Page 100 of The Deathless One
A spell sparked around him, forcing his form into full view. He was no longer hidden from the vision of mortals, and a few of the guards in the room hissed at the sight of him.
“You waste your breath, mortal,” he called out as he strode toward the altar. “No ancient spell can bind a god to you, no matter how hard you try.”
He thought perhaps to distract the other man, even just for the moments it would take for him to look around and get his bearings. Elric felt off-kilter, like something was terribly wrong and he just hadn’t realized it yet. Until he saw Sybil in the back corner as well. Two men stood behind her, their hands holding her upright as her chest cracked wide open. The magic he’d poured into her was nearly gone, wisping through the air to feed Callum’s dark spell.
“You’re using my fucking magic?” he hissed, as he whipped back to glare at the man in front of him. “You’re using my magic to summon me?”
And where was Jessamine? The body on the altar didn’t move, so surely it was already dead and that was how Callum had summoned him. Why couldn’t he feel her?
“Where is my nightmare?” The growl ripped from deep within his chest.
Callum made eye contact with him, then pulled an athame from his waist. The witch blade was dipped in some black liquid that he didn’t recognize, and Callum lifted it over his head. “I sacrifice all that remains important to myself and to the Deathless One. So mote it be!”
The body on the table rose gracefully into the air, with an arched spine that looked more like a dancer than a corpse. Dark hair trailed from underneath the white sheet, and he could just barely make out the beauty of a nude body through the candlelight that glowed on the other side of the sheet. Long limbs, her legs bent, her arms limp beneath her.
Elric had a split second to realize that it was Jessamine on the table. He hadn’t felt her. Some spell had fractured their connection. He had always known when she was in the room or how far she was from him. The moment she came back to life using his magic, they were tied. Callum must have hidden their connection, their…
The knife glinted in the candlelight, and Elric lunged toward it.
His heart stopped in his chest, squeezing so hard it hurt as his mind raced forward, knowing what was about to happen. He couldn’t stop it, no matter how hard he tried—and, by the gods, he tried.
Snapping out his hand, he reached for Callum’s just as the athamecame close to her chest. He had been quick enough, and hope swelled in him as his hand touched Callum’s—only to pass through it. Because he didn’t have a form. Because no one had called out to him yet.
The knife struck her chest, and red bloomed across the fabric. Slowly. Sluggishly. As if even her body realized it didn’t want to die yet. Of course it didn’t. She had scraped and fought and raged against the world to stay here.
He braced himself against the altar. The altar he could touch, though he couldn’t rip the bastard out of his skin. He stared down at the sheet that slowly puffed around his little nightmare’s face with every breath, still alive, but only barely. The knife remained in her chest. The silver handle mocked him, knowing that he couldn’t pull it out even if he tried.
For the first time in all his endless years, he had lost. He’d been bested by a mortal who would likely now enslave him, and all he could think about was that he had lost her.
Elric wanted to fall onto his knees and mourn her. He’d never wanted to mourn anyone before—he’d rejoiced in every death of every witch who had been connected to him. Even if they were his subjects, he… he had never liked them.
But he likedher. Quite a bit. And now she was gone because they had both been foolish enough to believe she could do this without him.
He turned his head to look at Sybil, who knelt there panting now that the spell was done. The two men behind her had allowed her to sag in their grip, although she remained on her knees with her eyes locked on Jessamine’s still form.
“You are the Deathless One,” she said, her words ragged and slow. “And she is your chosen witch.”
He wanted to tell her that he was stuck here. He couldn’t go to his realm because this mortal man had found a book he should never have gotten his hands on. There were old ways to bind him, ones that he had never wanted shared.
Thousands of years had not prepared him for this. Everyone who had ever wanted to summon him had the same intent. They would allow himto grow in power and glut him with all the things that he required to do so, and then he would lie down and let them slit his throat.
They’d never used someone else against him. He had never suffered like this. And he did not know what to do.
“I am sorry,” Callum said, his voice pitched low as though he was afraid someone might overhear. “I hate to lose her again, but she isn’t the child I knew. You brought her back as a witch, a monster, someone I don’t even recognize. It is a mercy that she returns to where she was supposed to go. She was meant to die that day.”
Elric looked down at her, his heart shattering in his chest. He’d never known pain like this.
Mortals spoke of heartbreak all the time. He’d always thought the word was silly. No organ could break inside a body, and he’d always thought them dramatic or fanciful for even saying such a thing. But now he knew they were right.
A heart could break. It could shatter into glass shards that tore at him from inside his ribs. Every breath hurt. Every thud of his heart beating was a reminder of her loss and that he was standing here, watching her die, and this time, he wouldn’t be able to bring her back.
He drew his hands over the sheet, knowing she could feel him touch her like this. “I can’t get to you in time,” he whispered in her ear. “He’s caught me here, in this realm, for now. So fight for me, nightmare. Fight to stay in that realm no matter what chases you down or hunts you in that shadowy world. Do not let the gods bring you somewhere I cannot follow.”
Callum reached for the athame and gripped the handle to rip it free. “Sweet words for a man who has no control.”
He felt the knife as though it were sliding out of his own chest. Knew the sensation of warmth that spread like a blooming rose over her body. He pressed his hands there, trying his very best to hold the blood in, even though he knew nothing could save her now, not even him. Not while this magic bound the both of them.
“Why won’t you speak?” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I would end the world to hear your voice, nightmare.”
