Chapter Forty-Three Don’t Be Gentle
Chapter Forty-Three
Don’t Be Gentle
If Mila’s death brought peace, Dimitri’s death sparks war—violent, bloodthirsty war.
Michal releases Death to seize Odessa around the waist, preventing her from careening into the maelstrom after her brother. She kicks, screams, thrashes as though her body is alight with flames. “Dimitri! Dimitri! ” Her pain—her fury — has a name, and she shrieks it as though appealing to the heavens themselves. When they do not answer, she shrieks at Michal instead—at me —spewing threats and curses, slashing at his arms and promising to make Death pay, to make us pay too. And my entire body trembles because she means it. She blames us for splitting her soul in two, and she should—she should . Tears stream down my own cheeks now. They blur my vision as I stare at the maelstrom, at the place where Dimitri once stood and now does not.
This is my fault. Dimitri is dead because I hesitated—because I—I tried to protect my own sister for too long, and now Odessa will never see him again. Michal will never recover.
“Dimitri! DIMITRI!”
She arches again, reaching for her twin—straining desperately toward the maelstrom—but Michal refuses to let her go; he holds her until her screams subside into broken sobs and she collapses in his arms. Stroking her hair with his bloody palm, he whispers fiercely in her ear, but I can no longer hear his words. Excruciating pressure builds in my head as Filippa kicks the torch into the maelstrom after him. I should move to catch it, to save it—but my legs refuse to hold me any longer. I sink to my knees in the waves.
Eyes wide, Filippa whirls toward me with a snarl of disbelief. “Were you really going to kill me, Célie? Me? Your own sister?”
I shake my head, unable to hear her, to hear anything but Michal’s warning ringing in my ears: There will be a cost, Célie. There is always a cost with Death, whether or not you realize you’ve paid it.
Dimitri was our cost.
A sob wracks my body, but I stifle the sound with my fist. How could I be so stupid ? How could I ever think this haphazard plan of mine would succeed? Time and time again, I have attempted to do right by my loved ones—to prevail over those who would harm them—and time and time again, I have failed. Not just failed , but hurt them worse than anyone else ever could.
My sister lost her future, her fiancé and unborn child, because I refused to follow her out the window. Now look at her—twisted with rage as she yanks the silver cross from her pocket and pitches it toward Death, who explodes from the water in fury. Across the grotto, our mother still lies unconscious. She would not be here if not for me—and neither would Reid, who anxiously attempts to revive Lou in the washroom while Jean Luc and Brigitte hasten to help. Odessa lost her brother. Michal lost his sister. Everywhere I go, pain and despair seem to follow, as if they feed on the shadows I cast. As if they thrive in my wake.
How much more will they be expected to pay? How can the cost climb any higher? Already it feels as if I am drowning in their grief, absorbing its weight and sinking, suffocating, until there is only darkness.
Dimitri is dead.
Death has won.
As soon as I think it, a hand seizes my hair, wrenching me upward by the scalp. Though I twist, clawing at Death’s wrist, he does not hesitate this time; he does not pause to listen, to look, to speak. Eyes blazing, he simply loops the silver chain around my throat and pulls.
White-hot fire erupts across my skin—a pain so consuming it obliterates all else—and my scream splinters the grotto.
“Yes,” Death hisses through clenched teeth, and with a jerk of his chin, revenants spill through the veil into the grotto. Dozens of them, one after another after another. “It hurts, doesn’t it?”
I can only claw at the chain in answer, heedless of the blisters ravaging my fingers, my palms—because I am going to die. He is going to kill me, and the last thing I’ll ever see is Michal’s panicked face—
No! I shout through the bond as Michal lunges, as revenants rise to meet him, as Death laughs again and pulls the chain tighter, splitting my skin and cutting off my scream. Hot blood pools around the metal, and Michal stills instantly. His face anguished. His eyes wide.
“ Finally ”—Death yanks me flush against his bare chest—“you’re beginning to understand what’s at stake here. Ah, ah, ah—” His face snaps toward Odessa, who circled to our right when Michal lunged, bending her knees to spring. A handful of revenants swarm around her too. “Don’t get any ideas, or Célie’s head will soon join your brother.”
Though Odessa straightens slowly, her entire being burns with vitriolic hatred. “Stop this. Stop it now . You do not want a war with vampires.”
