Chapter 38 #3
To also end his suffering now.
Mallory is distantly aware of the women moving behind her, hands grasping to rethread her into their circle, but instead, she crawls toward the book.
The angel laughs and laughs, drawing out every second of Ezra’s torture with ravenous delight.
Penelope continues chanting, eyes closed, just as Mallory grabs hold of the cracked leather.
She thinks of Lily hovering in her mind, hissing the same instructions. Burn it, burn it, burn it.
Not her heart. Not the demon. Maybe she meant the book all this time.
Mallory tightens her fingers, staring into the fire’s beckoning embers. Ezra, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m—
With a cry, Mallory hurls the book into the flames.
A terrible sound fills her ears, like metal on metal. A death rattle. Eternal damnation. Wind rushes around and around her, stirring her hair, kicking up leaves—just as Ezra’s neck jolts with a sickening snap.
And then there’s nothing but stillness as he falls.
Motionless. Silent.
Gone.
The women stop spinning. The shrieking in Mallory’s ears plummets to silence.
A few feet away, Ezra lies prone on the ground. Every limb is bent in violent angles, a reddish-black bloodstain spreading and spreading. Grief-stricken tears stream down Mallory’s face, an overwhelmingly dark emptiness taking hold. She crawls toward him—
“No.” Penelope swoops in, hauling Mallory to her feet as several other women bend around Ezra’s lifeless body. “You shouldn’t touch him.”
“Please,” Mallory begs. The island swims before her. “I have to say goodbye.”
At that, Penelope unfurls her grip and Mallory stumbles forward, sinking to her knees at his side.
“Ezra,” she says, touching his bloodied face. She feels the heat of everyone’s stares as she strokes his hair and brushes a kiss to his forehead. “It’s quiet now.”
Before she stands, Mallory slides a hand into her coat. She runs her fingers over her neck and chest, retracing all the places Ezra once made her light up and burn for him.
But the skin is smooth now. Cold. The bite marks have vanished.
As if he never touched her at all.
“Ezra.” She searches for the right words, a promise, something. “I won’t forget.”
As the women tend to Ezra’s cold body, a flash of white slices into Mallory’s vision. Saskia, sitting up, awake.
Her hair is matted and wet, face and neck covered in scratches, but she’s alive, she’s alive. Penelope helps Saskia to her feet and Mallory runs toward them, kicking up dirt and sand.
“Sas? Sas!”
The color has returned to Saskia’s face, the opal sheen gone from her eyes. She looks weak and tired, the cuts on her skin deep. But she looks right at Mallory, not through her this time, and in the next breath, throws herself straight into Mallory’s arms.
The force almost knocks her over, but Mallory steadies herself, folding around Saskia’s narrow frame. Mallory clings and clings to her. Did it work? Is it over?
But then Saskia whispers, “I heard you,” and Mallory’s heart skips.
“I was so far away, so tired,” Saskia adds. “Everything was dark and cold. I almost gave up. But then I heard your voice. I heard what you said. I heard you.”
Mallory’s eyes widen as she realizes.
“I love you, too, Mal.” Saskia grips her tighter, pressing their foreheads together. “I think I’ve loved you my whole life.”
Out of words, Mallory simply fuses her lips to Saskia’s. A kiss drenched in relief for the girl she’s known a moment, the girl she’s known forever, the girl who taught her how to be brave.
Hers.
Saskia seems to understand because she kisses Mallory back just as feverishly. Like she’s memorizing every breath, holding on to the rare magic of a second chance.
As they break apart, Mallory’s gaze snags on another wisp of white. One hovering close to the smattering of pine trees in the distance.
A woman in a pale dress with long dark hair.
Lily.
She stands there with her bloodstained chest and charred skin, but there’s no fury in her gaze this time. No hunger for revenge. For once, she looks satisfied, calm, peaceful. Like a woman who’s taken back what’s hers.
A woman who was believed.
Mallory blinks, and then she’s gone. An echo of grief, a whisper of the past. A ghost, finally free.
“Let’s go inside,” Penelope suggests, walking toward her and Saskia. “You can stay here tonight. Lucy will make up a room for you.”
Mallory raises her gaze to her aunt. Distantly wondering if she could ever think of her as family again.
Penelope steps closer, lowering her voice.
“There is more to say, and there will be room for us to talk about everything, Mallory,” she says. “If you want to. For now, celebrate each other. Celebrate the gift of time.”
Mallory nods, extending her hand to Saskia. She takes it, and her palm is a familiar thing. A hope. A promise.
And, distantly, a question.
Of what happens to a person who’s cheated death twice.
But for now, there’s only them. This hidden island, a billowing fire. And the flickering porch light up ahead, like a beacon, leading them toward what’s to come.