Page 144 of Cursed

My hands shook as I tugged at my gloves and dropped them to the stone floor. They fell like pale gray spiderwebs, and the crystals sewn into the material sparkled strangely.

Nothing seemed real anymore.

“Hold out your hands,” he urged.

I did as he commanded and my hands shook as I lifted them in front of me, palms up.

My eyes widened as the assembled members of the Council let out a collective sigh as Lucian brought a velvet-wrapped object into my line of sight.

He laid it upon my hands and my jaw clenched at the weight of it.

I knew what it was.

I knew what he wanted me to do.

His long fingers tugged at the fabric that concealed the weapon from my sight and my throat constricted as a long, black blade made of polished stone was revealed.

Lucian pulled the wrapping away and laid a hand on my shoulder once more. Comforting and threatening at the same time.

“Take her life,” he murmured. “Take her power. And then you can take your place among the Necromi—”

“As your mother did,” the whispers said.“Willingly. Eagerly.”

Horror knotted in my chest.

I wasn’t like her.

I wasn’t—

The image of my mother’s rotting, vengeful corpse careened into my thoughts and I sucked in a breath.

Initiation.

To take someone’s power—to take their life—

“You know the spell, Avril,” Lucian said. “I know you do—”

I swallowed hard.

“Yes,” I whispered. The black blade shimmered in the torchlight, reflecting my eyes in its dark surface—but I barely recognized them.

“Good—”

The ritual circle pulsed like a heartbeat, and I noticed with a start that various stones set into the floor, in the walls, and in the archways of the chamber had been etched with ancient sigils that glimmered ominously in the dim light.Could everyone see them? Or was it just me?

“Just you,”the grimoire whispered. Its voice was a gleeful shadow that danced in my thoughts and tugged me forward.

It was hungry—for Clara’s sacrifice—and, like Lucian, it was eager for my descent into darkness.

If I gave in—

Shadows danced on the walls of the chamber, writhing and twisting with a life of their own. The air crackled with a dark energy that wrapped around me and settled over my shoulders. The metallic tang of magic clung to my tongue. Its bitter edge suffocated me as it crawled down my throat and wound tight in my chest as I took a shaking step—and then another. Down the two stairs that raised Lucian’s altar above his followers. I felt so much smaller now—and the cloaked shapes of the Black Council’s members rose around me like blackened trees in a burnt forest.

My fingers trembling as uncertainty and fear coursed through me. My hand shook, and I tightened my grip on the dagger.

Clara’s eyes were wide as she stared at me—her face full of fear and disbelief.

As I walked toward her, memories flooded back: her laughter, cruel and mocking, as it rang through the halls of Messana Academy. She had reveled in my vulnerability. The shame of my bloodline.She had been the first one to call me a traitor.

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