Chapter 47
MARKED
We follow him. Jude and I step through the tear, and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end.
We’re still in the music room.
But it’s not the music room.
Whispers float in the air, disembodied and indecipherable. Joined by the confused, panicked voices of Mayor Ridley, Mr. Calloway, Isabel, and Twig. They talk over one another, their words muffled as though spoken through thick glass.
It’s exactly as Simon’s journal described.
We’re here, but we’re also not here.
There’s no time to make sense of it. No time to stop and figure out why Jude and I could travel through the rift, but Lainey couldn’t even see it.
We go after Rafe, through the corridor, into the foyer, out into the night, where the disembodied whispers grow louder, and the sky churns overhead—a swirling, black void that makes the ground feel tenuous. Like at any moment, gravity will let go and we will plunge into the abyss.
Jude takes my hand.
Together, we chase Rafe’s shadow across the lawn, flashes of light illuminating familiar landmarks—the marble fountain, the twisted tree in the Midnight Garden. But in this world, they are distorted. Warped. Reflections in a funhouse mirror.
Fog rolls thick, billowing like waves as Rafe slips through the front gate.
We hurry after him. But when we emerge from the estate, he’s gone.
Jude lets go of my hand and turns in a circle. I do the same. But I’ve lost all my bearings. I can’t tell which way is north and which way is south. We spot a familiar tree in the near distance, but when we reach it, it’s not familiar at all.
Jude scans for something—anything.
But the fog is too dense, and shadows swirl like sentient things.
A shiver crawls down my spine.
“We have to go back,” I say. “He can’t open the tomb. He doesn’t have the gemstones.”
Or mortal blood. Dante’s comet isn’t burning brightest in the sky, either. That won’t happen until Halloween.
Still, Jude hesitates.
Panic squeezes my throat.
If we don’t turn back now, we could get lost forever. And I swear, something is closing in, lurking nearby. We’re being watched.
“Please, Jude.”
His eyes find mine.
He sees my terror.
And it’s enough.
Taking my hand, we retrace our steps as the fog presses in and our feet fumble over unfamiliar ground. I try to breathe. I try to stay calm. I try to focus on my hand in Jude’s. Most of all, I try not to look over my shoulder, convinced if I do, I will see something terrible.
The Night Beast.
The Nachtdier.
The fountain materializes through the fog.
We race to the portico, my heart hammering as the sky rumbles and the dark grows darker. We need to get inside. I need a ceiling above my head, something to block out that terrifying hellmouth overhead. We’re halfway up the stairs when a slurping, sucking squelch slaps the cobbled stone behind us.
A tentacle wraps around my ankle.
I’m yanked backward.
With a scream, my legs fly out from under me. I hit the ground hard, elbows scraping stone. I scramble for something, anything to hold onto, my fingers scrabbling as I’m dragged away by a writhing creature that’s unfurled from the fountain.
“Selah!” Jude dives.
He catches my wrist.
The inky black tentacle coils tighter.
Pain shoots up my leg.
Jude’s grip tightens.
I’m being torn in two.
But I beg him to hold on, don’t let go, as the wind howls, rain lashes, and thunder cracks.
Our hands are wet.
I’m slipping …
Slipping …
I’ve slipped.
But in the very next split of a second, Jude snatches my other arm. He latches on like a vice and hauls me closer. He has a rusted trowel in his free hand. And with a primal roar, he plunges the pointed end into the tentacle wrapped around my leg.
Black, viscous fluid spurts into the air.
The creature wails, an ear-splitting shriek of a sound, and releases me. We tumble backward as it folds in on itself and vanishes into the fountain.
I collapse on top of Jude.
His arms wrap around my waist as our hearts pound and our chests heave and the rain falls.
For a second—or maybe an eternity—he looks at me like I’m his entire universe. Like he lost me and lived a whole life without me and he’s traveled back in time just to be with me.
And now here I am.
Alive.
Here.
In his arms.
His hand finds the back of my neck. In one graceful maneuver, he flips me over, and with a ragged inhale, his mouth claims mine in a storm of desire and relief, agony and urgency.
My hands grab at his shirt.
His fingers tangle in my hair.
Wave crashes into wave.
I hold on tight, riding each crest until the storm softens into something so achingly tender, so piercingly sweet, I think I might die. His lips are perfection. The taste of him, divine. I want to live in this moment forever—stay right here, forever—when something intrudes upon my ecstasy.
An icy sting.
A cruel interruption.
Like a frozen sickle carving into my skin. Right where my mother’s mark had been. Even as I go on kissing Jude, I know what this is.
The curse has come for me.