly and fleeting.
Varian flicked his hand lazily toward the Wraith, muttering words I couldn’t hear, couldn’t care to hear. Only the faintest movement told me the creature flew through the other room, then the grey shape crossed the window outside.
