Page 183 of House of Roots and Ruin
She nodded. “No one ever suspected it was me. I set the fire. I found the boys and I brought them here.” She let out a sigh. “It’s a shame my son will never see the fruits of his labors.” She shrugged. “I suppose it’s a blessing the family crypt is so large. So let this, let all of this”—she pointed to the chaos upstairs—“play out, Thaumas girl. And when it’s over, you and Viktor will be together. And the real work can begin.”
My stomach lurched and I turned over, sputtering up a mouthful of bile. As I spat it out, I spotted my poker. It had been kicked aside during her first volley but it wasn’t far, a little more than an arm’s length away.
I stretched, grabbing for the poker, then screamed as she brought the dustpan down upon my arm. I flipped over, knocking her back in the process.
She howled, grabbing at her hip, and I took the moment to launch myself at my weapon. My entire body railed against the motion. I wanted to curl up as small as I could, make myself into a space so little there would be no room for the pain. But my fingers closed around the brass rod and I whirled around, staggering to a stand as I pointed it toward Marguerite.
A wicked smile bloomed over her face, her wrinkles stretched manically long.
“Verity!” Alex cried out, hidden behind the balcony. His voice didn’t sound right. It was too thick. Too wet. “Send the lift! Please!” His entreaty trailed off to a garbled end as a bone-shattering crunch filled the air.
With a gasp of frustration, I turned, limping toward the iron doors. Before I could take another step, pulling myself inside the cage, something large fell over the lip of the balcony. A dark formsailed through the air and crashed onto the atrium floor with a horrifying thud.
The body did not move again.
My entire being froze as I stared at the fallen figure, willing for it to twitch, willing for there to be some sort of life in the splayed, spread limbs.
“Alex?” I whispered.
No response.
From the body.
Or upstairs.
I took a tentative step toward it.
Towardhim.
He was still a him.
He still might be a him.
Not…it.
“Alex?” I breathed, leaning over the broken body. A sob welled within me. It was him. It had to be him. I couldn’t imagine a world where it was not him. “Please,” I begged anyway, beseeching Pontus, Arina, any god who cared to listen. I wouldn’t be particular. “Please don’t be Alex….”
I turned his face toward mine and the tears broke. His features were soft, swollen beyond recognition. His nose seemed two sizes too big, his jaw lumpy and undefined.
One eye remained half open, staring with an unfocused, lopsided gaze at the skylight above. Red starbursts had exploded like fireworks over his iris, seeping into the white.
There was blood.
So much blood.
“Alex?” I asked, taking his hand in mine. There was no muscleresponse. No grip. No grasp. His soul, his essence, whatever it was that had animated him and made him whole and human and mine, was gone.
No.
No, no, no.
I shook at his frame, spurred on by the insane hope that Gerard had somehow been right.
That he had made him immortal.
That Alex was still alive.
“Please,” I whispered, my voice small and tight.
