Sophie turns to me, her eyes clouded again. “Don’t.”
One word, spoken in a voice that resonates to the depths of hell. It freezes me to the spot.
Like her sister before her, Sophie has the power to immobilize.
Why didn’t I see that coming? Why didn’t she use it on Williams when he attacked her?
She watches me a moment, turns away when she’s sure I can’t break free. She returns to Culebra.
The chanting continues. I strain to break the bonds holding me, but it’s no use. Williams. Can you move?
His voice comes back, rough, angry. No.
Shit.
Then the rumble begins. Like distant thunder. For a moment I ’m conscious only of the sound until, suddenly, darkness descends as if from a fast-moving storm. The room is plunged into night. The flickering candles cast grotesque shadows on the walls. Sophie ’s shape distorts, her face turns ghostly, indistinct against the gloom. Only her voice is the same, strong, unwavering.
My skin crawls.
The room begins to shake. Gusts of cold air swirl around us, stinging my face like the gale of an arctic storm. The candles sway in the violent blasts of air. My guts heave. I feel as if I’m on the deck of a bucking ship, helpless in the face of a raging storm.
Sophie’s voice carries over all. Only the tempo and volume increase. I don’t understand the words. All that I see are her eyes—bright, fever-lit, consumed by an inner fire. It’s frightening and compelling and I can’t look away.
Sophie pauses in her incantations, pours another drop of holy water on Culebra ’s tongue. This time, he groans, his back arches as if pulling against invisible bonds.
He’s in pain. I struggle to break free of Sophie’s hold. I can’t. Did I make a mistake bringing her?
What choice did I have?
Sophie continues the chant. The wind increases, whipping her hair around her face. A small cut appears on her cheek, followed by another and another until her face is streaming with blood. It drips onto her clothes, onto Culebra, a crimson stain that spreads until they’re both covered with it.
Still, she persists. Her voice carries with it power and energy. Yet the opposition she’s fighting is powerful, too. I’m watching a clash of titans. Two mighty forces in a battle of wills.
The howling wind shrieks, filling my head until I think my eardrums will burst. Head and heart pound with the pressure. I want to press my palms against my ears but my arms refuse to move.
The charm around my neck gives the first warning. A fiery blast of white-hot heat. I can’t protect myself from it. All I can do is cry out.
Suddenly, there is another sound. A voice. Shrill, furious.
“You are my sister,” Belinda Burke’s scream rattles the walls and shakes the floor beneath our feet. “If you break this spell, you break the bond.”
Her image floats in the air above Culebra’s cot. Not the image of Simone Tremaine or the younger Burke Frey and I battled months ago.
This is the true image. An old woman, face contorted in anger, body stooped and bent. Her eyes burn red and focus with mad intensity on her sister.
“Stop. Stop now. You can’t win.”
But Sophie doesn’t stop. The chanting continues. Tears stream down her face, mixing with the blood. She picks up the vial and flings it into the apparition.
Hell breaks loose.
CHAPTER 48
THUNDER IS IN THE ROOM WITH US. MORE THAN sound. It takes shape, reverberates off the walls, beats at our ears, shakes the ground. Hell rides with it, the face of the witch hovering, waiting to draw us down into the darkness. I’m so afraid, my teeth grind together, my flesh puckers and draws tight. My hands rise in an instinctive reflex to shield my face. The spell that bound me to the spot must be broken, but it doesn’t matter. I couldn’t run if I wanted to. It’s all I can do to keep my balance on a floor rearing and rolling beneath my feet.
Frey’s chair skitters against the wall. He’s flung out of it. The chair breaks apart as if made of balsa wood.
Frey doesn’t awaken.
He’s lucky.
I glance at Williams. He’s been pushed against a table at the back of the room. I can’t tell if he’s broken free. His thoughts are no longer on his hatred, they center now on his fear. His eyes are on Burke.
She reaches out a skeletal hand to touch Sophie. “Sister.”
One word.
But Sophie doesn’t waiver. Her voice rises like the perfume of incense—thick, pervasive, somehow comforting. Her hand is again on Culebra’s chest. Shielding him. She is not looking at Burke; her eyes are closed.
Burke shrieks and holds out both arms. She scoops them as if to draw Sophie up.
I can’t let that happen. I look to Williams for help.
His eyes meet mine, but he refuses to move. He won’t help. These are your friends, his expression says, not mine.
I move toward Sophie alone.
Burke turns burning eyes on me, full of fire and rage. She snarls and her right hand becomes a sword. The force of her fury is directed at me. She lashes out with the sword, breathes smoke and flame, blinding me.
I shield my face with my hands, feel the tip of the sword slash both forearms. Pain runs the length of my arms. The charm blazes inside my blouse, the smell of burnt flesh, my own, fills my nostrils. The floor beneath me is buckling, caving downward.
Still, Sophie’s voice is there. She does not stop.
But something changes.
In the instant that Burke turns her attention to me, the timbre of Sophie ’s voice swells, grows more powerful. She raises her eyes and arms, and in her hands she holds the goblet. She holds it like a supplication, an offering. She draws her own power inward, summoning the force of the elements whipping around us.
Burke senses the shift. She turns her face away from me, howling.
The thunder no longer answers.
In its place, deathly quiet.
Burke realizes her mistake. I was a decoy.
Sophie’s voice drops to a whisper. The goblet trembles in her hand.
Burke blinks, opens her mouth. “No.”
Her face contorts. Her body shrinks into itself. She holds up her hands. “Don’t.”
But Sophie raises the goblet higher.
Burke releases a sigh, a death rattle. An acknowledgment.
She has been tricked. She turns dead eyes on me.
Then she is drawn into the goblet.
Sophie holds it against her chest, shielding it.
It’s then I know.
Sophie’s eyes find mine. The message she sends is both admission and appeal.
I can’t let it go. Too much has happened. Too many deaths.
I reach for the goblet.
She could fight me. She could render me immobile with a thought.
Her breath catches. Her eyes fill. Still, she refuses to move. Gently, softly, I place my fingers over hers. One by one, I remove them from the goblet until her hand falls away.
The goblet falls to the floor.
With a burst of light, it shatters, sending particles as fine as sand through the air.
The only sound now is the ghostly echo of Burke’s scream.
CHAPTER 49
THE SILENCE IS MORE DEAFENING THAN THE thunder.
The candles sputter and extinguish as one.
The charm grows instantly cold.
When I look around, I see for the first time that not only Frey’s chair but every bit of furniture in the room has been reduced to shards of broken wood. It’s a wonder Williams and I weren’t staked by flying debris.
Suddenly, Culebra sits up on the cot. He looks around, his eyes full of questions.