Page 88 of Torn Ivy
Ivy’s eyes widen at my words, a flicker of recognition passing across her face. “Poison,” she murmurs. “I remember. Pink hair. Powerful, dangerous.”
“That’s right,” I say, encouraged. “That is your alter ego. The badass assassin version of yourself.”
She frowns, concentrating. “I killed people.”
“Only bad ones,” Bram interjects quickly. “You’re like a supernatural vigilante.”
Ivy shakes her head, looking overwhelmed. “This is all so confusing. I feel like I’m trying to put together a thousand-piece puzzle with only a handful of pieces.”
“Then let us help you find the rest,” Tate says softly. He reaches for her hand again, and this time, she doesn’t pull away. She hesitantly places her hand over his marking, and it flares up, recognising her touch. He hisses, and she parts her lips. It’s like a fucking fairytale, twisted and dark.
“There you go,” I grit out.
“And there’s why,” Cathy says slowly and quietly. “Nobody move.”
I grit my teeth and clamp my hand over the opening wound that has decided I need more blood right this pretty second.
“Easy now,” Bram says, wielding his hook as Cathy opens the bag.
I look where they are and see the snake wrapping itself around Tate’s left leg. “Oh, look. It’s Tate’s trouser snake,” I snort, unable to help myself of the joke just sitting there waiting.
Bram stifles his guffaw as Tate grimaces at me with a look that could stake a vampire… if we weren’t already in this hell dimension and not exactly alive to begin with.
Ivy stands frozen, her hand still on Tate’s chest over his marking. The snake pauses, its head swaying as if considering its next move.
“Don’t. Fucking. Move,” Bram grits out, sober now as his eyes lock on the serpent.
Tate’s jaw is clenched tight, his whole body rigid. “Not planning on it,” he mutters.
The snake continues its upward journey, winding around Tate’s torso. As it reaches his chest, it pauses again, its forked tongue flicking out to taste the air.
“What’s it doing?” Bram whispers.
“I think...” Ivy whispers. “I think it’s drawn to the marking.”
The snake slithers forward, its tongue tasting Tate’s skin, hissing wildly at the marking.
“Now!” Bram yells and hooks the snake swiftly, practically throwing it at Cathy, who catches it in the bag and ties the drawstring tightly.
We all just stand there for a moment, taking in the events. “What now?” I ask, breaking the silence.
“Now, we figure out how this fucker can help us get home.”
“Back to the old, creepy book?”
“Seems so.”
“We need to undo it all and start over,” Tate says. “We need to do it properly this time. Make sure none of us dies.”
“Do you trust us, Ivy? Do you trust us to undo this and still bring you back?”
Her gaze fixes on mine and I see the lifetimes she has lived while we were pratting about with mourning her and killing ourselves over a death ritual which backfired.
The silence is deafening.
42
IVY
