Chapter 71 Jules
Jules
Yelena’s backyard looks nothing like it usually does.
Normally it’s all manicured hedges and discreet landscape lighting and the faint scent of expensive candles drifting out from the open French doors. Tonight, it feels… different. Charged. Like the air itself is holding its breath.
The pentagram drawn in flour takes up most of the lawn, stark white against the dark grass. Naomi insisted it had to be exactly measured—angles precise and points sharp. She paced it off twice, muttering to herself, before finally nodding in satisfaction.
Everyone has brought something from the list she texted all of us.
Yelena sets a heavy silver chalice at the northern point of the pentagram. It looks old—ornate, engraved with symbols I don’t recognize.
“Family heirloom,” she says quietly. “For intention.”
Tasha places a thick beeswax candle beside it, already lit. It smells faintly of honey and smoke.
“For protection,” she says.
Lucia kneels and puts down a cracked hand mirror, the glass fractured but still reflective.
“For truth,” she says dryly. “Even when it’s ugly.”
Mari lays out a length of red silk ribbon embroidered with tiny metallic moons.
“For crossing to the other side,” she whispers, almost reverently.
Sophia sets down a small vial of salt mixed with crushed rosemary.
“For grounding,” she says. “And courage.”
Naomi stands last, the book already open in her hands.
At the last moment she asked if she could borrow it and was given permission.
The pages are yellowed and crowded with handwritten notes in different inks—some careful, some cramped and spiky.
She smoothes the paper carefully, like it might bite her.
Hanna never leaves my side.
She stands so close I can feel her warmth, like she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she lets go. I don’t blame her—I’m afraid of that too…but it’s also what I’m hoping for.
I hold the token Whistler left in my palm. It looks small and unassuming—dark metal etched with symbols that seem to shift if I stare too long. It’s cool, heavier than it should be, and it hums faintly against my skin, like it knows where it wants to go.
Naomi looks up at me. Her voice is steady, but I see the tension in her jaw.
“Everyone knows where their artifacts go,” she says. “No one crosses the lines once we start. And if anything feels wrong—anything at all—we stop.”
Her gaze locks onto mine.
“Last chance, Jules. You’re really sure you want to do this?”
I think of Lucian…of the way he looked when he let me go. Of the dreams where he fades the way Hanna almost did. Of the certainty in my chest that if I don’t do this now, I’ll lose him forever.
“Yes,” I say. “I want to do this. I’m ready.”
Naomi nods and looks back down at the page.
“Who has the pin?”
“I do!” Tasha pulls out an antique silver straight pin with a wickedly sharp point.
My stomach flips, but I hold out my finger.
Tasha starts to poke me, but Hanna puts out a hand.
“Wait!” she exclaims.
She steps forward quickly, already tearing open an alcohol pad. She swabs my fingertip with brisk, professional motions, even though her eyes are bright with unshed tears.
Then she hugs me tight.
“I love you! Please be safe.”
“I’ll try.” I hug her back just as tightly.
She steps away, wiping her cheeks and Naomi nods at Tasha.
The pin pricks my finger, and I feel a sharp pinch of pain. A bead of blood wells up, bright red against my skin.
Naomi meets my eyes.
“Now you just need to go to each point of the pentagram and let a drop of blood fall. As you do, speak the spell I sent you.”
“Got it.” I nod and take a deep breath. The words are already in my head. I’ve been repeating them all day, letting them sink into my brain so I get them exactly right.
I step to the first point of the pentagram and let a single drop of blood fall into the flour.
I begin to chant.
By blood once given, by blood twice claimed,
By bonds unbroken, though worlds are strained,
I call the path that once lay bare,
I name the road between here and there.
The air seems to thicken around me. I move to the next point and let another drop fall. Another point…another drop. And so on. As I go, I speak the second half of the spell.
By love unspoken, by vow undone,
By moon and shadow and dying sun,
Let doors remember what hands have known,
Let not the seeker walk alone.
The candle flames flicker and the ground beneath my feet feels strangely warm—almost alive.
I finish the circuit and step into the center of the pentagram. Reaching into my pocket again, I lift the token.
And as my bloody fingertip touches its surface, light erupts all around me!
Crimson and white and gold spiral upward, twisting like a living thing. I hear gasps and someone shouts my name.
I catch one last glimpse of my friends—faces pale, eyes wide, mouths open in shock—
Then they fade and the light collapses inward. The grass vanishes beneath my feet and black stone replaces it.
I blink and look around. I’m standing before the towering doors of the Crimson Spires.
I’m back in the Shadow Realm…I just hope I’m not too late.