“Do you know what , Odessa?” he asks loudly. “I don’t think I will stop. Indeed, I don’t think I’ve even gotten started, but I do like this little playacting of yours. What a brilliant performance.” With long, furious strides, he drags me from the water by the silver chain. Though I dig my heels into the rock to slow us down, it does no good. Though I scrabble to slide my blood-soaked fingers between the silver and my skin, he holds it too tightly. I cannot find purchase, and the chain slices deeper into my skin. Blood spills down my chest in another sick parody of All Hallows’ Eve. “What do you think, Célie? Shall we use the stage you’ve already set? I have a new theory I’d like to test.”
“Let her go,” Michal snarls.
“Oh, I plan to,” Death says with a vicious, perverted sort of joy. “Your darling mate—such a disgusting word, by the way—will be the star of our second act. No need to look so grim, my love.” Pulling me higher, he wrenches my cheek against his while I choke and splutter, my toes sliding upon the ground. “It’ll be quite easy, in fact. You pretended to resurrect Mila—and I quite like the idea of re-creating that second maelstrom—so let’s get to it, shall we? Who here do you love most? Is it your lover?” He tips our faces toward Michal, and the chain cuts a little deeper. “Is it your friend?” Next he forces me to look at Lou, who burst through the curtain with Reid, Jean Luc, and Brigitte at the sound of my scream. Blood drips from her eyes and ears, from Reid’s nose. “Perhaps your fiancé? He is an unexpected surprise.”
At that, Jean Luc sweeps his Balisarda from its sheath, but Death scoffs, jerking his chin toward Filippa; she strikes with lethal speed, twisting the sword from his grip and smashing its hilt against his skull. When he crumples instantly, Brigitte shrieks in rage—drawing her own weapon—but she cannot match Filippa’s preternatural strength. Within seconds, she joins Jean Luc upon the ground. Spinning both weapons in unison, Filippa levels them at Lou’s and Reid’s hands. “Do not move,” she warns, “or I will cut them off.”
Neither of them dares disobey.
More revenants move to surround them.
“Or perhaps ”—Death continues as if Filippa did not just single-handedly debilitate four people—“it is your darling mother you love most of all. Shall we take a closer look?” With a warning glance at Michal and Odessa, Death stalks across the grotto, still holding me against him by the chain at my throat. He forces me to my knees in front of her before leaning over me—thrusting my chest to the ground—and poking her brutally in the forehead. “Hello? Are you still in there?”
Her eyes flutter open at the assault, and it takes all my resolve not to snarl and rear backward, driving my head into his sneering face. “Don’t”—I choke—“touch her.”
“But why not?” Death asks softly. “I own her.”
Her eyes flutter open as his words wash over me, and when she sees the silver chain around my throat—Death’s hands as they slowly decapitate me—all the blood drains from her already ashen face. And her eyes themselves—how didn’t I notice them before? Once a deep emerald green, they appear almost gray now. Faded. Like part of her already exists in the spirit realm. She inhales a rattling breath. “Célie.”
She looks a bit peaked, don’t you think?
“Mother,” I whisper.
Though I reach for her, Death gives a vicious tug, and I fall backward as she pushes herself into a sitting position. She presses a hand to her forehead. “What is—what is happening?” Her voice is weak, however. Too weak. Despite our proximity, I can hardly hear it, yet still her gaze drifts to Death’s face above mine before sharpening slightly. “You—you will release my daughters this instant.” Daughters , not daughter. My chest tightens at the word, but Filippa says nothing— does nothing—as I scrabble anew at the silver chain. “Do you hear me? Let them go .”
Death crouches beside her, swiveling the chain around so it bites into my neck instead. It forces me to bow. Then he pinches her cheek as he would an errant child, hard enough to bruise. Then— “No,” he says simply.
And he shoves her face away.
She pitches backward with a gasp, and now I do move—I lunge for her as Death rips my throat backward, jerking my body around just in time to see Filippa flinch in shock, in anger, before her expression abruptly empties once more. Her knuckles still clench white around her weapons, however. Tension radiates from her shoulders.
“Ah, ah, ah.” Death points a finger at Filippa, triumphant. “See, that is just the thing! That look on your face. That look right there—I keep seeing it, Filippa darling, just like I saw it outside Mathilde’s cottage.”
