Page 11 of Night of Death and Flowers

“Then we run,” he adds.

I nod. “We run really fucking fast.”

Drake’s hiss fills the air as he runs the blade across his hand, creating tiny crimson droplets. “Ready to see something exceptional?”

“Always, but no one else is here.”

He rolls his eyes as we both nonchalantly commit the worst sacrilege of all in the most sacred of places. My mother would weep if she were here. It’s a shame she isn’t.

Using the blood from the wound on his hand, he paints something onto the statue with his fingers.

I’ve never seen another warlock do anything like this before. Although those with illusion magic can create powerful images, the magic is always temporary—except for Drake’s. Blessed with two powers from the Goddess of Dreams, one grants him the ability to conjure illusions, while the other allows him to animate them into tangible objects.

Much like those in Azkiel’s coven, with shadow magic, they are the only witches who can create tangible objects. While Death’s witches can weave tapestries of fabrics from shadows and darkness, Astraea’s witches can bring life to art.

Chains made of blood materialize around the God of Death as Drake finishes painting. There’s one hanging around the statue’s throat, and six around its torso and legs. Gradually, the chains awaken, shimmering in gold as they tighten their grip.

I wrinkle my nose at the smell of smoke and blood mixing with the musty odor of the ancient building. Loud cracks sound as the marble splits in two. Pieces chip away, flying onto the floor with each crack and splinter of stone echoing throughout the church. Despite straining against the stone, the chains never break until the entire statue tumbles to the ground. Stepping back, I smile as the decapitated head of the God of Death rolls toward me.

My heart races as the last echoes fade away.

Drake mercilessly slices his wound deeper, and I groan. Watching him mutilate himself for the second time tonight is enough to make my stomach turn. I can’t help but wonder how he learned that his blood could animate art beyond his body. We’ve experienced enough emotion for one night, so I tuck the question away for another day.

Drake’s legs nearly give out as more blood spills onto the altar. I clutch his arm, and he tries to nudge me away. “I’m fine.”

“I know,” I whisper. “Just maybe sit down for a minute.”

Drake stumbles back into me as the magic becomes too much. The tattoos on his skin vanish, as if they never existed.

“This is a bad idea,” I state. “We should just…”

He shakes his head. “We have to destroy the stone basin,” he says, pointing at the bowl used for The Offering.

The candles flicker as they are snuffed out one by one. Ragged breaths reach my ears before I can see the creature, and a shiver snakes down my spine. Goosebumps spread over my arms as I focus on the vestibule to the church, spotting movement within the blackness.

Hunched over by a pew, made of smoke and night, the Phovus’ shifting form is all snarling teeth and glowing eyes, and he’s focused on us.

FOUR

Calista

“Drake,” I whisper as the creature’s yellow stare latches onto me, its intelligent eyes tracking my movements. It stalks the shadows, wisps of a dark body visible under the light of the moon, pouring in through the door and stained-glass windows. “We need light. Now.”

Drake’s hand is on my arm in a heartbeat, his grip tightening as he pulls himself upright. “What’s going o—”

The creature shrieks—the shrill sound searing into my mind. I yell, pressing my hands against my ears, muffling the sound. My ankle curves toward the ground as Drake tugs me against the wall, my bare shoulders hitting the rough, ancient stone. I can barely catch my breath when he’s standing in front of me, his toned body pressing against mine.

Flickers of touch run between us as time seems to slow down as the creature slowly stands, shifting into a humanoid form—tall, with long arms and legs, reminiscent of the witch it once was.

His hand slides onto my stomach as he pushes me back further, as if there is any possible space left between us. He turns to face me, his penetrating, wild stare pinning me to the wall. “When I say run…”

“I’m not leaving you,” I say, my heart hiccupping at both the closeness of us and the surge of adrenaline preparing me to fight. I peer around him as he shields me from the creature, and decay magic seeps through me, sensing the Phovus, but I don’t know if it will even work on them.

Before I can react, Drake releases my hands, then spins quickly. I squint as an illusion of light materializes around us, the harshness of it forcing me to clamp my eyes shut.

When I reopen them, I notice Drake’s body slumping forward and his gaze darkening as he focuses every ounce of his magic onto the creature, enveloping it in the thing it hates most: light.

“We have to go. Now,” I shout as I take off, grabbing his arm. He runs beside me, his shallow breaths growing hollower.

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