Retribution

CHAPTER 48

THUNDER IS IN THE ROOM WITH US. MORE THAN sound. It takes shape, reverberates off the walls, beats at our ears, shakes the ground. Hell rides with it, the face of the witch hovering, waiting to draw us down into the darkness. I’m so afraid, my teeth grind together, my flesh puckers and draws tight. My hands rise in an instinctive reflex to shield my face. The spell that bound me to the spot must be broken, but it doesn’t matter. I couldn’t run if I wanted to. It’s all I can do to keep my balance on a floor rearing and rolling beneath my feet.

Frey’s chair skitters against the wall. He’s flung out of it. The chair breaks apart as if made of balsa wood.

Frey doesn’t awaken.

He’s lucky.

I glance at Williams. He’s been pushed against a table at the back of the room. I can’t tell if he’s broken free. His thoughts are no longer on his hatred, they center now on his fear. His eyes are on Burke.

She reaches out a skeletal hand to touch Sophie. “Sister.”

One word.

But Sophie doesn’t waiver. Her voice rises like the perfume of incense—thick, pervasive, somehow comforting. Her hand is again on Culebra’s chest. Shielding him. She is not looking at Burke; her eyes are closed.

Burke shrieks and holds out both arms. She scoops them as if to draw Sophie up.

I can’t let that happen. I look to Williams for help.

His eyes meet mine, but he refuses to move. He won’t help. These are your friends, his expression says, not mine.

I move toward Sophie alone.

Burke turns burning eyes on me, full of fire and rage. She snarls and her right hand becomes a sword. The force of her fury is directed at me. She lashes out with the sword, breathes smoke and flame, blinding me.

I shield my face with my hands, feel the tip of the sword slash both forearms. Pain runs the length of my arms. The charm blazes inside my blouse, the smell of burnt flesh, my own, fills my nostrils. The floor beneath me is buckling, caving downward.

Still, Sophie’s voice is there. She does not stop.

But something changes.

In the instant that Burke turns her attention to me, the timbre of Sophie ’s voice swells, grows more powerful. She raises her eyes and arms, and in her hands she holds the goblet. She holds it like a supplication, an offering. She draws her own power inward, summoning the force of the elements whipping around us.

Burke senses the shift. She turns her face away from me, howling.

The thunder no longer answers.

In its place, deathly quiet.

Burke realizes her mistake. I was a decoy.

Sophie’s voice drops to a whisper. The goblet trembles in her hand.

Burke blinks, opens her mouth. “No.”

Her face contorts. Her body shrinks into itself. She holds up her hands. “Don’t.”

But Sophie raises the goblet higher.

Burke releases a sigh, a death rattle. An acknowledgment.

She has been tricked. She turns dead eyes on me.

Then she is drawn into the goblet.

Sophie holds it against her chest, shielding it.

It’s then I know.

Sophie’s eyes find mine. The message she sends is both admission and appeal.

I can’t let it go. Too much has happened. Too many deaths.

I reach for the goblet.

She could fight me. She could render me immobile with a thought.

Her breath catches. Her eyes fill. Still, she refuses to move. Gently, softly, I place my fingers over hers. One by one, I remove them from the goblet until her hand falls away.

The goblet falls to the floor.

With a burst of light, it shatters, sending particles as fine as sand through the air.

The only sound now is the ghostly echo of Burke’s scream.