Filippa remains completely still. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You liar .” Laughing as if delighted, Death pulls the chain higher, and I rise with it, refusing to gasp. To react. Through the wall of revenants between us, Michal’s gaze does not waver from me. And his rage—I can feel it building through the bond, dark and powerful and sentient , just waiting for the right moment. It dare not strike yet— not yet —but it tracks every drop of blood from my throat, every step of Death’s behind mine. It wills Death to approach the shore once more. To approach him . He’ll need only seconds to evade the revenants, to rend Death’s arms from his shoulders, but I’ll need to be free of Death first. I’ll need to break the chain, perhaps snap his wrists, and flee before he can hurt me again.
He will never hurt you again.
The words belong to Michal, but they still pulse scarlet in my mind’s eye, casting a bloody haze over my vision.
“In the blood witch camp,” Death says, oblivious to our exchange, “Célie mentioned just how much Frederic loved you, and I couldn’t help but wonder—has that been the missing piece on this chessboard of ours?” He tilts his head in rapt fascination. “It would fit, wouldn’t it? La Voisin never loved anyone at all, so she wouldn’t have understood its effects on her spell. But what if it did affect her spell? If simple blood can resurrect a body—if it can create a revenant—imagine what love could do.”
He reaches over my shoulder to caress my face, watching Filippa’s with keen interest. Then, without warning, he wrenches the chain upward, sweeping me off my feet. Blinding pain sears my throat—black edges my vision—and though Filippa strives to remain impassive, something flickers in her eyes again. They tighten infinitesimally.
“What if”—Death’s voice takes on an almost feverish excitement now, as if she has given him exactly what he wants—“love brings back the soul as well as the body? A true resurrection.” His free hand flicks to the maelstrom behind us. “And the ultimate affront to nature.”
Filippa shakes her head. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“What do you think, Célie?” He leans low to whisper in my ear now, and I turn to face him, to glare directly into those hateful silver eyes. “Do you agree? Is love ridiculous? Is it ridiculous for all these people to still love you after everything you’ve done? How many loved ones have they lost now because of you?”
I wriggle my pinky finger beneath the chain, ignoring the burn. “Because of you .”
“You’re my Bride, after all. Where you go, I will go. Where you stay, I will stay.” He spins me in his arms with the words, pulling my head back with the chain. When Michal growls, Death grins. “He loves you too, doesn’t he? They all do, and what a blessing that must be.” The kind words directly belie the anticipation in his voice, however, the hungry gleam in his eyes. “Indeed, your dear old mother loves you so much she made a sacrifice upon arriving to Requiem—a most noble one. Would you believe she volunteered herself when a certain witch agreed to stop a certain vampire’s heart?” He flicks a finger at first Lou, then Michal. “You can’t get something for nothing, you know, and this something”—he extends his arm to include Odessa too—“required a second heart to stop beating for the spell to work. A living heart. Just temporarily, of course—or was it?”
The tip of my ring finger stills beneath the chain, and unbidden, my eyes dart to Michal and Odessa, who both look strangely—stricken instead of enraged. But that cannot be right. Death is lying, of course. A twinge of unease still reverberates through the bond, however, and I cannot tell if it belongs to me or to Michal. Even Lou lifts her head from Reid’s shoulder, her eyes wide above the tracks of blood on her cheeks. Confused.
My stomach plummets.
“That—that cannot be true.” I shake my head instinctively, swallowing hard against the fresh bite of pain. Of panic. Death is a manipulator, a liar , and he always has been—from the first swipe of his hand through the pentagram, he has tried to exploit our every move. “It never happened.”
“Oh dear.” Death tuts with relish. “Did no one tell you? Did you never wonder how they ripped out Michal’s heart without killing him? How terribly... upsetting.”
Forcing herself upright, Lou snarls, “Don’t you dare do this, you condescending prick .” She leans forward, heedless of the Balisarda at her chest—the blood on her face, the revenants’ low growls—and speaks emphatically to me. Desperately. “Célie, we did not kill your mother. I needed to stop a beating heart to preserve Michal, but it was only for a few moments. She volunteered, and she just—she went to sleep for those moments. When I woke her up, she said that she felt”—she glances anxiously at my mother, who has closed her eyes in defeat—“that she felt fine.”
