Page 35 of The Cursed

His golden eyes met mine as the vines consumed the gate, slowly filling the gaps. His face was set in stone, but it wasn’t only rage that filled his expression.

It was fear.

This was something I had to do alone, in the quiet of the night, without the bluster an audience would need. They deserved to be put to rest in peace, brought to the very places where they always should have lain. It didn’t matter that the silence would haunt me; it would make every whispered word of the dead sink inside me and strike deep.

I made my way through the hall, going straight for the doors. Leviathan waited in front of them, leaning his back against the doorway lazily and fiddling with a dagger. I snatched it from his hands as I approached, ignoring the way he snapped to attention and stared down at me. “Consort?” he asked.

The doors were open, the quiet murmur drifting through the night air as I stared out the open doors. Leviathan stepped into my path, blocking my way when I didn’t halt. “I have a name,” I reminded him quietly, not daring to speak too loudly. The restless spirits were too close, the joint force of their whispers rising as even the quiet ones began to talk.

They knew I was here. They knew what I’d come to do.

“Willow,” Leviathan said, drawing my attention off that horrifying cemetery to meet his stare finally. “What are you doing?”

“I can hear their cries,” I admitted, turning my attention back to the cemetery in the distance. Leviathan turned to look over his shoulder, following the path of my gaze. His chest sank when he made the connection. I took the opportunity, slipping past him easily and stepping into the night air.

He grabbed my arm in a gentle hold, his fingers wrapping fully around it. “Where’s Lucifer?” he asked finally, holding me still as he looked back toward the Tribunal.

“He’s otherwise occupied,” I said evasively, pulling my arm out of his grip. My time was limited before Gray broke free from the Tribunal doors. They were meant to answer to witch blood, and I had to hope that he did not possess what was needed to open them himself.

Leviathan released me rather than risk hurting me, allowing me to hike up my skirt and continue on my way. Each step took me closer, the murmur of those voices growing louder until it felt like I was surrounded by the screams.

“Fuck,” Leviathan grunted, hurrying forward and abandoning his post. He stepped in front of me again. “Just wait—”

“I have to do this,” I said, keeping my eyes on that cemetery. I couldn’t look away, could barely even hear myself speak over the pain of those witches who had been separated from everything they held sacred.

Leviathan gazed down at me, carefully studying the desolate determination on my face before finally nodding and moving aside. He took up stride, following along next to me. “What are you doing?” I asked, faltering when he refused to leave my side.

“You may have to do this, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you do it alone,” Leviathan said, his voice soft beneath the thrum of the dead. My veins pumped with the magic in my blood, the call of it singing through me.

I couldn’t have turned back if I’d wanted to, not as my feet moved forward without my permission.

I glanced over at Leviathan sadly. “I’malwaysalone,” I admitted, smiling as his face fell in response to my words. He stopped in place, and I turned away from him as I continued on. I didn’t sense his footfalls behind me as I moved on, making my way toward the cemetery. Glancing back briefly, I found the space he’d stood before empty.

I ignored the pang of loneliness in my chest, letting it sink deep into that hole at the center of my very being. I was no stranger to going into terrifying situations alone; in fact, it was where I found comfort. I could rely on myself, always.

It was everyone else who constantly disappointed me. Every moment of every day, I stood alone when things got tough.

I strode forward, only stopping when I reached the edge of the cemetery. The dirt beneath my feet changed, the rot and decay of those buried within making it more fertile. I felt the shift with one side of my magic. The way that life could thrive here, as opposed to the other sacred burial sites throughout Crystal Hollow.

Life went on, even when other kinds of magic had been starved.

I lifted my dress, carefully stepping into the inner ring of the cemetery. The chill of death washed over my skin immediately, the bubble of life outside bursting. A familiar woman waited for me in the center of the tombstones, her hair far too similar to mine and her purple eyes staring back at me.

“Hello, Willow,” Loralai said with a small smile. She raised a hand, and the voices of the other spirits lingering here faded to background noise. My relief was immediate, having not realized just how piercing the sounds had become and the way they’d battered at my skull.

In the quiet of the night, a piercing yowl finally penetrated the haze. Jonathan paced at the edge of the cemetery, hissing at it furiously but entirely unwilling to cross the boundary himself.

Loralai took my hand, her touch as cold as ice. I couldn’t help the anger I felt looking at her, the knowledge that my father’s love for her had been what had derailed my life entirely. He’d loved her in a way he’d never even thought to care for me, willing to sacrifice me for her even in death. “You must leave this place. You’re not ready for this kind of magic yet.”

“I can’t leave them,” I said, shaking my head. I raised my hand that held Leviathan’s dagger, pressing it into the other palm that Loralai released and dragging it over the surface. Blood welled immediately, slipping onto the ground.

“It won’t be enough,” she said sadly, staring at the wound as it healed. Whatever Gray had done to bring me back made me heal far too quickly for the shallow cuts I was used to giving offerings with.

“Willow,” Gray said, stepping through the mist of Loralai. She vanished from sight, dispersing through the air as he appeared in front of me and took the dagger from my hands. I sighed, my frustration rising at the loss of her. I knew it had been a dream to think I could hold Gray for long enough, but I’d dared to have it, anyway. “What were you thinking?”

“It has to be done,” I said, closing my mouth as I looked around for the spirit of my aunt.

Gray shoved the dagger into his suit pocket, cupping my face in his hands and holding me still as he looked down at me. “What do I have to do to get through to you? You areneveralone, and you don't need to dothisalone either.”

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