Page 117 of Cursed

I cut the engine and flipped down the kickstand before I swung my leg over my bike. With desperate strides, I made my way back to the pier and stared at the dark waves that lapped against the wood and concrete.

“You’re insane,” I muttered.

But maybe I wasn’t.

I wanted answers—and the only way to get them would be to drag them out of the corpse we had just flung into the water.

I shrugged out of my jacket, dropped it onto the pier, and pulled the dagger from my belt.

You know the drill.

The blade was suddenly heavy in my hand as I pressed the blade against the side of my palm.

I took a quick breath and pressed it against my flesh. Crimson droplets beaded against the blade and dripped down onto the concrete. I dropped to my knees and quickly moved my hand over the water so the blood dripped into the waves.

Bound by anguish, cheated by death.

I summon thee from silent depths,

Rise and speak—

The blood that fell into the water dissipated—and then formed a black slick on the surface.

Good. It was working.

But why did I feel so weak?

My thoughts tumbled frantically back to my studies—with no personal item or talisman,Iwas the anchor that bound the shade to the mortal realm.

Shit.

“Craster,” I hissed. “Come forth— You lazy old bastard.Rise and speak.You are commanded to speak.”

The water thickened, and it swirled and eddied until it had created a small maelstrom.

Fog crept across the water and spilled up and over the pier like shadowy tentacles.

Come on.

“Craster,” I hissed again. “Come forth—”

The air around me thickened and pulsated as a shimmering form emerged from the waves that lashed against the pier. Salt spray stung my eyes, but I couldn’t move. I didn’t dare move even though the temptation to fall face-first into the dark water was strong—so strong.

The shade materialized slowly, at an old man’s pace, an emaciated shape dripping dark water.

Pale, watery violet eyes turned toward me, and the wound in its throat gaped obscenely. Red and black and jagged.

Craster.

“Speak,” I demanded. My voice carried a weight that urged the spirit forward, but what emerged was not the defiant presence I had hoped for. Instead, it quaked, and its features distorted—

“Who... who calls me?” The shade’s voice trembled with dread. It recoiled slightly as it seemed to recognize me—as though it expected the same fate that had befallen its lifeless form.

“You tried to tell us something,” I said as firmly as I could. “About Avril— and the grimoire.”

“Lucian…” the shade stuttered, its voice a hollow echo of the man it once was. “Betrayal… I felt the betrayal…” Panic coursed through its spectral frame and sent ripples across the water.

“Tell me!” I pressed again, but my chest tightened as the shade’s fear intensified.

---