Page 94 of Premonition of Peace

Marcel gestured for Sienna, and approached him, holding out her arm.

“You ready?” he asked her quietly, and she closed her eyes, fisting her hand. He used a separate athame and sliced into her arm cleanly, an instant line of crimson appearing as her blood flowed into a stone mortar Marcel held up to collect it.

Her eyes welled with tears as she pulled her arm back, and Ronan bandaged her silently.

“Her hair,” I said suddenly, thinking of other spells. Thinking of how long Sasha had been gone. If I was going to lose my sister tonight, Sasha better damn well return. Marcel looked at me in question. “Take a lock of Sienna’s hair. Wrap it around Sasha’s hand. It should strengthen the lure.”

He didn’t question how I knew it. He just trusted me, nodded in agreement, and did as I’d suggested. Sienna’s blood was poured onto Sasha’s arms, the bloody blade set across her thighs, and her twin’s hair looped around her palm.

I looked away and my eyes connected with Piper’s. Across the circle, she gave me a sad smile. I knew she could tell that this was hard. I didn’t feel the need to try to explain myself to her; after all, she knew well the complexities of estranged sibling relationships.

The church bells began to clang the typical twelve peals as midnight arrived. Marcel knelt beside Katherine as the third toll rang, and he began to chant.

Without breaking rhythm, Marcel retrieved the athame from where it rested on Katherine’s stomach. I knew what was to come and when I prepared myself for this, I told myself I would watch. I’d looked away during Sasha’s ritual, but I wanted to be with Kat every step of hers. So, I kept my eyes trained on my twin’s face, watching my other half contort with pain as Marcel slid the blade across one wrist and then the other.

With the blood of the sacrifice, the spell had begun.

The twelfth and final clang echoed deeply in my bones.

Lucifer reached and wrapped an arm around my waist. I leaned into his comfort, resting my head against his shoulder as I watched the steady rise and fall of Kat’s chest. Fingers threaded in my hair, as August’s nails began gently scratching my scalp. The chanting continued, Marcel’s voice unwavering in its intensity, and I stayed enfolded in the comfort of two of the men who held my heart.

I couldn’t help but think how dissimilar this ritual was compared to when we’d saved Marcel. And how different life was, and how different it would be going forward. Lucifer was alive again and bonded to me as a familiar. August was my Umbra. Marcel wasn’t sick. So much had been gained, but the losses were numerous. If I’d let them, they’d consume me.

I watched Kat’s chest expand less and less as her breathing slowed down. My eyes locked on my sister’s body, finally letting myself fully take her in. She lay still, the flow of blood from her slit arteries slowed, and a massive pool of red framed her body, coating both Sasha and Marcel in the process. Her arms were outstretched as if in a final, silent plea to reach out beyond this plane and embrace the one waiting for her in the veil.

As my sister’s chest gave one last shuttering exhale, I swallowed the sob that threatened to escape me. I stayed pressed against Lucifer’s solid form the entire time, even as I swayed from exhaustion. The warmth of his body was a comfortinganchor amidst the ritual’s intensity. August held my hand, and I allowed myself to rely on their strength.

The moon traveled across the sky, time passing whether we liked it or not. Those hours dragged on; it would stay with me forever.

Life as it had been.

Life as it was.

Life as it could be.

The temperature changed slightly, and the scent of dew forming reached my nose.

The night was almost over.

I heard a breathy gasp, and my eyes locked on Sasha. I watched the line across her neck slowly knit itself closed, though I knew the scar would be there forever. Just as Kat had lived with the evidence of death, so would Sasha.

The gray pallor that had turned her light brown skin into a muddy taupe dissipated as brightness flushed over her. I waited, recalling what it was like to see my sister breathe again after chanting all night to resurrect her.

Then the moon crossed over the horizon, and dawn broke through, peeking out with a brilliant orange glow. Sasha’s body shot upright with a loud inhale that cut through the silence we’d kept ourselves in for hours.

She gasped, clawing at her throat before she frantically patted her body as if shocked to be back in it. The entire group held their breath as we waited. She looked disoriented at first, her gaze sweeping around as if trying to grasp the reality of her return.

Then, her eyes locked onto her twin’s, and a sob tore from Sasha’s throat. “Sienna, oh my god.” Without hesitation, she threw her arms around her sister’s neck, and everyone seemed to collectively exhale.

My eyes strayed back to my sister’s body.

Lifeless.

Cold.

Empty.

The juxtaposition of joy and sorrow in a resurrection is something that can never be described in words.

---