Death laughs again, louder and crueler than before. As cold as the ice spreading through my body.
Lou cannot hear my mother’s heartbeat like I can. She cannot hear how it has slowed, how her lungs now rattle in her chest. I attributed her declining health to stress, to sleeplessness and shock, to anything and everything except the obvious. Because how could she be dying? How could she be dead ? The evil of my world was never supposed to touch her.
“Maman,” I breathe. “What did you do?”
She does not open her eyes. “I do not regret it.”
“She took one look at you and Michal and knew you loved him,” Death says silkily. “I imagine the choice was rather easy after that—she could not risk her darling daughter’s happiness, after all. And you are happy now, aren’t you, Célie? So very, very happy with your decisions?”
Behind him, Filippa’s hands tremble slightly around the daggers. She stares at our mother with a horrified expression—a horror reflected in Michal’s face too. In Lou’s and Odessa’s and Reid’s as Death finally releases the silver chain, murmuring, “I suppose we don’t need this anymore.” With aching tenderness, he kneels to take my mother’s hand, pulling her to her feet and pressing a kiss to her fingers. And I’m going to be sick now; a wave of scarlet rises in my throat, but I force it back down.
How much more will they be expected to pay?
Everything.
Death has taken everything.
To me, he says, “Shall we test my new theory? You’ve lured me here under false pretenses, after all, and that was very foolish of you, Célie, very foolish indeed—though convenient, of course, as you also brought along anyone you’ve ever loved. Feels rather like kismet, doesn’t it?” A sleek smile. “Shall we start with your mother?”
“To what end ?” Fear sharpens my voice, and my entire body trembles as I throw my hands into the air. Michal and Odessa materialize through the revenants on either side of me, who do not react. None of us can fix this, however. Nothing can fix this, and I—I— “I cannot just bring someone back from the dead ! I don’t know how —”
He nods to the maelstrom, supremely unconcerned. “Only one way to learn, I’m afraid.”
Unable to help it, I follow his gaze to the swirling waters—to their great and evil eye—before pushing to my feet in cold dread. Because if he kills my mother, I—I don’t know if I’ll be able to get her back. And—and what happens if I do ? If Death is right, if love is the key, the entire veil might collapse when we return— if we return. My dread drops into terror at the realization. I could die too. All of us could die; because Death won’t stop until he wins, until he destroys life itself.
This entire situation—this nightmare —is a brick sinking straight through the maelstrom, and Death has tied us all to it.
As if sensing the feverishness of my thoughts, Michal brushes a steadying hand against my back. And his rage is still there, but—tempered somehow by resignation, an idea hardening into resolve. I cannot concentrate on it, however, as Death continues without pause. “In theory, you should be able to go through the maelstrom to retrieve your mother intact—because you love her. Again, I assume it has something to do with her soul, or perhaps your soul; I have no way of knowing, as I do not possess one myself. Now”—he turns back to my mother—“no sense in delaying the unpleasantness.”
Though Maman opens her mouth to speak, he shushes her with a finger before brushing it tenderly down her cheek. And her heart—it stutters at that touch. It stops .
No.
“ No! ”
“NO!”
Filippa and I cry out together, panicked, and Death glances back at us, a sinister smile touching his lips as he lifts his finger from her face. Her heart stutters once more. Twice, thrice, four times. Filippa—who has taken a hasty step toward us—freezes at the sound of it, as do I; as does the entire grotto, all of us listening and counting each beat. “Unless...” Death draws out the word in obvious glee. “Someone else would like to take her place? I am not unreasonable, after all. If there is another you’d prefer to use in her stead, I’d be happy to spare your mother. She’ll become a Bride, just like you, but otherwise no worse for wear—perhaps even better. Certainly healthier.” That evil smile grows, nearly splitting his face in two. “What say you, Célie? Who shall it be?”
Just like that, the situation goes from bad to impossibly worse.
Filippa’s eyes lock on mine across the grotto, burning with fierce promise. I have known her too long and too well to misunderstand that expression—she wants me to pick someone else, anyone else, in order to save our mother. And there are plenty of loved ones here from whom to choose: Lou and Reid, Jean Luc, Odessa... and Michal. His fingers tighten in the damp fabric of his mother’s gown—the most exceptional gown I’ve ever worn, yet ruined like all the others. Despite all my efforts, I could not save it.
