Once we’d descended the stairs, it was a blur of bodies. Gray skin, mottled with maggots and buzzing with flies. Frayed fingertips and tattered lips. Everywhere my gaze landed, I met the Dead.
But I faced them, and I was unafraid.
Magic coursed through my veins, pure spiritual energy. Pure power. Then it exploded from me, a whip of necromancy to slay each corpse that crossed my path. I did not use the crystal clamp, but my left hand kept a firm hold while magic thrashed from my right.
“Sleep, sleep, sleep.” The words rushed from my mouth, nothing more than a whisper. And though I could barely hear Oliver over the scraping of bones, I knew he chanted the same thing. “Dormi, dormi, dormi.” Building walls glowed with the blue light of our magic.
As soon as one corpse fell, blasted by my magic into the final afterlife, Oliver would attack the next. Yet for every body that collapsed, another would take its place. Marcus had truly woken every cemetery in Marseille.
When we reached the first intersection at the bottom of the winding cliff path, I realized with a rush of dismay—a dark explosion in my chest—that I had lost all sense of where the Spirit-Hunters were. We had aimed toward that one explosion, but I had neither seen nor heard a pulse bomb since. The wind covered almost all sounds. It rattled through trees and bushes, it roared in my ears, and there was no ignoring the gray clouds that it now carried in. A storm to block out the sun. Though rain wouldn’t stop us, it wouldn’t help us either.
And the Dead—milky eyes and ripped skin were everywhere.
“Sleep,” I said, panting. “Sleep.” Blue light flew from my fingers and slashed at the power animating each corpse in my way. An old woman. Then a soldier. Then two half-eaten sailors.
When the first fat drops of rain hit my shoulder, a shiver slid through my body. We had reached a grid of smaller roads and intersections, and it was only a matter of time before the skeletons from the crypt reached us or the Dead came at us from the side streets.
Lightning from the storm cracked nearby. No—not lightning. Electricity. Joseph.
Oliver’s face snapped to me, his eyes triumphant. That sound had been close. It was the push we needed to keep going. To charge at more corpses until at last—
Crack! Blazing lines of electricity burst before us, lighting up shop fronts and closed doors. The Dead crumpled to the ground—felled by Joseph’s electricity.
My chest heaving, I gaped at the Creole. The rain was picking up speed; his shirt was soaked through. Mine too, I realized with a jolt.
And through the misty rain I could just make out a hazy figure with pistols firing at the nearest lines of bodies. Daniel.
“Marcus is northwest,” I shouted. “Only a few blocks from here.” I pointed in what I hoped was the general direction. “We can’t stop his army, Joseph. I know you want to protect the city, but . . .”
“I realize.” Joseph scrubbed at his bandages and scanned the building fronts. Curtains shifted in windows, and pale faces appeared. “Thus far they are only targeting us. And it is so many—more than we have ever faced before. We will have to hope that fleeing Marseille will be enough for Marcus to call off his corpses. But first we rescue Jie. Somehow.”
“Not somehow.” I beckoned Oliver to my side. “What did you learn about compulsion spells?”
Without shifting his focus from the streets behind us, Oliver said, “There’s no way to cancel one, but you can temporarily block it. You have to pierce a part of Jie’s body, and as the blood falls, you cast a spell—Dormi!” His magic laced out, felling four bodies at once. Then he wet his lips and continued, “It will be like resting an hourglass on its side—the compulsion spell will pause, but only as long as she continues to bleed—just a little. If the bleeding staunches, then your friend will fall right back under Marcus’s power.”
Joseph and I exchanged grim glances through the rain. “That means,” I said, “that we will need to get close enough to Jie to cut her.”
Joseph nodded. “The question is, how do we do that?”
“I’ll do it,” said a new voice. Daniel. He stalked to Joseph’s side, his clothes soaked through. The rain was a storm now.
“And how will you reach her?” Oliver demanded, looking at Daniel. “You have no powers, and your pistols are too sl—” His voice snapped off, his hands shooting up.
Daniel jumped around—but Oliver had already cried “Dormi!” and blue light was already streaking through the rain. A corpse fell only feet away.
