Page 77 of Wicked Bonds
“But there must be a way to break it. If I…” The implications of what she’s telling me are suddenly crystal clear. If the contract is her, if she’s the living embodiment of the Accord, then to break it I’d have to… “Kill you,” I whisper.
“An impossible task, even if your magic hadn’t been tied and stunted.” A bitter odor wafts from her, like wormwood. “I am bound here, between moments, neither living nor dead. The Coven’s magic ensures my continuation. I am the price paid, the sacrifice made, the promise kept.”
My legs feel weak. I came here thinking I’d find a piece of paper to burn or tear up, and I’d be free. I’d save my life and take down the Coven. So stupid. So very very stupid. I could have had two more years at least. Now Wickersly is probably going to eviscerate me on the spot the minute she lays her hands on me. I close my eyes and I think of my mother. I think of Drake, who was counting on me to break the Accord. I failed.
“Please,” I whisper, and I don’t know who I’m saying it to. Not the witch in front of me. Maybe God, or the universe, or whoever is listening.
“Begging won’t help,” she says, scornfully. “You cannot kill me.”
Even if I were powerful enough to do it—which I am at least smart enough to know that I’m not—I’m not capable of murder. Not even to save my own life. “I know,” I say.
She laughs, the sound harsh and loud in the quiet space. “Foolish child. You should never have come. The arrogance of youth is a curse.”
“But if she hadn’t come, I wouldn’t have been able to find you.”
The voice comes from behind me, out of the shadows, startling us both. I whirl around but it’s too dark to see. Until…
He steps closer to the lantern, into the light. A man, tall and dark, no one I’ve ever met.
“You!” Abigail hisses.
The man moves closer, and I see that he’s handsome. Dark hair falls over eyes that glint gold in the lamp light. Broad shoulders.
He ignores me completely, his attention fixed on Abigail.
“Helena sends her regards,” he says to Abigail, and his voice is smooth as single malt scotch.
Abigail backs away from him, and for the first time since I’ve met her, all of five minutes, she looks uncertain. “You cannot be here.”
“Without the right bloodline, yes, I’m aware.” He examines his nails like we’re having a casual conversation at a coffee shop. “But as you can see, I found a way around that little restriction. Thank you for the assist, Rose. I’ve been trying to reach this particular pocket of time forever.” He finally looks at me, and something about his gaze, the way he looks at me like he’s seeing through to my soul makes me shiver.
And it triggers a memory. The man on the bus the night I came to the academy. It’s him.
I take a step back, instinctively putting distance between myself and whatever the hell is happening here. “Who are you?”
“That’s a complicated question. Let’s just say I’m someone with a vested interest in seeing the Accord dissolved.” He circles Abigail now. “And Rose may not be able to kill you…”
Well, fuck.
I don’t give myself time to think about what I’m about to do. I use everything I can to hurl my magic at him, bloodmark searing as I try to knock the dagger away.
For an instant, it works. The blade shudders in his grip. But then he buries it in Abigail’s chest, and her shriek tears through me like it’s my own.
“But I can,” he says, as he pulls out the blade.
And then the lantern goes out, and I’m swallowed whole by the darkness.
