Page 133 of The Girl Who Should Be Dead

He doesn’t wait for an answer, fleeing the room and snapping the door shut.

“Is this your aunt’s little compound?” Ambra’s voice says, and horror spikes its way through her. He’s going to find them, he’s going to hurt them, he’s going to—

“Of course not,” Alette replies, and even though there’s fear in her brow, her voice is even. “I would never bring a demon there.”

Ambra doesn’t know if that’s true or not, and Boltiex pauses, giving her a chance to claw back her voice.

“Get me out of here,” she chokes out, her breath rasping over her throat. “I need to go, I need—”

His compulsion rushes back to her.

“You’re in the western Americas, somewhere north,” Boltiex says through her voice, taunting Alette, who’s mouth thins into a determined line. “Your aunt loved Vancouver. I can turn that city upside down to find my demon.”

Ambra’s gut twists at his possessive. They’re not going to let her get away.

“Still, necromancy on a living demon, that’s risky.” He makes her observe the strip tying to the bed, and it pulses gold, fascinating him. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

“I know an injured girl appeared, asking for my help,” Alette responds. “Zoel takes care of the injured.”

This catches Boltiex off guard. “She ran to the Wights?”

Alette nods. “She freed one so they would help her.”

It’s so laughably incomplete, and Boltiex rockets pain down her spine, jerking her, as if he could tell she’s lying.

“Stop,” Alette breathes. “You’re hurting her.”

He snaps the leash tight around Ambra’s neck, cutting off her words, gagging her. He pulls her towards him, it’s somewhere off to the west, but the necromancy twists her back into place.

Alette stares, her mouth grim, and there are footsteps outside of the door, running.

A cord strikes within Ambra the moment Gurlien comes in reach of the leash, and even Boltiex recoils from it.

“I need to leave,” she blurts out to Alette, in the spare seconds between compulsion, “he’ll come, he’ll kill you all, he’ll—”

The leash jerks again, closing off her throat, another vicious attempt at breaking out of the necromancy.

And simultaneously, she feels Gurlien twist his hand in it, relaxing the grip, and she gasps, air flooding in.

There’s more than just Gurlien and Axel approaching, vivid down the hallway. Next to them, tall and willowy and brilliant against her awareness, is a Necromancer.

And Ambra knows which one, and Boltiex can’t find out.

“Blindfold me,” she pants out to Alette, who recoils. “He can’t see her, he can’t.”

Alette’s lips part, and wild magic swirls around her, sparking up in response to something Ambra’s putting out, but she doesn’t bother to question, tugging off her scarf and knotting it over Ambra’s eyes.

She descends into soft darkness, almost a shocking lack of sense. It’s not pressed against her eyes, pinning them into place, instead just blocking out all ability to see beyond it. Some light still filters through the navy-blue fabric, the dimshadows of someone blocking light and moving, but Ambra’s not able to see it.

“Thank you,” she mumbles, and there’s still the chaotic swirl of the wild magic next to her. “I need to leave, he’s going to track me down here, he’s going to find you.”

She pulls in another breath, and Boltiex worms his compulsion into her again, seeing through her eyes, expanding her senses, and she can feel his wonder at the brightness of the necromancer drawing ever closer.

Fast, he snatches her free hand to the blindfold, before Alette grabs her arm, pinning it to the bed.

He snarls through her voice, a wordless expression of anger, and that had always been his problem, the reason why the College made there be co-controllers. He couldn’t help but react to things, couldn’t help but respond to the immediate frustrations.

So, unable to teleport, unable to see through her eyes, he rockets pain down her spine.

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