Chapter 51
DEAD EITHER WAY
I’ve spent the better part of my life chasing ghosts, contemplating the impossible, enchanted by the uncanny, eager to prove the supernatural. Believing that life is a grand mystery nobody will ever solve. Least of all, me. But man, is it fun to try.
And sure, maybe Dr. Penny had a point. Maybe my obsession was nothing more than an outlet—a way to process my mother’s abandonment, to turn it into something fantastical instead of painful.
Or maybe, it’s always been more.
Not just curiosity. Not just a coping mechanism.
Not just a subconscious attempt to connect with my absentee mother, who was drawn to the fantastical herself.
But preparation. What if every stake out with Twig, every episode on our podcast, every fascinating mystery and wild possibility was training for this?
An uncanny fate.
An impossible destiny.
A supernatural ending.
I hand Jude my phone and pace the Midnight Garden as dusk gives way to darkness. He sits on the bench like a statue, reading the revelation on my screen. Meanwhile, I’m a bundle of nervous energy, unable to sit at all, let alone sit still.
I place my hand over the locket clasped around my neck.
The tiny heartbeat within knocks against my palm.
I imagine touching it. My fate and Seraphina’s entwined.
The curse returning to its maker. Will it happen right away, I wonder.
Or will it take awhile? The revelation didn’t go into that particular detail.
My phone buzzes in Jude’s hand. A message from Twig, probably. Or my dad. I’ve been avoiding both, unsure what to say or how to act given the circumstances.
Seraphina’s end will be my end, too.
But it’s also a way.
To stop the cycle of suffering.
To end the tragedy that has haunted generation after generation.
Jude finishes reading. He looks up, his face pale as a ghost, and shakes his head. “We’ll find another way.”
I give him a helpless shrug. “There is no other way.”
And we’re out of time.
Dante’s comet will blaze brightest in the sky tomorrow, on Halloween.
He stands abruptly.
We switch roles—I am still, and he is pacing.
He white-knuckles my phone in one hand, fists his hair in the other. “I don’t agree to this.”
“You don’t have to agree to this.”
“He needs my blood.” He clutches his chest like he might tear out his heart. “I was willing to give it to save you, Selah. Not so you could—” But he doesn’t finish the sentiment. He can’t say the word.
I yank the collar of my shirt to the side. “I’m dead either way.”
Jude winces.
I shiver.
And ache.
For him.
For us.
For everything I want but can’t have. Because long ago, evil twisted something good. Poisoned something beautiful. By turning love into a curse.
“The curse will be broken,” I whisper. “You’ll be free to love.”
“I don’t care about love if I can’t love you.” He closes the gap between us and takes my face in his hands. “You’re who I want, Selah. You.”
Tears well in my eyes. Because I want him, too. So badly, I feel like I might suffocate beneath the weight of it. But what choice do I have? The end has come for me, just like it comes for all of us eventually.
“If death is my fate,” I say, “it’s not without choice. Either I die by the curse, or I die by destroying it.” I cover his hands with mine. A tear catches on his thumb. “I choose to destroy it.”
He lets go.
He turns away.
With a guttural shout of rage, he kicks the bench so hard, it splinters. “You’re not the only one who learned something today,” he says. “She called it a consuming curse. It needs to feed on someone bound to it through love. And that someone doesn’t have to be you.”
Before I can process his words, he’s gone—storming toward the manor like a man on a mission. And I’m left dumbstruck, blinking through the confusion. Because surely, it can’t be him. I’m the one with the mark. But then I think of my mother, who outlived Simon Vandenberg by decades.
My thoughts lurch to the scorch mark.
The curse needs to feed, and Jude just looked like a man determined to offer himself up as a meal.
Panic surges.
I sprint after him, but he’s already on the portico, disappearing through the doors. I stumble in the dark, reach the stone steps, and bang the brass knocker.
The doors fly open.
Rafe stands on the other side.
I don’t wait for a smirk or a snide innuendo. “Please,” I gasp. “I need to talk to him.”
He leans against the doorframe and folds his arms. “I don’t think he wants to talk to you.”
My panic spikes.
A consuming curse.
It needs to feed.
Isn’t that what it’s been doing—feeding on my warmth, on my life? What if Jude finds a way to turn its appetite to him? What if he’s upstairs feeding it now?
I grab onto Rafe’s arm. “In order to get Seraphina back, you need Jude’s blood.”
His expression glints with something dark and inscrutable.
“Surely he needs to be alive when he gives it.”
Rafe narrows his eyes. “Are you telling me his plans have changed?”
“He thinks there’s another way to save me. One that doesn’t involve opening the tomb. A way that would—” My voice catches. I swallow a shaky breath. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
I want him to reassure me.
Yes, he understands.
No, he won’t let it happen.
I want him to give me his word.
I want his word to mean something.
He could, at the very least, look concerned.
Instead, he flips me a sardonic salute, then steps inside the foyer and closes the doors in my face.