“Your pistols,” Oliver finished, his voice a snarl, “are too slow.”
Daniel glared. “I can still make a blood wound. I just need Marcus distracted. You go through the Dead together. I come up from behind.”
“Then you,” Joseph looked at me, “will cast the spell from afar.” Before I could agree, Joseph’s eyes shifted beyond me, and his fingers squeezed the crystal clamp. Electricity snaked through the rain. Crack!
I whirled around just as the bodies fell. Some were skeletons from the crypt, but most were not.
The Dead had us completely surrounded.
I twisted back to Daniel. “Cut any exposed skin on Jie that you can get to. Then shoot your pistol. I’ll hear it and cast the spell—”
“But again,” Oliver inserted, “how will you get to her?” He thrust a pointed finger at the never-ending lines of Dead tramping toward us.
“Take all the pulse bombs,” Joseph said, shoving his physician’s bag into Daniel’s hands. “And prepare all your pistols now.”
Nodding, Daniel hefted the bag onto his shoulder and began to load his weapons.
“Eleanor,” Joseph continued, “you and I will clear a wide, distracting path to Marcus. Oliver will protect our rear. Daniel can break away from us at the nearest intersection. Then, after he gets Jie, we will make our way for the harbor and the airship.”
Everyone nodded.
“Now, let us go.” He marched off, Daniel beside him. I moved to follow, but Oliver’s fingers landed on my shoulder.
“This isn’t right,” he said, his voice a mere murmur over the rain and blasts of Joseph’s electricity. “We walk straight into Marcus’s hands, Eleanor.”
“Allies,” I reminded him. “To the end.”
His teeth gritted, but he nodded. “To the end.”
“What are the words to cancel the compulsion spell?”
“It’s just one word: resiste. But you have to focus on what you’re trying to stop. In this case it’s Marcus’s spell. Can you do it?”
“Yes.”
His eyes raked over my face. “Be careful.” Then he pivoted backward to blast away the approaching corpses.
I stalked to Joseph’s side. My attacks were pitiful compared to his—a handful of corpses toppled for the dozens he could destroy at once. But we moved onward.
At the first branching alleyway, Daniel veered away from us to make his own path. But he only went two steps before he paused . . . then bent around and ran back to us. To me.
I watched him, momentarily confused. Then, in a fast, hard movement, he yanked me to him and pressed his lips to mine.
Rain ran over our cheeks. Our chests were slick and cold. Wind howled. But Daniel kissed me fiercely. All teeth and desperation, and hard enough to steal my breath and show me all the things we never had time to share.
Half a moment later, he pulled away and, without a word, shot off for the alley. Joseph’s bag swung on Daniel’s back, and before he vanished into the shadows, he withdrew two pulse pistols and took aim.
I sent a silent prayer after him—because, by God, I wanted him to come back to me—before turning to the battle once more. The rain was collecting in the streets, soaking into the fallen Dead. My feet slipped and ankles wrenched on jellied flesh.
Yet I did not slow or stop.
Several blocks, we worked and fought. Every few minutes I would peek at the building fronts. People watched us, safe in their homes.
I was glad we would have none of their blood on our hands
, and though I did not think protecting Marseille had been Marcus’s purpose when he set up the newspaper article, it did make this fight easier.
“Sleep.” The magic hurled from my fingers to snap the Dead leashes all around. My veins pumped with spiritual energy and something . . . darker. Something hungry.
Marcus was so close.
We rounded the final corner, and the buildings opened up in a wide intersection surrounded by more thin, red-roofed buildings. We had reached Marcus.
Kill him.
The blinding crush of hatred burst before my eyes . . . and then we were through the Dead. Like blades of grass in the wind, the last row of corpses between us and Marcus crumpled beneath Joseph’s blazing attack.
The blue light left trails in my eyes, but I didn’t care—as soon as I saw the shape of Jie’s enormous gown, the twisting rise of her hair, and the blank stare in her eyes, I moved.
Joseph and Oliver did not stop me. In fact, they fell back and vanished from my awareness. All I saw was Jie . . . and Marcus.
He stood, a lazy slant to his posture and his attention on his fingernails. It was a pose—a slouch of such disinterest that I knew it had to be fake. He was aware of every step I made.
