by Claudia Gray
The smoke continued to darken as it finally took shape. These two wisps became legs; the cloud near her chest became a torso. And resting against her cheek was an oval cloud that had no features, but Verlaine knew it was a face.
This was what was left of him: spirit, not flesh. Only the outline of a human being. But whatever Asa was now, whatever he had endured for her sake, he had heard her call. He had answered. He’d found her, and she’d found him, and now maybe they could get out of here.
But he was in so much pain. So confused and afraid. More than anything, Verlaine wanted to comfort him. Hold on, I’m here, I’m with you, not much longer.
Saying any of that would damn him forever.
Her skin still glowed slightly with the blue light that Nadia had said was all that stolen love. However, Verlaine could tell the light had dimmed considerably since this journey had begun. It was like—like hell was burning it off. Consuming it.
Which meant soon it would consume her.
“Asael,” Verlaine whispered. His name would have to say everything she felt. She put her arms around the shadow—a gesture she thought was futile—and was startled to feel Asa there. He had some kind of substance, then. Maybe he really could get out of hell in one piece.
That should have reassured Verlaine. Instead it panicked her. Before this, she’d been willing to dare anything. The fate of the world was in the balance, which meant it was time to suck it up. And Verlaine had found it easy to risk it all for her friends and for love. But now that she had Asa back, she had something to lose.
She held him tighter and prayed for Nadia to come.
Nadia heard Verlaine calling to her—not with her voice, with everything else that she was—but couldn’t answer. She was too busy forging her weapon.
The hate built and built within her, like a volcano bubbling with lava and on the verge of eruption. It was so tempting to give in to her anger, to add her loathing of Elizabeth and the One Beneath to the fire.
She didn’t. Nadia knew that if she did that, she could only add normal human hate. Her hate would be tempered by all the other emotions she could feel, especially love. That meant the weapon she was creating would be weakened. For this, purity was the key.
It was her mother’s hate she felt. All the venom that came from knowing herself tricked, realizing her empty, meaningless life was for nothing.
By now the One Beneath’s face had become clear, and more malevolent—like He was becoming infinitely vaster in front of her eyes. Now that she could see Him more clearly, Nadia thought His face looked less like a mask, more like a skull.
A skull seen from the inside.
Imagine it as a sword, Nadia thought. She came from a world of tangible things, so she needed to believe she had a tangible weapon. That was her only chance. If she could destroy that bridge, hurt Him, make Him turn back—that would be enough. Maybe that would undo Elizabeth’s plans, or delay them long enough for her to come up with a real way to defeat them.
The darkness mocked her. No sound, no change in the still, dead face that spread across the entire void—and yet Nadia knew the One Beneath was laughing, to show her His contempt.
She also knew He wouldn’t do that if she had no chance.
I’m sworn to Him. If I strike Him down, I may die along with Him.
That wasn’t a reason to hesitate. Just a moment to think of her dad, and Cole, and even her mom. And Mateo.
I love you.
Nadia envisioned the blade, put all her force behind it, and struck.
The roar deafened her. Surrounded her. A cry of the greatest rage and pain she had ever known—beyond anything she had imagined—and for a moment she thought the force of it could tear the flesh from her bones. Maybe that was how the One Beneath would take her down: killing her with the power of His own fury.
But Nadia stayed alive, while everything around her began to collapse.
Darkness turned into nothingness—it wasn’t a difference she could describe, but she could sense it. The spiraling chaos all around her became even more disordered as it slowed. It was like a great machine was breaking down, shedding gears, and stopping. She’d done more than destroy the bridge to the mortal world; she’d hurt the One Beneath . . .
No. The One Beneath wasn’t merely wounded.
He was dying.
That’s impossible, Nadia thought wildly. Wasn’t it? She’d never even tried to figure out how to do it, because she’d believed it couldn’t be done. Surely the unearthly din around her had confused her, was making her imagine things that weren’t true.
