Chapter Thirty-Three Malcolm Davenport
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Malcolm Davenport
Five Minutes Earlier
The air feels heavier than it should tonight. Like it knows something I don’t.
I glance at the door again, the seconds stretching into forever.
What’s taking Emma and Jayla so long? There’s no yelling, so hopefully, they’re working things out on the porch.
Imani’s spoon clatters against her plate, snatching me out of my thoughts. My eyes dart to hers, and I catch the flash of silver creeping into her irises. My stomach tightens.
Her body stiffens, her blue-and-silver ponytail swaying like it’s yanked by an invisible hand. Her lips tremble, and for a terrifying moment, she looks like a broken marionette—until her eyes go fully silver.
“Imani?” I want to step closer, but Pop-Pop and Charles beat me to it, steadying her as her body jerks violently. Her plate crashes to the floor, shattering.
“No … no…” she mumbles, tears streaking her cheeks while her hands claw at the tablecloth. Her voice is thin, raw. “Ravens … red gloves … blood … Jayla!”
The sound of my twin’s name hits me like a punch to the gut. My chair scrapes against the carpet as I jolt to my feet, knocking it over in my rush.
“What about Jayla?”
Imani shudders, clutching the edge of the tablecloth like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. Her voice breaks through hitched breaths. “She’s coming … Oh God, she’s coming for her!”
“Who?” I demand.
“I don’t know,” Imani replies, her voice cracking.
And—
BOOM!
The explosion rips through the house, shaking the walls like an angry beast. The chandelier above us sways wildly. The floor groans beneath my shoes, and somewhere in the distance, glass shatters with the sharpness of a scream.
“No!” Imani cries, clutching her head like it’s about to split open. Charles grips her shoulder, trying to steady her.
My shoes skid across the slick marble floor as I sprint toward the front door, my pulse pounding in my ears.
The door looms ahead, warped and quaking, but when I grab the handle, it doesn’t budge.
“It’s jammed!” I shout, ramming my shoulder into it.
Pop-Pop appears beside me, his face grim. Emma’s dad joins us, his jaw clenched, eyes wild with panic. Together, we throw our weight against the door. It groans, splinters slightly, then bursts outward, spilling us onto the porch.
The sight waiting for us freezes me.
Blood.
Pools of it flow across the porch in waving streaks, so dark it reminds me of black sand under the moonlight.
A faint breeze stirs the air, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of sugar and dirt.
A single raven feather drifts down, landing softly in the center of the chaos.
It sticks there, spotted with blood, like deadly confetti.
“Jayla?” My voice cracks.
No answer.
I step onto the porch, my shoes crunching against the debris. The world tilts, wrong and broken.
And then I see her.
Emma.
Her curls are slick with gore, their black streaked with crimson. Blood splatters the porch columns behind her, as if the house has been painted with grief.
Red stains bloom on her champagne-colored dress, darkening it. Emma’s arm is bent at an impossible angle.
I reach for Emma’s face, gently brushing the bloodied curls from her cheek. My fingers press against her neck, searching for a pulse.
Nothing.
Oh God. Please let me be touching the wrong spot.
“Come on,” I whisper, my voice quaking as I press harder.
There it is! Weak, but still there. For now.
“Please, Emma. Don’t do this. Don’t leave me. I love you. Please!” I stammer through clattering teeth.
My world narrows to her stillness—her silence, the way her lips are slightly parted, as if she was about to call my name.
Hot tears pour down my cheeks. A hollow agony swells in my chest, expanding until I can barely breathe.
“No.” My voice cracks. “No, no, no … Emma!”
My knees hit the blood-soaked porch with a dull thud. My hands tremble as they hover over her, unsure where to go next.
“Charles!”
A flash of hope shoots through me. My brother.
He’s a healer. He’ll help.
I whip my head around, scanning the porch for him—
But he’s gone.
Panic claws up my throat.
“Where’s Charles?” My voice is sharp, frantic.
Pop-Pop’s voice is tight. “He ran to look for Jayla.”
“What?” Of course he did. Asshole. “But Emma’s hurt!”
“Boy, look at all this blood,” Pop-Pop replies. “Jayla’s gotta be hurt too.”
Of course Charles had to be the hero, had to be the one chasing the next hurricane before putting out the fire in front of us.
I’m gonna beat his ass when I see him.
I should’ve made him stay. I was so emotional. So focused on Emma that I didn’t see him go.
“Dammit, Charles!” I rasp, my fist slamming into the porch railing. Emma needs you. I need you.
But I shouldn’t be mad at him. Not really. I know he’s desperate to protect the family.
He wouldn’t have left if he didn’t think Jayla was somewhere in pain or in danger.
Still, helplessness chokes me like a noose.
If Charles were here, he could heal Emma now—or at least try to.
But he’s not.
And Emma’s pulse is fading.
If she dies, I’ll tear him apart.
Emma’s dad kneels beside me, his shoulders shaking as he buries his face in his hands.
Behind me, Emma’s mom collapses to her knees, her wail piercing the darkness.
Demetri sobs, his shoulders heaving. “This can’t be…”
Grandmère steps forward, her face pale, clutching her shawl so hard her knuckles turn white. Her lips move silently, mouthing words I can’t hear. Prayers, maybe. A magical chant? The air around her seems to hum, glowing with ancient power.
But it won’t be enough.
Not without Charles.
I clutch Emma tighter, her limp body fragile in my arms. Her warmth is fading faster with every second.
But as long as it’s there … there’s hope.
And God help Charles if that hope is taken from me.
A sharp, searing pain explodes in my palm, yanking my attention downward.
Blood—not mine—smears my skin. My breath catches as golden runes begin to appear. They twist and coil upward like living threads of fire, wrapping around my right wrist. The lines merge into a shimmering golden handcuff, its glow pulsing like a heartbeat.
Behind me, Imani gasps.
A note materializes above the stairs, suspended in the air as if tethered to invisible strings. Its edges ooze thick, dark blood, which pools onto the cracked steps beneath. The symbols along its border writhe, glowing, like they are alive and watching us.
The jagged words etched into the page hit me like an arrow to the face:
You shouldn’t have killed Sabine. It’s time for you all to pay. My Tether will be more brutal than hers ever was. If you want Jayla to survive, you better win.
The note throbs once, like an eerie heartbeat. Then, flames erupt along its surface, licking hungrily at the edges. The fire burns supernaturally bright, casting shadows that stretch and twist like living things. Rivers of blood soak the porch.
The wind howls around us, carrying with it the faint echo of wings—distant but closing in. The shadows on the porch twist eerily.
I tighten my grip on Emma, my jaw clenching as the glow of the cuff pulses against my skin.
“Malcolm,” Imani says. “What do we do?”
“We play.” No matter what it takes. No matter the cost.
I lean in, my voice a promise in Emma’s ear. “I’ll fix this. For you and for Jayla. Even if I have to burn the world down, I’ll win,” I vow. “And when I do, I’ll kill the one who’s responsible for this.”
But when the first raven lands on the edge of the porch railing, its red eyes gleaming like burning coals in the darkness, I know the game has already begun.