Page 75 of Devour the Dark

The witch is in front of him and then behind.

She’s everywhere at once, closing in.

Go here, she says.

Go there, she says.

He finds himself in the back of the house, bursting into the conservatory.

It’s been years and years since anything grew there, but the air still smells faintly of citrus fruit.

He blinks into the dim moonlight pouring through the glass walls.

There are silhouettes there, several of them, many of them. Ghosts of his past.

“The guest of honor has finally arrived,” a voice calls from the shadows.

A figure steps around him, a blade flashing in the moonlight.

That’s his blade.

There’s no time to wonder when and where he lost it. Only that he did.

And the blade comes forward, sinking into his gut.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

VANE

This is a fucking shit show.

All of it.

The only bright side is that Win isn’t here and the shadow is doing a fine fucking job of blocking her out.

It and I are on the same page about protecting her. At least we have that in common.

The question running through my head right now, plaguing me like a fucking gnat, is how the fuck did the Myth Makers find out what we are? Because only two things can stop me and Roc: mercury and a blade. A veryparticularblade. And no one on this side of the glass is supposed to know our secrets.

It’s mercury currently humming through my veins. An amateur mistake, taking a drink from someone without second guessing its provenance.

Malachi, that fucker. Dead by sunrise. A promise.

Or maybe I’ll drag him back to Neverland once I’m finished here and we’ll use him for target practice.

I forgot what it was to be weak. Mercury makes me feel mortal. Sluggish and shaky and hot.

Right now, I can barely stay upright, let alone fight. The shadow prods at me like a dog, urging me to get up.

I can’t.

In the old days, ingesting mercury would have put me out for hours. Now, I’m not so sure. The shadow will likely burn through it, but not fast enough.

There’s the Myth Maker standing in front of me surrounded by more of her lackeys. There’s Roc across the room, a mirror image of me: he’s on his knees, swaying.

They used the mercury on me, the blade on him.

He broke the promise, as I suspected he would.

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