And yet she could see it happening all around her. The One Beneath was collapsing, dragging the whole dimension of hell down with Him.
He took my mother’s ability to love, Nadia thought in a daze. He made her able to hate perfectly. He forged the weapon I used to kill Him.
He’s dead.
He’s dead.
She felt one split second of triumph before she realized: If we’re still in hell when the One Beneath dies, the chaos will be more than we can survive.
Mateo’s lungs burned with the need for air, but he refused to come up. If he came up, Elizabeth would come up, too, and killing her was more important than staying alive.
They were tangled up with each other now, clothes torn, eyes open underwater as they stared at each other in mutual fury. Her fingernails had gouged deep cuts in his arms, and by this time his blood had mingled with the water.
Last time we surfaced, the water was chest-deep. Soon there won’t be any air left in the house. Soon I can stop fighting and just let her die.
Somehow it seemed almost right to die with Elizabeth. His mind knew all those childhood memories of them playing together were fake; his heart couldn’t put them aside as easily. Mateo felt as though he’d lived his entire life by her side, and now he’d end by her side, too.
After that—he’d be made a demon. He’d be a slave to the One Beneath, or some other Sorceress. He’d be controlled as severely as Asa had been controlled, and punished as cruelly. Mateo didn’t care anymore. All he cared about was making sure that Elizabeth died, and Nadia lived.
Elizabeth writhed in his grip, and he felt a moment’s elation at the thought that she was finally weakening—
—when two strong arms seized him by the shoulders and pulled him to the surface.
“No!” Mateo shouted. But it was too late. Faye Walsh, behind him, was already trying to tow him to safety, and Elizabeth’s head was above the water.
Shoulder-deep.
“Let me go,” Mateo protested.
Faye shook her head. “You can’t die to defeat Elizabeth. She’s not worth it.”
“Someone has to!” Then it hit him. “Not you.”
“No. Not Faye.” Mr. Caldani managed to get through the water to them, so that he stood between them and Elizabeth, who was already struggling through the current back to them. “This is my job.”
“Simon, don’t.” Faye’s voice shook with effort and fear. “You have children who need you. Me—I’ve got no one anymore, not anyone who’ll miss me—there’s no reason you should—”
“Nadia’s my daughter,” Mr. Caldani said. He took Faye’s hand, like he was trying to thank her even as he pulled her back. “That makes this my work.”
Mateo intended to fight this out if he had to, but that was the moment when Elizabeth began to scream.
Nadia cried out, “ASAEL!”
Instantly Verlaine appeared in front of her, cradling a frail shadow that must have been what was left of Asa’s soul. As Nadia had hoped, Verlaine’s love had bound Asa to her so tightly that summoning him had brought them both.
“Nadia! What happened?” Verlaine’s hair wreathed out around her, as if it were floating. “It’s all falling apart!”
“Hang on!” With that, Nadia reached upward, outward, envisioning the world she knew in every detail.
The big oak tree outside her bedroom window.
The sound of Cole’s gigglin
g.
The smell of hot cocoa.
Winter wind in Chicago, sharp enough to cut through a down jacket and make her shiver.
Dad’s arms around her when he’d welcomed her back home.
The scent of sunblock lotion on her warm skin as she walked along the beach.
Mom at the doorway, suitcase in hand, saying, “It’s better this way.”
Bolognese sauce warm and rich on her tongue, but still needing just a touch more oregano.
Trying to laugh about the pictures her friends drew on her cast when really her broken arm still hurt terribly.
Verlaine asking if Nadia was an alien, and welcoming her to planet Earth.
That time some guy on the “L” inexplicably decided she was Selena Gomez and tried to get her autograph.
Her very first memory, laughing and kicking out her little toddler feet while Mommy pushed her gently, and asked if she wanted to swing even higher.
Mateo framing her face in his hands, looking at her with all the love she could ever have imagined someone could feel for her, and bringing his lips to hers.