But I was not trying for stealth—or for anything, really, other than getting close enough to utter the words of the spell.
So I stomped directly toward Marcus, my gut on fire and my eyes never leaving his face. Elijah’s face. But there was nothing of my brother left in that jawline. Marcus had grown even larger—feasting off sacrificial power. Off my mother’s blood. He had burgeoned like some fat leech, and his shoulders were twice as broad as the old Elijah’s.
I lifted the crystal clamp, wielding it before me like a gun.
But suddenly a flash of pain lurched through my stomach. Pierced my chest.
My footsteps faltered, then stopped completely. Agony coiled through me and threatened to cut off my air.
But it was not my own pain.
Oliver! I shrieked with my mind. Stop! For this hurt was his. This was his soul-deep rage at Marcus. . . . No, at Elijah. It coursed through me like worms. Stop, Oliver. Stop!
I fell forward, my hands flying out. . . .
The blackness rushed back, but it was too late. I hit the wet cobblestones. My palms ripped open. The crystal clamp clattered away from me—straight to Marcus.
Casually he kicked it to the opposite end of the intersection. Then he laughed, a rumbling sound of genuine amusement. I remembered that sound from Laurel Hill. I remembered it from my nightmares. I pushed unsteadily to my feet.
“You think to stop me, Mamzel?” Marcus’s heavy Creole accent oozed through the rain and over the crack of Joseph’s electricity. “You think that you and Joseph”—Marcus hissed the name with venom—“can fight me? Do you not see the extent of my army?”
“We see your army,” I growled. “We are not afraid.” With a rough swipe at my pants, blood streaked and the skin ripped wider. It felt good. “You kidnapped Jie. Why?”
“Because I have a weakness for the beautiful.” He threw an almost fond smile at Jie. She stood as immobile and disinterested as a statue. “Does she not look lovely? I have enjoyed her company so much—”
“What have you done to her?” The words screeched from my throat. I lunged two desperate steps toward him.
Without thinking, I drew my magic into a well, let it pulse into my chest. If Marcus had laid a hand on Jie—if he had touched her in any way, I would destroy him right now. I didn’t care about Marseille or the Spirit-Hunters. If Marcus had violated Jie, he would die now.
As if reading my thoughts, Marcus’s lips curved into a smile, and his eyes crinkled to glowing, yellow slits. He crooked one finger, an invitation to attack.
White blinked at the corner of my vision—Daniel. He stood just behind Jie, a knife in hand. I forced myself to ignore him. Forced my eyes to stay locked on Marcus’s. Forced my magic to stay contained.
“You,” I said to Marcus, “will pay. In Philadelphia, I promised to send you to the hottest pits of hell, and I meant every word.” My voice trickled out, a bare whisper beneath the rain. As I hoped, Marcus took a step closer. Then another. He looked as smug as ever—always in control—yet he did want to know what I said. He liked hearing his prey’s final words.
It was as he took his third step toward me that Daniel struck. A blur of white, then a pistol shot.
Marcus flinched, but either he did not realize Daniel’s proximity or he did not consider Daniel a threat. He continued to stalk toward me.
“Resiste,” I murmured beneath my breath, never breaking my stare with Marcus. I fixed my thoughts on whatever sick power kept Jie trapped in place . . . and my magic slid through my body to trickle off my fingertips.
But I never looked away from Marcus.
He thought this would end today, and as much as I wanted it to—wanted to shred that smile off his face and feel his flesh beneath my fingernails—I felt a deep satisfaction at his inevitable disappointment. It was time he chased me. It was time for me to be in charge.
So, smiling, I finally let my eyes drift from Marcus’s unnatural face—just as Jie, her gown rustling and her face streaming with bright-red blood and rain, swept up behind him. In a single, vicious movement, she slammed her cupped palms over his ears. Then her foot kicked up between his legs. Into his groin.
A cry burst from Marcus’s lips, but when he whirled around to attack, his face met Daniel’s knife. With unnatural speed, Marcus slipped backward—out of Daniel’s or Jie’s reach. But I did not miss the sway in his step. Jie’s blow had landed where it needed to.
