Chapter 24
DEATH TRAP
AS THEY WENT THROUGH THE FINAL STAGES OF PREPARATION for the spell, Suyin couldn’t help noticing how differently Murmur acted toward her now.
Occasionally, he would ask her to pass him some ingredient or read something off his notes.
She even asked questions, and he answered readily, as if eager to share his thoughts.
It was a far cry from “If you disturb me or get in my way, I’ll throw you back into the dungeon. ”
Most of the prep work had been done in advance, and before long, he was beckoning for her to bring the knife and bowl into the sigil’s outer circle.
She handed the tools to him, and he had her hold out her arm. Rolling her sleeve up past her elbow, he wrapped a hand around her forearm—his hands were so big his fingers met on the other side—and stopped, looking her in the eye.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
She nodded once.
“You’ll be safe.”
“I’m not scared.” For herself. She couldn’t help worrying about Murmur, however. The stakes had never been higher, and she hated the thought of anything happening to him during the ritual.
“Make sure every drop of your blood goes into the bowl and nothing escapes. If it does, tell me immediately.”
She nodded.
“When I tell you, leave the circle quickly without stepping on any of the lines.”
She gave him a look. “I know that, Murmur.” Not stepping on the lines of an active spell was pretty much the first thing a witch learned.
He gave her one right back. “Humor me. We’re going over every detail to ensure everything goes perfectly and we don’t have to do this damn ritual again.”
“Fine. You may continue to mansplain.”
His look of confusion made her laugh.
“Never mind,” she said, waving a hand.
“Back away from the sigil when you’re done.” He pointed over to the farthest worktable. “There are rags there. Use one to bind your arm. I also made you a healing accelerant. Drink that and your wound will heal quickly.”
Sure enough, there was a jar of some nasty-looking green liquid beside the bowl of water and rags. In the midst of preparing his spell, he’d taken the time to gather supplies for her to care for her wound.
“Thank you,” she said.
He looked vaguely disturbed by her gratitude.
“Lastly, and I want you to listen closely,” he said, “if the spell is successful, the portal will appear in the center of the sigil, as I said. But if anything goes awry or I’m incapacitated in any way, I want you to take the hellgate and return home.
I’ve linked it to the gate I used to take you from Earth.
It will drop you in an empty apartment several blocks from your own. ”
“But—”
“It was part of our bargain, remember? I must return you safely to Earth. We swore a vow.”
She wasn’t thrilled about the idea of jumping ship and leaving Murmur alone, but she also understood the importance of protecting her own ass. If something went horribly wrong, it was probably wise to get the fuck out as fast as possible.
“Fine. If unforeseen circumstances arise, I’ll take the hell-gate and go home. You’ll know where to find me.”
Murmur began lighting the candles he’d placed periodically around the outside of the sigil and then returned to her side. Herbs in a bowl on the table were lit, set upon a glowing piece of charcoal, and soon, a smoky scent filled the dark room. She could already feel the tingle of magic in the air.
He began muttering incantations under his breath as he pulled grayish masses from a jar and set them on the charcoal to burn with the herbs. The smell of burning flesh overpowered the sweet herb smell quickly, and she grimaced, trying not to gag.
When the candles and incense and weird body parts were finished with, he beckoned Suyin closer.
She held out her arm, and he passed her the bowl to hold with her other hand beneath it.
He grasped her palm with an ice-cold hand—none of the warmth he’d had earlier remained—and turned it face up, exposing the underside of her forearm.
He held the knife over the skin and then met her gaze.
His eyes already looked extra bloodshot, and if she wasn’t mistaken, the shadows under them had darkened. Was the magic affecting him physically already? If so, she didn’t want to think about how the rest of the spell would go.
His brows lifted in question, and she nodded firmly.
He was quick and efficient, and the blade was deathly sharp, but it didn’t stop her from hissing from the pain as he cut a line across her arm.
She gritted her teeth as her blood welled around the wound and began to overflow, running into the bowl.
Murmur wiped the blade carefully with a rag and set it down on the table.
