“Offer up souls?” Oliver scoffed in disbelief. “To whom? Why?”
“To whoever’s building an army of the Damned,” MJ replied.
“Lilith wasn’t their only leader,” I whispered.
“Either that, or someone decided to pick up where she left off.”
Heavenly Shit.
“Leaders of Bowels, Trenchers, and Devils, split up your squads into smaller groups, and we’ll begin with a face-off between the first two levels. Trenchers will be the predators and Bowels the prey. The rest of you take to the stands or borders. You may not be participating yet, but it’s just as informative to watch.”
“Let’s go, Tormentors,” MJ ordered, her words confirming what I’d already assumed. She’d be leading my squad. Maybe Ronen wasn’t as pissed at me as I thought.
Chapter
Twenty-Four
Lucille
We took to the stands, but I didn’t watch. This was the perfect time to practice, per Cato’s head-whacking scolding.
Intraverso, the next level of dream-walking, proved the slightest bit more difficult. My mind strained to drown out the sounds of fighting around me and focus on the book’s instructions. Grounding oneself in a memory was key. But my mind kept fighting me. I tried to imagine my mother’s scent but only smelled musty copper. I tried to hear her delicate voice but only heard cries and hissing. I tried to picture her in the kitchen of her favorite home, but the images were muted and fuzzy. I?—
I jerked awake crying.My hand hit the book on my end table, knocking it into a water glass. It clattered to the floor, momentarily covering my sniffles. I grabbed my bunny, wiped my eyes, and climbed out of bed.
I was young—younger than I had intended. I had to be around four or five.
I opened the door and stepped into the dim hall. The pale, old walls of my childhood home bordered me, its familiar musty scent wrapping around me like an unwanted hug. I never did like our first home. It had too many bloody memories tainted by my stepfather.
I walked down the carpeted hall to my mom’s room. Her door was cracked, soft golden light spilling out. Past me pushed it open, and my stomach fluttered with the possibility of seeing her face again.
“Mom?” I called in a childlike voice.
Her bed lay empty, the cream comforter thrown back as if she had just gotten up. Her desk was the same story. She was probably in the kitchen. I was just about to leave when something snagged my past self’s attention. I wasn’t sure what until I walked over to my mom’s desk, climbed onto her chair, and picked up her crystal letter opener.
Of course. If I could’ve, I would’ve rolled my eyes.
I fiddled with the crystal. Past me giggled at the rainbows cast across the open notebook—with my name headed at the top. Underneath were the words:Miriam’s prophecy about Lucille.
There once was a daughter of seven circles, hidden, protected, avoiding the hurdles.
There once was a palace of crystallized ice awaiting the daughter to sacrifice.
Unbalanced and sorrowful. Hopeless with no tomorrow.
There once was a world concealed from her, vibrant in color, awaiting a shudder.
When the ice whispers. Be prepared for the fissures.
I was veryfamiliar with the prophecy. My mother believed it would get me killed.
Or that my father would. Hence the crystallized ice part. The next line…a world concealed from her, vibrant in color—Elora. It had to be. But the last line,when the ice whispers. Did it mean my father?
Regardless, now I believed there was a possibility that my fatherwanted to sacrifice me. Maybe that should concern me, but what truly gave me pause—what had dread pooling like sludge in my stomach—was an intricate scrolling rune in the margins and, next to it, the wordguardian.
Before I could read anything else on the page, the door to her room squeaked.
“Lucy!” my mom said, rushing toward me.
