even thousand-pound pieces of construction.
I’d seen smoke function like this before—smoke that moved in ways it shouldn’t. Which led me to the conclusion that the shadowy vapor now rebuilding High Bridge wasn’t smoke at all.
“Wraiths,” I gasped, crawling farther up the embankment on my hands.
As if to confirm, the individual tendrils of smoke rearranged themselves while they worked, taking on thin but near-human forms. During the transition, they never slowed or faltered in their reconstruction project—even when their environment shifted into something cold and ghastly.
All around them, all around me , the riverbank darkened and hardened until the icy purples of the netherworld appeared. The grass beneath my hands frosted over, and I had to jerk my fingers off the ground to keep them from freezing to it.
I only had time for one chilly breath when a slick, unfamiliar voice echoed across the river and silenced me.
“Amelia Ashley,” it hissed. “This was a mistake. Your mistake.”
Although the voice echoed, it didn’t boom; it crept through the netherworld like a whisper, intimate but discomforting in my ear.
“This error will cost you,” the voice continued. “Instead of seven days in your first week, you have one. Agree to stay here now, or someone dies. Immediately.”
I’d been wrong earlier: this was my moment. Now was the time.
I parted my lips to do the only thing I could: say yes, and commit myself to the darkness forever. But nothing intelligible came out—just one strangled syllable that sounded an awful lot like “No.”
Despite my unclear response, the darkness didn’t hesitate. The netherworld seemed to collapse in upon itself, each garish color disintegrating until nothing remained but real trees, a real river . . . and a very real, very intact High Bridge.
And in that cruel, impossible moment, I knew that my little bomb hadn’t freed anyone. It had condemned someone to death.
Chapter
NINE
N o amount of reassurance from Joshua could dispel the leaden ball of guilt in my stomach. Almost three pitchers of coffee and nine Mayhew Bakery day-old pastries didn’t do the trick, either, although they had officially proved that I was a nervous eater. During our drive from High Bridge to the Mayhews’ house, I’d felt strangely calm. Impassive, even. Now, I just felt overstuffed with food and foreboding.
I pushed my half-eaten, stale palmier away in disgust and looked around the kitchen. Across from me, Jillian and Scott had fallen asleep on each other’s shoulders, slumped awkwardly in their dining chairs. On this side of the room, Joshua leaned with me against the counter of the kitchen island. He still watched me warily, as though he thought I might try to blow up his parents’ house, too.
I raked one hand through the ends of my hair. “I’m not going to do anything crazy again, Joshua. I promise.”
“I know, Amelia,” he said, keeping his voice low. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”
“You’re not worried that I tried to detonate a weapon of mass destruction tonight?”
Joshua shook his head. “Even if I don’t like how you did it, I don’t blame you for trying. And I don’t think this is your fault, either. It’s not like you invented demons and made them evil.”
In response, I held my hands up in a pose of surrender. “But does that matter? Will that matter to the person who dies tonight?” Then I peeked at the kitchen clock. “Or this early morning, I guess?”
I dropped my palms to the countertop in defeat. As he’d done since we arrived home, Joshua placed his own hand comfort-close to mine. I stretched my fingers toward his, aching to tangle both sets together.
“I don’t know the answer to that, any better than you do,” he said softly, running his thumb across the granite counter, near the length of my wrist. “All we can do is wait out the night, and then spend the next six days coming up with a better plan.”
I laughed
I’d seen smoke function like this before—smoke that moved in ways it shouldn’t. Which led me to the conclusion that the shadowy vapor now rebuilding High Bridge wasn’t smoke at all.
“Wraiths,” I gasped, crawling farther up the embankment on my hands.
As if to confirm, the individual tendrils of smoke rearranged themselves while they worked, taking on thin but near-human forms. During the transition, they never slowed or faltered in their reconstruction project—even when their environment shifted into something cold and ghastly.
All around them, all around me , the riverbank darkened and hardened until the icy purples of the netherworld appeared. The grass beneath my hands frosted over, and I had to jerk my fingers off the ground to keep them from freezing to it.
I only had time for one chilly breath when a slick, unfamiliar voice echoed across the river and silenced me.
“Amelia Ashley,” it hissed. “This was a mistake. Your mistake.”
Although the voice echoed, it didn’t boom; it crept through the netherworld like a whisper, intimate but discomforting in my ear.
“This error will cost you,” the voice continued. “Instead of seven days in your first week, you have one. Agree to stay here now, or someone dies. Immediately.”
I’d been wrong earlier: this was my moment. Now was the time.
I parted my lips to do the only thing I could: say yes, and commit myself to the darkness forever. But nothing intelligible came out—just one strangled syllable that sounded an awful lot like “No.”
Despite my unclear response, the darkness didn’t hesitate. The netherworld seemed to collapse in upon itself, each garish color disintegrating until nothing remained but real trees, a real river . . . and a very real, very intact High Bridge.
And in that cruel, impossible moment, I knew that my little bomb hadn’t freed anyone. It had condemned someone to death.
Chapter
NINE
N o amount of reassurance from Joshua could dispel the leaden ball of guilt in my stomach. Almost three pitchers of coffee and nine Mayhew Bakery day-old pastries didn’t do the trick, either, although they had officially proved that I was a nervous eater. During our drive from High Bridge to the Mayhews’ house, I’d felt strangely calm. Impassive, even. Now, I just felt overstuffed with food and foreboding.
I pushed my half-eaten, stale palmier away in disgust and looked around the kitchen. Across from me, Jillian and Scott had fallen asleep on each other’s shoulders, slumped awkwardly in their dining chairs. On this side of the room, Joshua leaned with me against the counter of the kitchen island. He still watched me warily, as though he thought I might try to blow up his parents’ house, too.
I raked one hand through the ends of my hair. “I’m not going to do anything crazy again, Joshua. I promise.”
“I know, Amelia,” he said, keeping his voice low. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”
“You’re not worried that I tried to detonate a weapon of mass destruction tonight?”
Joshua shook his head. “Even if I don’t like how you did it, I don’t blame you for trying. And I don’t think this is your fault, either. It’s not like you invented demons and made them evil.”
In response, I held my hands up in a pose of surrender. “But does that matter? Will that matter to the person who dies tonight?” Then I peeked at the kitchen clock. “Or this early morning, I guess?”
I dropped my palms to the countertop in defeat. As he’d done since we arrived home, Joshua placed his own hand comfort-close to mine. I stretched my fingers toward his, aching to tangle both sets together.
“I don’t know the answer to that, any better than you do,” he said softly, running his thumb across the granite counter, near the length of my wrist. “All we can do is wait out the night, and then spend the next six days coming up with a better plan.”
I laughed
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