Page 42 of Cry of Blood and Joy
The distant echo of footsteps somewhere in the building made my heart skip. Ari and Marsha could come back any moment—I could hear their muffled voices drifting through the stone walls, getting closer. The acrid smell of their cigarette smoke still lingered in the stale air, a reminder our window of opportunity was rapidly closing.
I had to do something. Now.
Drawing on every ounce of power I possessed—every scrap of shadow magic that hadn’t been drained by these iron restraints—I focused inward, feeling for that familiar cold darkness that lived in my core. The magic was sluggish, resistant, like trying to push thick honey through a straw. I gritted my teeth and pushed it down toward my thumb, willing it to obey despite the iron’s interference.
Please, please, please work.
A thin shadow, no thicker than a spider’s silk, pushed out from beneath my thumbnail. Finally! Thank god! It wavered in the dim light like smoke, shaky and unstable, threatening to dissipate at any moment. Sweat dripped into my eyes as I concentrated with everything I had, my entire world narrowing to that fragile tendril of darkness.
I focused on Steve’s manacle across the room, visualizing the lock mechanism, the way the tumblers would need to turn. The shadow was clumsy, twirling around the iron band like a sleepy serpent before finally, finally, slipping inside the keyhole with a whisper-soft click.
Open it. Damn it, open it!
The manacle resisted for a heart-stopping moment, the ancient lock grinding against my shadow’s probing touch. Damn it! I wasn’t strong enough. But I couldn’t give up. Not now. Steve’s life depended upon me opening this lock.
Then, with a rusty clank that sounded like thunder in the silence, it slowly creaked open. Steve’s arm broke free, and his unconscious body twisted sideways, no longer held upright by both restraints.
“Steve! Steve!” His head lolled forward, red hair matted with sweat and blood. “Can you hear me?”
The sight of his pale, motionless face almost stopped my heart. Was I too late?
Desperation clawed at my chest. I scanned the grimy floor until I spotted a jagged piece of concrete that had broken off from the crumbling wall. Without hesitation, I kicked it hard across the room. The rock struck Steve squarely in the shoulder with a dull thud, and he groaned—a low, pained sound that was the most beautiful thing I’d heard in hours.
He was alive.
“Steve, can you hear me?” I banged my chains against the wall, trying to get his attention, trying to get him to move.
He opened one eye first, then the other, blinking slowly like someone emerging from a deep, drugged sleep. His pupils were dilated, unfocused. “Torturing me too?” The words slurred together, thick with confusion and lingering unconsciousness.
“You have to get free.” I put every ounce of urgency I could muster into those five words.
He blinked again, harder this time, as if trying to clear fog from his vision. His gaze moved painfully slowly from his still-chained wrist to me, suspended across the room. Recognition flickered in his dark eyes like a candle flame fighting the wind. “You?”
I nodded frantically, my heart hammering so hard I was sure he could hear it echoing off the stone walls. The brave little shadow—my lifeline, my last hope—was still working on his other manacle, probing the ancient lock with determined persistence. The tendril of darkness trembled with the effort, and I could feel my own strength ebbing with each second it remained manifested.
Just one more turn. Come on.
Click.
The sound was like a sonic boom in the suffocating silence. Steve’s second arm dropped free, and he crumpled to the floor in a heap, his legs too weak to support him after hours of hanging. The metallic clang of the empty manacles swinging against the wall seemed impossibly loud.
“Go.” The word tore from my throat, desperate and commanding.
Steve struggled to push himself up on his elbows, his arms shaking with the effort. Dark stains spread across his shirt where the demon blood had soaked through, and his face was deathly pale. “Not unless you’re coming with me.”
The stubborn loyalty in his voice—even now, even when he could barely stand—made my chest tighten with a mixture of love and frustration.
“Steve, listen to me.” I leaned forward as far as my own restraints would allow. “You’ve got to get to Enzo. He’ll know what to do about the demon blood. He’ll know how to save you.” My shadow was already dissipating, the thin tendril fading likesmoke as my power finally gave out. “Go, now. Before it’s too late.”
Footsteps echoed in the corridor outside—closer this time. Much closer.
Steve dragged himself to his feet, using the damp stone wall for support. His legs trembled like a newborn fawn’s, fighting just to remain upright. Dark veins still spiderwebbed beneath his pale skin, the demon blood slowly killing him with each pulse, but determination burned in his eyes—the same stubborn fire that had gotten us both into trouble countless times before.
He cast me his protective gaze, the same one he always used when we were kids. “I’ll bring help. I promise.”
The heavy wooden door creaked open on rusted hinges, the sound echoing through the hollow sanctuary like a tolling bell. Steve’s head snapped toward the entrance.
He gave me one last desperate glance, his blue eyes filled with a mixture of guilt, love, and fierce determination that made my chest ache. Then his form began to blur and shift, bones cracking and reforming with wet, organic sounds that always made my skin crawl. In seconds, where my brother had stood, a small brown bat hung in the air, its wings beating erratically.