“Go!” I bellowed at Jie and Daniel. I pointed to the harbor. “Go!”
Then, before Marcus could try to recover, I attacked.
I don’t know how the magic came to me—like it always seemed to be, it was an instinctive pull. A natural understanding. A gentle slash at the nearest corpses to snip their leashes . . . and then bind them to me.
“Attack,” I whispered. “Attack.” Four corpses turned away from their steady march at me and aimed for Marcus instead.
Then another pistol popped. Blood burst in Marcus’s chest, and I had enough time to see Daniel’s arm lower—and then grab hold of Jie. Together, they raced away.
Meanwhile, my corpses shuffled toward Marcus—distracting him from healing his chest wound. Then Joseph’s power cracked into the intersection.
The world spun before me, and my heart was a husk of exhaustion. Yet my legs carried me away from Marcus and after the rapidly fading figures of Jie and Daniel.
Until I rounded a building and came face-to-face with a wall of corpses. Their gray arms were outstretched, and bone fingers clawed for me.
I scrambled back, swiveling for another street—but it was closed off too. I must have chosen the wrong path. Somehow, I would have to backtrack.
But when I tried to retreat, I saw more bodies and that shock of auburn hair I knew so well. I was trapped.
“Oliver!” The name scratched up my throat, and with it came a mental shout for my demon, a tug over our bond. Then I drew in every inch of my soul, but instead of bolstering my courage, it seemed to weaken me. I had nothing left—not even enough to stop the nearest body.
I staggered in a circle. My head rolled back—the roof seeming so safe and distant.
“Empress!”
The cry roared out over everything and pierced my heart. I wrenched my gaze to a rooftop behind me—to Daniel. How he’d gotten up there I didn’t know—didn’t care. He skidded to the edge of the sloping shale and heaved something in my direction.
I watched it fly in an arc—a glittery rock surrounded by copper. A crystal clamp. Without a thought, my hands swung up and snatched it from the air.
I rounded on Marcus; my fingers squeezed. Electricity exploded in my veins—a burning buzz that set my brain on fire. But it gave me no time to dwell, no time to think how this device might fail me once more. I would have to let my instinc
ts guide me. My hand shot up, and instantly, lines of blue sizzled out.
For a moment I felt every Dead in my way—ten, fifteen, twenty corpses all animated by slivers of soul. Then, in a crashing burn that scorched through my vision, the souls shattered into a million pieces. The fragments slammed into the spirit curtain . . . then melted through. Gone forever.
Bodies toppled. Marcus ducked. By the time I could attack again, he had slithered into his army.
“Coward!” I screamed, launching after him. “Coward!”
Hands grabbed my waist. “No!” Oliver’s voice bellowed in my ear, his grip unrelenting. He wrenched me around and toward the leftmost street. “This way, El. Come on!”
I threw a final glance after Marcus. I didn’t understand why he fled when he obviously had enough power to fight us and to keep his army going. . . . But he was leaving.
And I would have to let him go.
So with a nod at Oliver, I shoved onward. Together, we pounded over the cobblestones . . . and directly toward the Dead.
“Duck!” Daniel’s voice thundered from above. Then a glowing red pulse bomb arced through the rain.
Oliver and I dropped to our knees in the street.
Boom!
Flesh, bone, and congealed blood slapped the cobblestones, our backs, our heads. Then we were on our feet once more. The explosion echoed in my ears—but it faded fast as we sprinted ahead.
Daniel’s pulse bomb had emptied the street. Each slam of my heels brought the smell of sewage and fish into sharper focus. We were almost to the harbor.
A jolt of acknowledgment burst in my gut—Oliver’s emotions. He knew we were near too.
Then we hit a new street, and the airship—huge and white—appeared before us. It swayed and twirled, fighting the wind. The ladder dangled down; Allison must have lowered it.
We passed intersections and alleyways. Rotting flesh streamed along the corners of my eyes. My breath burned in my chest, and even as I pumped my legs harder, I knew the Dead would pour into our path at any moment.
But if I had thought there were too many Dead before, it was worse once we hit the quai. They came at us from all angles, and those that did not fit simply toppled into the water.
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