And I cannot save my mother either. I cannot save anyone.
Savage anger flares inside my chest, blistering, consuming—burning away all fear and rationality as I force myself between her and Death, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Bring it down, then. Bring the veil down, so you can rule over a kingdom of people who hate you. You think they’ll accept you? All those souls you’ve claimed? At best, you’ll be dragging those at peace from their rest, and at worst, you’ll be unleashing hell on earth. Either way, they will not revere you; they will not love you, and you will be exactly as you are now. Miserable and alone.”
Death’s smile vanishes instantly, leaving an ugly expression in its wake. “The clock is ticking, Célie. Make your choice.”
I glare at him, refusing to answer. Refusing to choose , even as my mother’s heart weakens, each beat punctuating her last seconds.
We all go to the clock room eventually.
Death clicks his tongue impatiently.
Tick.
But I cannot do it.
Tock.
I cannot kill my own mother.
Michal walks slowly to Death’s side. “Célie,” he says in a soft voice. “Take me instead.”
And that idea I sensed earlier—his hardening resolve—unfurls fully formed down the bond. Take me instead. Instantly, my mind rejects the possibility, and I shake my head before he can suggest anything else. Because I can’t— he can’t— “Absolutely not.” My head continues to shake even as he steps around Death, who grins anew and plucks my mother from my arms, spinning her toward Odessa. Clearing the stage , I realize with a distant sense of foreboding.
Tick tock tick tock tick tock—
“This is what he wanted,” I hiss to Michal, treacherous tears pricking my eyes. “I will not do it. I cannot lose you.”
Michal pulls me into his arms. “We’ll see each other again.”
“ No. ” I push him away again, vision blurring, but he refuses to let me go. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know where to go . Michal, it’s just—it’s too risky, and—and the bond.” I seize on the excuse like a lifeline; I seize onto his shirt too. “If you die, I die, and I won’t—I won’t be able to bring anyone back.”
Please stay.
His plea from so long ago reverberates back to me, and I repeat it now like a prayer. Please stay, please stay, please stay.
Death caresses both of our faces, entirely too close for comfort—so close I can see my reflection in the maniacal gleam of his eyes. “Oh, you needn’t worry about that, darling. I am Death, after all. I can slow whatever effects breaking this wretched bond entails.”
Michal shoves Death away before cradling my face in his hands. To my surprise, I feel no fear in the bond, only a steady warmth and—incredibly—a sense of gratitude. Of reverence. My chin quivers. “Do you trust me?” he asks.
And I want to say no. I want to say no so badly, but— “Yes,” I breathe.
“You can do this.” He brushes a kiss against my lips before stepping away, and I feel his absence like the loss of a limb, my hands reaching out for him still. “I’ll wait until you find me. I will always wait for you.”
He turns toward Death as the tears spill helplessly down my cheeks, and I cannot stop shaking my head. I cannot stop clinging to the bond—the closest I can get to Michal now. Despite his imminent demise, he sends wave after wave of reassurance through it, of comfort and love . And I love him. I love him so much. It should never have been like this. We only just found each other; we should’ve had more time together—an eternity. And I finally wanted it. Despite the darkness of this life, I wanted to spend eternity with him— with him—and now I must let him go.
Odessa weeps quietly behind them.
“Get it over with,” Michal says.
Death shakes his head, however, pulling a thin silver dagger from his cloak. “Now where would the fun be in that?” Leaning around Michal, he tips the dagger toward me. “I said I was reasonable, not benevolent. Though your paramour here has been a thorn in my side for centuries, I think you should do the honors.”
My fingers wrap around the hilt.
Across the grotto, the clock on the desk strikes midnight. Its bells toll one after the other, twelve beats. Twelve breaths. Then—
“This isn’t the end, moje sunce.” Michal’s hand joins mine around the dagger, positioning it at his chest. His eyes burn into mine, and his voice lowers, darkens, until it could just be the two of us in the grotto. No one else exists. “Truth or dare?”
Torn between a laugh and a sob, I cannot help but answer. “I thought you’d grown tired of playing with me.”
“Never.”
“Dare.”
“Don’t be gentle.” His fingers tighten around mine, and he pulls me closer as if for a kiss. “Just make it quick.”
So I do.