They were the ingredients for every spell Nadia could ever have cast. She could draw upon her whole life, all the richness and pain and weirdness and love, and use all of it to draw her back to the world she knew.
It was like making that world all over again, even more beautiful than before.
They were arguing over who would die by Elizabeth’s hand. They would all die by her hand, this moment, because now she was free of Mateo’s battering and able to collect herself. Now she would be able to cast a spell to destroy them—
Elizabeth screamed.
The pain was like nothing else she’d ever known. She had seen men burn, watched women starve. She knew death both fast and slow, had memorized the way each anguish worked, but Elizabeth had never once sensed anything as terrible as the pain that had her now.
The worst wasn’t the intense, crushing pressure upon her whole body. It was feeling her magic dry up and leave her.
No, she thought, staggering one step forward through the water. That’s impossible. I am sworn to the One Beneath, and His fury and His power sustain me.
Elizabeth sought the One Beneath in her mind, and found only silence.
This could not be true. It could not. His darkness underlay the entire world; He was mightier than any earthly force. How could she call for Him and hear nothing in return?
Only one answer arose in her mind, a terrible slow kindling like the bonfire around a stake. Elizabeth tried to hold back the knowledge—to turn away from what her witchcraft told her, for the only time in her life—but she could not. She knew.
Her beloved lord had been destroyed.
Every spell Elizabeth had ever cast with His power—the waters to flood this house, the curse against the Cabots, the binding of Mateo to her with the chains of demonhood—the spell to extend her own life—
All of them were burning out.
The water began to drain from the great house so quickly that Elizabeth almost instantly felt her feet make solid contact with the floor. As the water went down to her waist level, she looked toward her opponents to find them staring at her in horror; only then did she realize she was still screaming.
She wanted to claw at them, to take Mateo Perez’s eye, or the other Steadfast’s throat, as some small measure of vengeance—but as Elizabeth held out her hand, she saw that it no longer looked like her own. Before her eyes, the flesh withered, exposing bones that became weaker by the moment. Her wet hair against her shoulders paled from chestnut to a dull, brittle white. Spots and blotches marred her skin, and her voice changed from one scream to the next, becoming more feeble. She even felt her teeth loosening in her gums, falling out with every shriek, until she could taste blood.
The water fell beneath her hips. Only then did she realize it had been holding her up.
Elizabeth fell forward onto her knees. The fragile bones shattered, sending pain spiking up through her legs. That didn’t matter, though. Worse was the pain of knowing that the One Beneath was gone forever.
Mateo took one halting step toward her. Apparently the rapid aging of her body had shocked him out of hatred into unwilling pity. “Elizabeth?”
Better to be dead than to be pitied.
Elizabeth let herself fall forward into the shallow water, thinking she would drown.
But her skull shattered against the floor, and everything she’d ever been or known floated away. Lost in the flood.
Shaking, Mateo leaned down and turned over Elizabeth’s body. If he hadn’t watched her transform in front of his eyes, he would never have been able to recognize this ancient crone as the girl she’d been moments before. Now she was old—older than human beings ever actually got, wrinkled to the point of obscuring her features. Toothless. And very, very dead.
She looked more like a mummy than a corpse.
What could kill Elizabeth from within like that? And make the waters go down? Mateo had an idea, but he almost didn’t dare to hope.
He looked over his shoulder at Faye. “Does this mean what I think it means?”
“I’m not sure. But at least Elizabeth’s dead.”
Faye’s smile was weary; she’d braced herself against the wall, and was visibly trembling with exhaustion. Only once he’d seen her did he realize he was shaking, too. Fighting in the water had taken more of his strength than he’d realized. Without his anger at Elizabeth to fuel him, Mateo felt emptied out.
Mr. Caldani had already gone halfway up the stairs to check on his semiconscious ex-wife. “Did Nadia win? This means she won, right?”
“I don’t know.” Mateo looked down at Elizabeth’s dead body—crumpled up like so many wet rags—then walked away from her without looking back.