As she bled, the room darkened until even the red sky turned black. The lines of the sigil began to glow with an unearthly purple light. The air filled with smoke, and the smell of the burning flesh and herbs made her head spin.
Finally, her part was done, and Murmur took the bowl and gestured for her to step out of the circle. He didn’t speak or look at her, and she guessed it was because even the slightest lapse in his concentration could cause the entire spell to fail.
Somewhat disoriented, she wrapped her free hand around her forearm and put as much pressure on the injury as she could, ensuring no more blood spilled. Then, she backed quickly away, careful not to brush against any of the ingredients or candles.
At the table, she cleaned and wrapped her wound and then took a swig of Murmur’s healing accelerant.
The foul liquid made her choke, but immediately, some of her dizziness faded, and she could feel her arm tingling as it started to heal.
She’d have to ask him how to make it later because damn, it was effective.
Wound taken care of, she turned around and peered into the gloom, trying to see what Murmur was doing.
He stood at the edge of the sigil, holding the bowl of her blood out over the outside line.
As she watched, the bowl burst into flames.
Hellfire. The scent of magic suddenly sharpened, sending prickles down her back.
It was a cold, stale smell, like a rotten building in wintertime, and all her instincts screamed that it was wrong.
Something unnatural and dark that was better left alone.
Murmur set the still-flaming bowl on the table beside him, picked up the knife, and then pressed it to his own palm, gouging it deeply. Blood welled around the blade, spilling between his fingers like he was squeezing an overripe fruit in his fist.
Unlike with her blood, he wasn’t careful to catch it in a bowl. It spilled everywhere, the drops splattering on the ground, pooling at his feet. But as his blood hit the ground, it was pulled by an invisible force toward the sigil, drawn down each line toward the center of the circle.
All of a sudden, the entire sigil burst into hellfire, the lines burning like they’d been painted with gasoline.
Suyin’s arms rose to shield her face against the roaring fire, though she was a safe distance away, as Murmur had warned her to be. Her hair whipped around her as a phantom wind gusted through the library, sending loose papers flying.
Black smoke filled the room until she couldn’t see anything except the light from the flames. And then it got even darker, and she swore she heard screaming, faint and far away.
The wind and smoke seemed to condense into the middle of the circle, like the eye of a storm. Faint purple light emanated from it. The portal, she realized. It was working.
Disembodied screams reverberated around the room, and Murmur’s unholy chanting mingled with them. The darkness grew so impenetrable that even the flames became invisible, and she could see nothing but the swirling black portal, getting thicker and denser.
The magic in the air was so strong, she couldn’t breathe, and her throat felt like there was an invisible noose around it. Her skin crawled, and her eyes felt like they were going to burst in their sockets.
And then suddenly … everything stopped.
The darkness dissipated, the flames were extinguished, the wind died, and the familiar sight of the library returned. The smoke was still so thick, she could barely see, but she felt the magic fade and knew the spell was over.
Coughing and waving a hand in front of her face, she peered into the gloom, searching for Murmur. She caught a glimpse of a dark figure, listing to one side. As she watched, his legs folded, and he sank to his knees. He swayed, about to fall.
Without thinking, she ran forward.
She dropped, catching him just before he fell. But the damn demon was huge, and she would have fallen too if he hadn’t found awareness from somewhere and steadied himself at the last moment.
He gripped her shoulders. His head lolled, hanging forward, but he was semi-conscious at least.
Slowly, he lifted his chin, his long hair a mess from the gusting wind. His clothes were singed but he looked otherwise unharmed. That was until she saw his face.
He met her gaze, and she gasped.
His eyes were solidly black. Dark veins spread out around them and spidered down his cheeks. His face looked extra hollow, his skin so pale it was nearly as white as his hair. His lips were bloodless and stained black at the same time. If he’d looked eerie before, it was nothing compared to now.
His claws tightened on her shoulders, and he leaned in. Or maybe he was still swaying on his knees, fighting to stay awake. But when he drew near, she heard him very clearly whisper.
“The spell …”
“What? What happened?”
“Failed. Again.”
And he slumped forward, unconscious.