Chapter 9 #3
“Fuck,” Ezra grinds out, and she nearly gasps at the raw, undone sound of his voice. Instead, she just takes him deeper, surrendering to his taste, his warmth. Electricity crackles inside her at the click of his rings against her teeth, the sheer size of his two fingers in her mouth.
But then Ezra’s other hand curves behind her head, and the sudden touch brings her back to herself.
When she looks up from underneath her lashes, it’s to find him still watching, pupils blown like midnight.
Fleetingly, she realizes what she must look like: eyes wild and cheeks pink, glossy lips strained around his fingers.
Like a girl possessed.
She pulls back. For a moment, neither of them says anything. Every second of silence seems to make the heat in her stomach flare brighter, and she silently calculates the risk of flinging herself into his lap and fusing her blood-streaked mouth to his.
But before she can find the confidence, Ezra reaches for her hands. Casually. Calmly. As though they’re in the dressing room all over again, as though his fingers weren’t just skimming the back of her throat.
“Ezra,” Mallory whispers. Her heart pounds. “Can you—will you…?” She swallows her words, unsure of what she’s even asking. Can you kiss me? Will you touch me? Can we stop pretending there isn’t something happening between us? But instead of any of that, she simply offers, “I’m scared.”
It’s not a lie. She’s scared of looming specters. Of death.
Of the way she’s ready to offer herself to him instead of this spirit.
Ezra holds her gaze, his stare molten, as if he can tell.
“If something scares you, just squeeze my hands as hard as you can. I’ll squeeze back like this—” He pulses her palms twice in quick succession. “That way, you can remember what’s real.” He hesitates only a beat before adding, “Us. This. It’s real.”
She sweeps her thumbs over his, holding on to his words, the confession baked into them. Less afraid now, Mallory lets her eyes flutter closed.
“If there are any spirits here, please make your presence known. We bring you an offering of”—she pauses—“shared blood.”
Ezra’s hand twitches along hers.
“Redeo vita—”
“Wait.” There’s an unexpected urgency to Ezra’s voice. “I don’t think you should say the Latin anymore.”
Mallory opens one eye. “Why? It—”
She doesn’t finish the question. Because the entire room slips away.
To nothingness.
It’s as though she’s suddenly wading through a sea of black, no up or down or left or right.
She’s alone in an abyss, the deepest trench of the ocean, a far-reaching corner of space.
She should be afraid, but Ezra’s hands are still on hers, grounding her body, letting the rest of her float up and away.
“Hello?” Mallory whispers, faintly aware she’s speaking only in her mind. “Is anyone there?”
And then, from the shadows, she emerges.
Lily, in a white dress, dark hair skimming her waist. She slips into view, hovering, feet mangled with thinning pale flesh.
She inches closer and closer in their private world of shadows, with tenebrous eyes and a peeling mouth, face charred and textured like a bees’ nest. And her chest, hollowed out and matted with blood.
“What do you want?” Mallory asks, voice shaking.
For a moment, Lily is silent. Mouth a line. Eyes unseeing.
“What do you—”
And then Lily’s lips part. A fly snakes out, buzzing and buzzing in the empty air, just in time for Lily to hiss:
“You are going to die.”
Terror spikes inside Mallory’s veins. “What?”
“You. Will. Die. Like. Her.”
“What?” Mallory gasps at the confirmation. The exact thing she’s feared. “Why? Why—?”
“BURN IT.”
Her heart, she must mean. But Lily doesn’t finish the threat. Her eyes liquefy like spilled buckets of tar. And then her jaw unhinges in a keening wail, releasing a storm cloud of fat, humming flies.
Mallory unleashes a feral scream and loses her balance. It’s like she’s falling and falling forever, careening through broken worlds—
Her voice catches on a terrified sob. The dorm. Wooden floor. Chalk circle. Candles, blown out. Silver moonlight.
Ezra, holding her against him, stroking her hair.
“What the hell was that?” he demands, concern strewn across his face. “Did you see something just now?”
She swipes at her lashes, faintly aware of something wet dripping from her right nostril. Her nose is bleeding again, tinged with dirt, just like last time.
Dirt, like from a grave.
“Lily,” Mallory coughs. “She said I was going to die. Like my mother. I was right.” She takes a deep, steadying inhale. “It’s going to happen if I don’t stop whatever this is.”
Ezra stares at her for a long time. Time enough for her pulse to return to normal. Long enough to register that she’s clinging to him, fists clenched around his shirt, legs threaded with his. But when he finally speaks, it’s not what she expects him to say.
“You should sleep here tonight.”
She frowns. “What—?”
“You aren’t safe,” he replies. “Some ghosts need help to cross over to the other side. To find eternal peace. But after this—I don’t think that’s what Lily wants.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think Lily,” Ezra says, “wants revenge.”