Faye cocked her head. “Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Mateo could only think, What now?
“It’s not so much what we do hear as what we don’t.” A slow smile dawned on Faye’s face. “It’s stopped raining.”
The enormous room was still draining water, which welled and puddled in strange ways. Elizabeth had broken the laws of nature to get it in here, and the last evidence of her magic was the strange way the water flowed out again. Mateo’s side of the room was completely clear, while the far corner was still a couple of feet deep. Falling fast, though . . .
And as he stood there watching, the water went down just enough to reveal three forms huddled together in the corner.
Mateo’s eyes widened. Hope stole his voice, so that he could only stare.
That was enough, because that let him see Nadia—and Verlaine and Asa, too—all of them, gasping as though they’d been underwater a very long time.
“Nadia?” he whispered. She tugged her wet hair away from her face, saw him, and smiled.
Then he was running toward her, and she rose to meet him so he could swing her into his arms. They were both soaking wet, with their clothes stuck to them and their hair in their faces, but Mateo thought he’d never felt anything better. Never seen anything sweeter than Nadia smiling again.
“You made it,” he said. “Oh, my God, you made it.”
On the floor, Asa seemed completely dazed. He still looked just like Jeremy Prasad. “Did that just happen?”
“Did we just kick supernatural ass?” Verlaine grinned as she helped him sit up. “Yeah, that happened.”
Mateo never wanted to let go of Nadia again, but then Mr. Caldani was there, too, and suddenly they were all sort of hugging one another at once.
“It worked?” Faye said through tears. “Your weapon was able to stop the One Beneath?”
“We didn’t just stop Him.” Nadia shook her head, as if in disbelief. “We—we killed Him.”
“More like annihilated,” Verlaine said cheerfully.
Asa, who had one hand on Verlaine’s shoulder and another against the wall, looked like he was ready to fall over again. But his smile was as devilish as ever. “The demonic realm coll
apsed. Completely. That hasn’t happened in millennia.”
“Does that mean it’s gone for good?” Mr. Caldani said. “The, uh, ‘demonic realm’?”
“Oh, hell will restore itself. It always does.” Asa managed to stand on his own, and started to wring water from the tail of his shirt. “And eventually there will be another lord of hell. But that’s going to take a long time. Eons. I mean, literal eons. The forces of darkness will be fighting among themselves for quite a while now.”
“Which means they’ll leave us alone?” Verlaine said.
“It also means all the bonds, oaths, and other verbal contracts with the One Beneath are null and void.” Asa frowned. “Maybe I should go to law school.”
Relief washed through Mateo. “You mean—we don’t have to become demons anymore?”
“That’s what it would mean. Maybe your curse is gone, too.” Nadia took his shoulders and leaned close, her joy seeming to flow into Mateo along with her touch. Then she went tense. “Elizabeth—where is she?”
Mateo didn’t bother pointing; he just looked at the crumpled form on the floor. What remained of Elizabeth looked like a pile of rags on the wet parquet wood.
Although the sight of Elizabeth’s corpse clearly shook Nadia, she didn’t look at it long. “A mirror. Mateo, we have to find a mirror.”
“Why?” Mr. Caldani asked.
Mateo knew why. He looked around the room, cluttered with debris—bits of broken vases, a waterlogged curtain torn free from its rod and a lamp that lay halfway through a window. Near the stairwell, on the floor, a cracked mirror was tilted on its side against the wall.
He ran to it, Nadia by his side. When he lifted it with shaking hands, he saw his reflection, splintered by the cracks in the mirror glass.
His Steadfast abilities let him see magic, and had always shown him the curse as a black halo of thorns—twisting and terrible, as much a part of him as his skin. Now the halo was gone.
“The curse is broken,” he said, turning to Nadia. “It’s gone. Everything Elizabeth did to all of us—it’s over.”
Nadia’s eyes welled with tears, but he knew she was crying for joy. She whispered, “We’re free.”