I suddenly realize why the witch has been silent for so long. I was naïve enough to believe she offered me mercy.
I spin on my heels, finding Sofía engrossed in the book I left on the table across the room. She is smiling coyly, fingers grazing the cover. She traces the ankh symbol, hands mirroring what my own did not even an hour ago.
She blinks, and I am at her side. I grab on to her hand, tightening my grasp. Her bones are fragile beneath my own, and I find myself squeezing harder rather than releasing her. It is a risk. I have little self-control as it is, and the hunter within me is itching to lunge outward. Something deep down snaps, and I am eager to harm the girl.
She sucks in a loud breath and holds it, no doubt overwhelmed by the budding pain I am causing. She keeps her gaze focused on mine, but where hers betrays her fear, I am certain mine does not. Because Sofía doesn’t scare me. In fact, I am rather quite intrigued by her now. I like to play games, and I like to win.
“You are on dangerous ground, Sofía,” I say.
I glance at the book. Her gaze follows my own, and I know she understands my warning.
“I don’t like to share,” I remind her.
“Let me go,” she hisses, emphasizing each word.
“Don’t. Test. Me,” I warn, mimicking her troubled pauses.
I know she is scared. I can smell it. It overpowers her natural musk and permeates all around us. She is smart to be scared. Something inside her is telling her that something inside me is stronger. She may think me a monster, but she forgets that monsters are far more wicked than witches.
“You would never win this fight,” I say, and I smile.
For the first time in a long time, I feel my smile. From my lips to my soul, I grin at her, blissfully sure and undeniably pleased with how this has progressed in my favor. The witch is no match for this hybrid, for I have the devil at my fingertips. As I think this, the amulet warms, soothing the parts of me that once worried I am too reckless.
All at once, the air in the room intensifies. It is stagnant, a stark contrast to the coolness that just surrounded us. Sweat dribbles down my forehead, and it becomes hard to breathe. The air thickens, and the mist coats my lungs. I hold my breath, fearful that breathing will only cause me to hack. And hacking shows weakness. Hacking lets her know I am affected by her fire magic. I refuse to grant her power over me. I refuse to let her think, even if just for a second, that she could win this battle.
“The only reason you are still alive is because I allow it,” I say, never blinking.
Sofía gasps at my honesty, gaze dropping to the amulet at my chest. It is so warm it sizzles and crackles against my skin. The buzzing from within the crystal echoes around us, growing louder and louder with each exasperated breath. Sofía winces as it intensifies, and she squeezes her eyes shut at the ruckus my little demon is creating.
I lean into her, inhaling deeply as she squirms beneath my grasp. Moaning, I ruffle her hair with my nose, taking deeper breaths, enjoying as I make her more and more uncomfortable. I exhale sharply, and she shivers. My breath, coming from the dead, is likely cool against her skin, which is burning hot. I imagine that sensation is all she can think about right now.
“I want to watch as the others kill you,” I whisper against her ear.
“They wouldn’t,” she says. Even though her voice cracks, her certainty is overly confident. It annoys me.
“They will,” I say adamantly. “When they realize you are not a friend, they will have no choice but to consider you a threat.”
Sofía yelps as I dig my fingers into her flesh. There is no space between us. With our noses nearly touching, we stare into each other’s eyes. The position is intimate in all the best ways—predator lurking over prey, certain of ambush.
“What makes you think you can take me?” she says.
I smile even wider, discovering I have a new emotion for the girl: admiration. I respect her confidence, and if things were different, we may have been friends. But that will never happen now.
I laugh, heavy and loud, a deep bellow that resonates from my gut. It sounds nothing like me, but I give it no thought. It startles Sofía, but with my hand still keeping her in place, she cannot run.
“I could use my fire magic right now,” she says, voice shaky. “You would burn.”
“And like the phoenix, I will rise from the ashes,” I say. “But will you? Because if I’m on fire, you’ll burn too.”
I don’t wait for a response. I simply release her, grabbing my book and exiting the kitchen, all the while humming the melody to a song resounding from the black onyx crystal.
Chapter Four
I am standing in the middle of a street. When I first got here, the sight was unfamiliar to me, but the longer I linger, the more I see. The haze clears, the mist settles, and I realize I am in Darkhaven.
The pavement is black and cool against my feet. I am without shoes, wearing only a nightgown—one I am certain I do not own. It is sheer and white, and I feel every breeze.
I shiver, even when the wind calms and the world is still. I shiver because I am not alone.
I see something in the distance. The silhouette of a man. He is tall and slender. His arms dangle at his sides, and his fingers seem to stretch on endlessly. They blur into the darkness at his feet.
I think he is floating. I angle my head, trying to get a better look. But when I blink, he is closer. No longer hovering above the pavement, he approaches me confidently. I fear him, but he does not fear me.
He speaks to me, I think. Does he say my name? The sound is soft and raspy, like he is intentionally manipulating his voice. Maybe he is. Maybe I know his true identity, so I stare longer.
I want to call to him, to ask for his name or order him to stop, but I have fallen mute. I try again and fail.
I clutch my throat, desperate to make a sound, any sound at all. But I choke on the ragged huff that escapes my lips. When I cough, it is silent, yet I still feel the convulsions in my chest, the rapid squeeze of my lungs. They too search for the breath that will set me free.
I take a step backward, just a single, small step, but it feels like I have walked a mile. The soles of my feet burn. The pavement, no longer cool, no longer new, begins to crack from wear. Before my eyes, it is as though years pass, not seconds. What was once black and smooth is now gray and chipped.
I shield my eyes as I glance at the sky. My skin is hot, sweat glistening under rays, hair clinging to my forehead. I feel weighty and full and sticky.
The sun is overhead, yet the world is dark. Shadows sway as if they are alive. They stretch outward, consuming the street. They morph into shapes, curving around lampposts, sliding over the roadway. Like the man who stares from the distance, the night gloom watches me. I never knew it was possible for shadows to have eyes.
Unsure of what to do to stop their ascent, I lift my arms before me as if I can cast these intruders away with the flick of my wrist, but my limbs are heavy. It feels like bags of stones have been tied to my fingers and I am sinking deep into the sea, surrounded by nothing but the obsidian-colored depths. I used to like the water, but now it silences my cries.
I am still standing in the road, so I know I am not drowning. I glance down, hoping my vision will ground me in this place. I stare at my hands. They are coated in blood. I gasp. The blood intensifies, running wild down my body, soaking my nightgown.