Page 34 of Oath of Blood and Joy

“Is there someone inside that box?”

“Yes.” Marsha turned to face me, her perfect red lips curving into a smile that never reached her eyes. She looked up at the sun, shielding her face with one pale hand. “I’m sure it’s very hot inside by now,” she said with clinical detachment, “and the air must be getting thin.”

I ran toward the box, adrenaline thundering in my veins. The scorching metal would burn my hands, but I didn’t care. Someone was trapped, suffocating, cooking alive in that horrificcontainer. My fingers reached for the padlock, determined to find some way—any way—to break it open.

But Marsha’s hand locked onto my arm, her fingers pressing so deeply that I knew they’d leave perfect purple imprints, a bracelet of bruises I’d wear for days. The faint scent of herbs and something burned clung to her skin—remnants of whatever spell she’d last cast. “That’s not the way you’ll free Zoe.” Her voice was silky, almost playful.

My blood turned to ice. “Zoe’s in there?”

I struggled wildly, pulling on my arm, clawing at her fingers where strange symbols had been tattooed in dark ink. “Let me go. I have to free her.” Panic tightened my chest, forcing my words in short, choppy bursts. From inside the box came a weak thumping, as if Zoe had heard her name and was responding with what little strength she had left.

Marsha’s grip only tightened, her eyes flickering with an unnatural golden light as she watched my desperation grow. “It’s up to you whether she lives or dies.”

I stared at her, momentarily stunned into stillness.

She dug her nails into my flesh, drawing pinpricks of blood that beaded along my skin. As she did, I felt a strange tingling where our skin met, as if her touch carried some arcane current. “Command your shadows to break the lock.”

Her eyes gleamed with something like hunger, but not for blood—for power. For the rare magic she sensed in me that she wanted to draw out and perhaps harness for herself.

From the metal box came a softer sound now—a whimper that might have been my name.

I had to try. If I didn’t, she could die. The certainty of it settled in my stomach like a stone, heavy and undeniable. Zoe’s life balanced on the edge of what I could or couldn’t do.

I closed my eyes, thinking back to the times my shadows had answered my call. The first time had been pure luck whenreading Anton’s book but I’d had no control, the others had been instinct—fear for my life or someone else’s triggering something primal and defensive. Those times, strong emotion had been the key.

Maybe I could channel that fear again, imagine the danger to myself was immediate. Or perhaps rage would be more effective—picturing Marsha’s face, her cruel smile as she locked Zoe away to suffer. I could also try something new—focus on the lock itself, visualize my shadows slipping into its mechanism like skeleton keys, probing and pushing until something clicked.

Whatever approach I chose, I needed to act now. Zoe didn’t have the luxury of time, and neither did I.

I pulled on my arm, my decision made. Rage would be my fuel—the same burning emotion that had called the shadows when Enzo was threatened. I would channel every moment of frustration, every indignity, every flash of rage I’d suppressed in this place.

I gritted my teeth. “Then let go of me and I will.”

“No tricks, little one.” She grabbed my hair and twisted it in her fingers, jerking my head back at a painful angle. Her eyes burned into mine, searching for deception. “Or you know what will happen.”

“Yes, I know.” The words fell from my lips like small, cold stones. I knew exactly what they were capable of.

She released me abruptly, sending me stumbling forward, off balance and disoriented.

I took a deep breath and focused on the whimpering box. The metal gleamed in the harsh sunlight, almost too bright to look at directly. Tears slid down my cheeks at their cruelty, hot tracks that cooled quickly in the slight breeze.

Concentrate. Concentrate.

I closed my eyes and reached for that strange, dark place inside myself where the shadows seemed to wait.

Please help her.

My chest fluttered and my skin tingled. I took a deep breath then opened my eyes. Shadows moved around me in soft swirls as if trying to comfort me, then slid over toward the box. Swirling around it as if confused on what to do.

Marsha pinched my arm hard, her nails digging into my flesh like talons. “Undo the lock, you fool.”

I cried out, the sharp pain radiating up my arm, and the shadows responded instantly—spinning faster around the lock as if sharing my fury. They whirled like a dark cyclone, tendrils lashing at the air with what seemed like genuine rage. Beads of sweat poured down my temples, stinging my eyes and leaving salty trails down my cheeks. My hands shook violently as I drew deeper on the power I barely understood, the effort making my vision blur at the edges. The shadows slithered into the lock like liquid night, probing and searching, but nothing happened. The padlock remained stubbornly intact, mocking my efforts.

What? This should be working. My confusion morphed into frustration. The shadows had come when I called them, responding to my anger just like before, but now they seemed useless against the lock.

Damn it! Maybe anger wasn’t the emotion I should have used.

Pleasepleaseplease help her!

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