Page 143 of Summoned
I press the dagger to my heart, praying silently. Right now,it’s the only thing I have left of him. The metal trembles against my skin, sending a faint jolt through my chest. My skin prickles, but I don’t break contact. A moment later, a surge of electricity runs through my body. The ground vanishes beneath my knees, and I fall.
I land on the floor of Gaetano’s castle, still clutching the dagger. Trying to hold back the nausea, I push myself up and survey the dim room. It looks exactly the same as when he dropped the illusions.
With one exception. All the numbers on the wall are crossed out.
My eyes lock on 300, and something inside me flips. This time, I can’t fight the wave of nausea. It sweeps over me, and I vomit on the stone floor. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I step away from the wall.
That’s when the shadows descend upon me. They pour from the corners and swirl around me, resembling a flock of rabid birds, desperate to peck out my eyes. As I shield my face with my arms, I remember they have no substance—they can’t actually touch me.
They form a black cloak above me, as if trying to hold me in place, but I slash through them with the dagger and stumble toward the window.
Another wave of horror nearly knocks me off my feet when I peek outside. All the graves are filled.
No. No, no, no…
My mind goes blank. If all the graves are full…
I run to the archway at the far end of the room and sprint up the spiraling staircase. I’ve never left the castle before, but Gaetano once told me this was the way out.
I race downward. The stairs twist and twist, stealing the breath from my lungs. At last, I reach a vast empty foyer. The air is thick with dust and deadly silence. My footstepsecho as I dash toward the massive wooden doors in the distance. The metal handle stings my palm with its coldness. I don’t let go until I’ve forced it to move.
Panic rises again when the graveyard stretches out before me—an ocean of filled graves. Ten rows, thirty graves in each. They rise from the earth like bloated bellies fed with living flesh. The dirt covers them, with stone crosses piercing the ground at their bases.
My pulse throbs in the silence while I sprint past the rows. I need to get to the very last one—grave number three hundred. The green grass beneath my feet is slick, as if trying to trip me.
While I run, the shadows catch up to me.
“Leave me alone!” I scream. Maybe they hate me because he spared me? Maybe they see me as an intruder? I don’t care; they can’t break me! I’ve faced flying vials—those really did cut. These desperate shadows won’t stop me. Because I’m more desperate than they are.
At last, I reach it. A fresh mound of soil. The number300carved at the top. The soil lies heavy, freshly turned.
That dark feeling that’s been circling inside me for days erupts throughout my body, burning me with fury. I drop to my knees in front of the grave and thrust my hands into the soil, scooping it up. It’s soft and warm asI fling it aside, then do it again. And again.
The shadows gather around me, swallowing the edges of my vision.
“You had no right!” I scream, digging deeper.
The dirt bites under my fingernails, but the pain fuels me. I claw at the grave with ferocity. Earth gets into my mouth. I spit outmud, blood, and tears.
I’ll destroy Madeline, so you’ll be safe.
“Who told you I wanted to be safe?!”
Despite my aching knees, I continue to dig. At some point, the shadows fade from my sight.
“Who told you I wouldn’t hate every breath?!”
I scoop again, tossing the dirt aside. Tears and grime sting my eyes. I won’t stop until I know for sure he’s in there.
My fingers hit something soft. I freeze, staring down at the hollowed earth. My heart skips a beat. Then I start digging again, more frantically, sinking further into the grave.
The first thing I uncover is a patch of flesh, visible beneath the clinging mud. A black rune inked onto the skin steals my breath. I clear more dirt, revealing the chest inch by inch. Even when I recognize the string of runes etched along his ribs, I refuse to believe it.
I bite down on my lip and keep digging until I expose his throat. My heart shatters into pieces when I glimpse the curve of his jaw. My bloodied hands claw at the dirt over his face. I brush away the soil covering lips that once warmed mine. Now they’re blue and cold as I trace them with a trembling finger. Slowly, I reveal his nose, his closed eyes, his brow. The soil has matted his hair, removing its shine. His skin is gray, his features twisted in a grimace, even in eternal sleep.
It’s real.
It’s real.
