Page 153 of The Girl Who Inherits the Dead

So. The locking pits re-lock themselves.

“The thing about the walls,” Chloe says, her voice remote, “is that there’s scaffolding in them to balance on. Much easier.”

She’s sweating, in the odd glow from her hands, coming from the pieces of gravel, and her head is starting to pound, so strongly Delina can almost taste the bitterness.

There’s a skeleton, somewhere close by, though Delina can’t see it, and it might also be in the walls. It’s old, aged almost beyond recognition, dry and almost dust.

The lights dim around them, and Maison grunts, lifting the shield higher, and Delina catches a spare glimpse of magic swirling beyond it. Magic, dark and bulbous, striking the shield, as if testing it.

Another piece of gravel, another lock, another chunk of machinery cluttering to a stop and another piece of track illuminated. There’s a splash of blood on the lock, the splinters of a bone, as if they didn’t fully clean it.

As if they didn’t want to take the risk.

Chloe leans forward, almost craning her neck over for the next piece of lock, and Gurlien grabs her tighter. His wrist aches, sharp, at the strain, before she adjusts herself so she’s lying flat against the platform.

There’s a hint, just something, within the moment, and the only warning Delina gets is the sudden inhale from Maison, before his shield shatters.

Shatters into a million golden pieces, flying around them like shards.

Chloe cries out and the platform drops a few feet, and Delina has no time to think.

No time to think, no time to plan, no time to breathe.

Before the nebulous dark magic swirls towards them, surging, and—

Maison staggers back, falling on the platform, still keeping a hand up on the broken shield. There’s a sharp bite of pain in his back, in his knee, sudden.

He’s hurt.

The magic forms, hunching over Maison, like it’s some sort of creature. Like it’s something sentient, like it’s something that could hunger, raising itself to strike.

Delina grabs the magic in her fist, spreading it like the paper she was taught, flowing it between her hands.

It glows, bright in the dim light, and the dark magical…thing…turns towards her.

It has no eyes, it has no discernible face, and yet Delina can feel its gaze on her.

“Yeah,” she breathes, and her heart pounds. “Look at me, not him.”

Maison scrambles back, as much as the platform will allow, and his knee is twisted. Not critically, not irreparable, but hurt all the same.

The creature shifts, as if assessing her, and Delina hitches her breath.

And lets the magic snap out of her hands.

There’s a split second where the light reflects shiny over the thing’s form, before it splatters out of existence, a high-pitched shriek echoing through the chamber, drowning out the crash of machinery.

Delina’s ears ring and her hands smart, before the platform slowly continues on the track, clicking another lock into place.

Maison surges himself up to standing, grabbing Delina and pulling her back down with a quick, practiced motion. His knee buckles, but there’s no trace of it in his face.

“What was that?” Delina breathes, as Chloe clicks another lock into place and the track illuminates once more.

Maison shakes his head, like he doesn’t fully know. “Some ghoul, something twisted, I don’t know.”

“You’re hurt,” she says, turning away from the cavern and to him. “You’re hurt, I can tell—”

“I’ve done a lot harder with a lot worse,” he replies grimly, but he clutches her, an arm around her middle, like he could keep her safe with just that.

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