Page 77 of King Among the Dead

Du Lac’s grip loosened, and she staggered to her feet. Unsteady, wavering. Her pulse pounded in her ears, sluggish now. She heard faint, far off screams from somewhere deeper in the mansion. But here there was only silence, and the scrape of her breath, and the quiet swearing of du Lac as he got to his feet.

In the center of the room, something gleamed. Rose walked toward it, drawn to it, with the surreal knowledge that she had retreated somewhere inside her head, and that she wasn’t sure if she’d ever be able to find her way back out.

In the heart of the room, on the center stone, rested the dagger. Clean, shiny, beautiful and overwrought in its design, its heft. She knelt down beside it. Took it into her hands. It was warm; warm as skin; warm as blood.

Footfalls behind her. Du Lac murmured, “Jesus.”

“Where is this from?” she asked, weighing the weapon in her palms.

“The conduit had it. He said it came from hell.”

TWENTY-THREE

“Ma’am,” du Lac tried again. “We really should leave.”

Rose paced the room, trying to recreate the chalk signs in her mind. Trying to remember the sigils – all impossible squiggles and hash marks. She should have paid more attention, damn it. She held the dagger in one hand, tapping the flat of the blade against her thigh. “If this opened the portal once, it could do it again.”

“Ma’am.” He was starting to sound exasperated. “We have to–”

“Did he have notes anywhere? Did he write it down?” When she finally lifted her head, she saw him standing with his jacket pushed back, his hands on his hips, expression tense. “Did he?”

“Did who do what?”

“Did the conduit write down the sigils?” She gestured to the now-clean floor with the dagger. “The pattern. I need it.”

His brows went up. “I have no idea. If it was written down, I never saw it.”

“If he had a room, it might–”

“The guy had anangelinside him. I’m going to guess he didn’t need to write anything down. But, listen–”

“I’m sure I can find another spell. It has to be in a book somewhere. Or, there are other conduits. I can–”

“Ma’am.” Sharp this time. He strode toward her. Put his hands on her shoulders.

She didn’t want him to, but didn’t stop him. Her own safety was unimportant now.

“We need to go.”

Somewhere in the house, something exploded, a low rumble as a charge of some sort went off.

“Castor’s dead, and his people are going to go nuts. We have to leave.” He gave her a little shake.

“I have to re-open the portal.”

“What? No – you – you can’t. Don’t you get it?” Another shake. “It wasn’t just about some chalk and a fancy knife. Aconduitopened the portal. You don’t have the power. No one here does, except Daniel, and if he’s not dead, then he’s probably in hell now.”

“I can try, I can–”

“You can’t. We have to leave.”

“But Beck–”

“Beck’s dead.”

“No.” Her jaw felt unsteady, so she clenched it; spoke through her teeth. She didn’t have time for an unsteady tongue. “No, he killed the conduit. I saw it.”

“Yeah, he did, and then a giant fucking hand made of blood dragged his ass down into hell.”

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