Page 91 of Claim the Twilight
The guy whimpered, scurrying toward his personal specter, who barely glanced his way.
“You can’t stop us,” Emilie said. “It’s too late. This territory is filled with restless dead eager for a second life and humans who do not deserve theirs. Loviator will walk free whether you allow it or not.” The doors that Nyx had closed slammed open, shaking the room. “Get out!” Emilie’s voice rose in a howl that made my ears ring. “Get out, get out, get out!” The wind picked up, icy and cutting, shoving at us and tearing at our clothes with phantom talons.
There was no way to fight them. No way to remove a mark from a spirit that I knew of.
Nothing to do but leave.
Ezekiel laypale and silent on the bed behind the bars. He was here, and yet his absence was a gaping wound inside me. I couldn’t even talk to him without the risk of the bitch Loviator listening in. I hated the helplessness. Hated not knowing if Hemlock was safe and where the bitch had stowed Ezekiel’sconsciousness. Was he trapped in our vista? Locked there, memories wiped, confused? Or maybe he was content, oblivious to what was happening here. Who knew what she’d done to him?
All we could do now was wait for Padma to return and prepare for war. Because if she came back empty-handed, or worse, not at all, then we were on our own—a bunch of white wings, some zombies, a couple of Faoladh, a group of fae, and maybe a handful of fallen if Nyx’s people came through. Us against a goddess and goodness knew how many minions.
The odds were shit.
A shiver ran over my skin, and I hugged myself against the chill, gums throbbing hard, a warning that I needed to feed as soon as possible. Matthew hadn’t answered the door when I knocked, out on an errand for Ingrid. I’d have to find him later. Feeding couldn’t be put off any longer.
“Hey…” Nyx said from the doorway. “Lorenzo thinks there might be a way to break Loviator’s hold on Ezekiel. He’s been speaking to Sin, and apparently the power of the mark could be weakened with distance, the kind that comes from entering another realm. A realm like Morningstar.”
Hope flickered in my chest. “That’s fantastic news.”
“Yeah, it is.” Nyx pressed her lips together. “Good to have options.” She jerked her head in a come-on gesture. “Everyone’s waiting, by the way.”
With a final look at Ezekiel, I followed.
With only a night and day left till Loviator’s grace was up, we had much planning to do.
Chapter 37
HEMLOCK
My stone cell has no doors and no bars, just a post-box-sized aperture through which a plate of gruel is pushed every so often. I use it as a measurement of time. It’s been six plates of gruel since I’ve been here, which could mean anything. Is time still moving differently in Loviator’s realm, or have the breaches between our worlds forced time to sync?
She obviously knows about the power I can channel, but why take me? Why not simply reverse the curse that was meant as a punishment? Maybe she can’t. Which means the curses are either irreversible or somehow tied to her life force.
My mind whirrs, thoughts falling over thoughts, evoking feelings and emotions that churn inside me. Anger and regret. Anger at being too weak to fight Loviator and regret that I didn’t get to say goodbye to Orina. Regret at my decision to keep my distance. I should have allowed myself to fall, to feel, to bathe in what we could have had, but instead I erred on the side of caution, and maybe that was for the best because I’m here andshe’s there, and if we’d taken the next step, then her pain at my being taken would have been worse. But still…I wish. I wonder.
The scrape of metal on metal signals another meal. A bowl is shoved through the aperture, and the slot grinds closed. I drop my chin, ignoring the rumble of my belly. The plate will vanish soon. An hour at most. I simply need to wait till it does. In a few food cycles, I’ll be too weak to sit up, and a few more and I might be dead.
Free.
“You should eat,” a female voice says.
My head whips up as I scan the room for the speaker.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Where are you?”
A spectral gray form detaches from the stone wall and floats over to me. Slender and gaunt with huge dark eyes and flowing silver hair, the figure studies me, canting her head this way and that.
I moisten my dry mouth. “You’re a ghost.”
“No. Ghosts are the spirits of the dead.”
“And you aren’t?”
“Dead? Yes. But a spirit…no. I’m an echo. A remnant of what once was. A…memory.” She smiles, showcasing spectral teeth. “I think I’ve been waiting for you.”
“You have?”
