Page 27 of Torn Ivy
“Only Death has that kind of access,” Ramsey says quietly.
We all let that sink in. The implications are clear - this isn’t just an assignment, it’s a deliberate move in whatever game Death is playing.
“This could be a test,” Tate says.
“That’s exactly what it is. He’s testing how I’ll handle an impossible assignment.”
“The question is,” Bram says from his position by the window, “what’s he really looking for?”
I look down at my hands. Since the incident this morning, my power has felt different. It is more integrated, less likely to explode, but also more profound somehow, like it’s waiting for something.
“There’s only one way to find out,” I say finally. “I have to go.”
“Not alone,” Tate says immediately.
“He wants to see what we’ll do,” I murmur. “All of us.”
“Then let’s give him exactly what he wants,” Torin says. “I’m done being this arsehole’s puppet.”
“Agreed,” I growl and march off upstairs to my bedroom, slamming the door behind me while I try to figure out what this shit is all about. I open the box of weapons and stare at them, deciding what the hell I’m supposed to take with me on this assignment.
As midnight approaches,I’m no closer to trying to figure out what Death wants from this charade. I stand in front of my mirror, having shifted to Poison to play this game.
“Ready?” Tate asks from the doorway.
I turn to face him, noting how his eyes track the pink energy that flows around me. “As I’ll ever be.”
We set off on foot, as it’s not too far away that we need to drive. The moon hangs full in the sky, which makes the creepy vibes I’m getting so much worse. The cemetery at midnight is exactly as ominous as you’d expect. Moonlight casts long shadows between the headstones, and a light mist curls around my ankles as I walk the familiar paths. Alone, but not. The guys are watching me from strategic points. Tate in the old church tower, Torin among the ancient oak trees, and Bram in the shadows of the mausoleum. Their presence is a comfort, even if I can’t see them.
The cemetery appears empty, but my senses tell me differently. There’s a disturbance in the air, a ripple in reality that sends skitters across my skin.
“Miss Hammond,” Death’s voice echoes from everywhere, making me jump. The mist thickens ominously.
He materialises in front of me, his skeletal face grinning wider than usual. “Ah, chaos incarnate. You’ve exceeded all expectations.”
“Hello, David Beech,” I say.
He chuckles and moves closer, unaffected by the toxic vines that instinctively spring up around me. “He was rather like you, Miss Hammond. Someone who defied their intended path. It didn’t end well for him.”
“Is that supposed to be a warning?”
His laugh is like bones rattling. “More like a preview. Unless...”
The air shifts, and suddenly, the cemetery is full of shadow creatures, more solid than the ones I encountered in Death’s realm. They move among the graves, not attacking but definitely threatening.
“Unless what?” I demand, calling more power to me. The pink energy swirls faster, mixing with the mist to create a storm of chaos and magick around us.
“Unless you learn to truly embrace what you are.” Death waves a hand, and reality ripples. “Show me, little chaos bearer. Show me what you can really do.”
The shadow creatures surge forward, not to attack me directly, but to cut off any escape route. I feel the guys tensing in their positions, ready to intervene, but something tells me that’s exactly what Death wants.
“I already know what I can do,” I say, letting the chaos magick flow freely. Pink energy fills the cemetery, and reality begins to bend around us. “The question is, can you stop me?”
The ground beneath us transforms, toxic vines weaving patterns that pulse with chaotic energy. The shadows try to cross them but recoil, hissing. Interesting.
“Fascinating,” Death murmurs, watching as my power continues to spread. “You’re learning to shape reality quickly. But can you maintain control when everything falls apart?”
He raises his skeletal hand, and the shadow creatures suddenly multiply, hundreds of them filling the cemetery. They start tearing at the fabric of reality, creating rips in the air through which I glimpse other realms, other possibilities.
