Chapter 51
Misery
Ithrew myself against the wall of buzzing green magic again, and again, and—Tor grabbed my shoulder.
“This isn’t working,” he grunted, looking from me to Madde, then Death. “Joanna’s locked us the fuck out.”
“But why?” Death drifted closer, cloaked entirely in shadow. He hadn’t shown us his face in hours, and it ate at me. “She wouldn’t betray Misery.”
“We don’t know what she’d do,” I said bitterly, my panic a swelling balloon inside my rib cage, pressing on my lungs until they constricted, my heart until it beat like the rapid beat of a caged bird’s wings. “I don’t know her at all. If Violence can get to Pain, he can get to Joanna, too.”
“She does have a lot of magic, though,” Madde input and—hurled himself head-first at the barrier.
He stumbled back, shaking his head and wavering on his feet. “Nope,” he squeaked. “Didn’t work. Did not work.”
When he fell to the ground, I sighed and checked on him. “Stupid fucker.”
“But Cat—” he protested.
“I know,” I murmured, glaring up at the barrier, the glow coming off it the exact shade of magic Joanna had used to pin Cat when she forced entry into the blue house. “We won’t give up until we’re back at her side.”
Madde peered up at me with big, sparkling blue eyes—and held out his pinky. With a groan, I tangled my little finger and his, and shook.
“Question,” he whispered. “Why is there an angry ghost glaring at us?”
“What?” I followed his line of sight and—oh, there was an angry ghost glaring at us.
Finally, she mouthed, and waved her arms around.
“Tor,” I said, stealing his attention from the barrier. “You’re better at connecting to spirits; find out what that woman wants.”
Tor grumbled about needing to get through the fucking wall to Cat, but he sent a stream of magic at the long-haired ghost woman, and then we could hear her.
“—useless fucking men.”
“Hey, now,” Madde protested, getting to his feet.
She blinked. “You can hear me?” When we nodded, she blurted, “About fucking time. What use is being death gods if you can’t commune with the dead?
You need to shield the spirits on Ford’s End—the ones Violence has formed into his shitty little army and the others on campus and down in the village.
He’s going to drain them to make himself a super-god. ”
“A super-god,” I echoed dubiously, although it did echo what we already knew of his ambition to become king of all death gods. And draining spirits… It could be done, but it took immense strength and could kill even a god if it went wrong.
“We need to get to Cat,” Death said, not quite an argument but unhappy. “Every minute we delay…”
“Fuck,” Tor grunted, dragging a hand over his head, nails carving red lines into his scalp. “Fuck. I don’t know what to do. If he finds a way to drain every spirit on this god-fucking-forsaken island, we’re screwed whether we get to Cat or next.”
“I can show you where he put it,” the ghost said, still judging us if the purse of her lips was any indication. “If that helps.”
“Put what?” Death asked in a low rattle.
“The hook,” she replied, as if it was obvious. “I watched him hammer it into the ground. It’s on the moor road.”
Tor and I exchanged a glance. “Cruelty’s hook,” I said what we were both thinking.
“If he can use that as an anchor point, then any energy or magic—living or dead—between the two points would be his.”
“We need to get that hook,” Death rumbled. “Now.”