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Michal stiffens at the question. Odessa and Dimitri halt mid-step. And I need toact, quickly, before Death senses any hesitation. “How do you think she feels?” I interject loudly. “She—”

“I was not talking toyou.” His silver eyes remain fixed firmly upon Mila, and he arches a brow in question. Waiting. And I dare not look at anyone else either, lest Death realize something is wrong.Just a few more steps.A few more steps from me—or from Dimitri and Odessa—and we can do it. We can reach him, then Filippa. Energy surges through me, a rush of adrenaline that permeates the air, and the others seem to sense it too. Abandoning caution, they quicken their pace just as Death says, “Well?”

A trickle of blood drips from Mila’s nose in response.

A thud sounds from the washroom.

Though I whirl toward the sound—perhaps my mother rose and she fell again—she remains crumpled on the ground, and thatsound—

To my horror, the second maelstrom begins to slow, beginsto stop, and the winds die along with it, leaving us in hideous silence. No.

No, no, no.

My heart leaps into my throat as I glance helplessly at Mila, who appears much taller than before—her hair tinted red—with her nose melting into a pale, lumpen shape before re-forming into Reid’s. Straighter. Larger—much too large for her heart-shaped face.Oh God.Realization begins to dawn across Death’s features. Eyes narrowing, he reaches out slowly to wipe the blood away with his thumb. “What...?”

And Reid strikes, unexpectedly punching him into the water.

Death falls as if in slow motion, arms pinwheeling through the air, before landing just short of the maelstrom with an enormous splash. Flicking his wrist at Michal’s torch, Reid tears off toward Lou, and the torch indeed catches fire—as does Michal’s hand, his wrist, his arm. The flames streak up his sleeve as if sentient, and he roars in pain, flinging the torch aside while Odessa, Dimitri, and I surge in unison toward Death. Though Filippa rises up to meet us, Dimitri doesn’t hesitate. He knocks her aside, and she crashes into me, who crashes into Michal, who seizes her collar with a burning hand to hurl her into the maelstrom after Death.

Hair ablaze, she stabs him in the fist with a silver knife. He curses bitterly, but Filippa is already moving.

Wrenching her knife from Michal’s fist, she flings it behind her with preternatural speed and precision, and I can do nothing—nothing—as Death surges from the water, as Dimitri lunges, the tips of his fingers just brushing Death’s sleeve—

And Filippa’s knife lodges deep within Dimitri’s chest.

A scream shatters the grotto. I cannot tell if it belongs toOdessa or me—not with blood rushing through my ears and Dimitri’s eyes widening in shock. Not with his skin desiccating like he’s—like he’s—

He’s dying.

My mind refuses to accept the words even as he staggers back a step, and Odessa tackles Filippa into the water, snarling and shrieking and sobbing. Extinguishing the only chance we might’ve had to kill her. And Michal charges Death, who laughs, but I miss that hideous silence of before. I miss it so much. Because no one else can hear Dimitri’s last gasping breath.

And no one else can see him as he slips—his terrified eyes catching mine—and tumbles backward into the maelstrom.

Chapter Forty-Three

Don’t Be Gentle

If Mila’s death brought peace, Dimitri’s death sparks war—violent, bloodthirsty war.

Michal releases Death to seize Odessa around the waist, preventing her from careening into the maelstrom after her brother. She kicks, screams,thrashesas though her body is alight with flames. “Dimitri!Dimitri!” Her pain—her fury—has a name, and she shrieks it as though appealing to the heavens themselves. When they do not answer, she shrieks at Michal instead—atme—spewing threats and curses, slashing at his arms and promising to make Death pay, to make us pay too. And my entire body trembles because she means it. She blames us for splitting her soul in two, and she should—sheshould. Tears stream down my own cheeks now. They blur my vision as I stare at the maelstrom, at the place where Dimitri once stood and now does not.

This is my fault.Dimitri is dead because I hesitated—because I—I tried to protect my own sister for too long, and now Odessa will never see him again. Michal will never recover.

“Dimitri! DIMITRI!”

She arches again, reaching for her twin—straining desperately toward the maelstrom—but Michal refuses to let her go; he holds her until her screams subside into broken sobs and she collapsesin his arms. Stroking her hair with his bloody palm, he whispers fiercely in her ear, but I can no longer hear his words. Excruciating pressure builds in my head as Filippa kicks the torch into the maelstrom after him. I should move to catch it, to save it—but my legs refuse to hold me any longer. I sink to my knees in the waves.

Eyes wide, Filippa whirls toward me with a snarl of disbelief. “Were you really going tokillme, Célie?Me?Your own sister?”

I shake my head, unable to hear her, to hear anything but Michal’s warning ringing in my ears:There will be a cost, Célie. There is always a cost with Death, whether or not you realize you’ve paid it.

Dimitri was our cost.

A sob wracks my body, but I stifle the sound with my fist. How could I be sostupid? How could I ever think this haphazard plan of mine would succeed? Time and time again, I have attempted to do right by my loved ones—to prevail over those who would harm them—and time and time again, I have failed. Not justfailed, but hurt them worse than anyone else ever could.

My sister lost her future, her fiancé and unborn child, because I refused to follow her out the window. Now look at her—twisted with rage as she yanks the silver cross from her pocket and pitches it toward Death, who explodes from the water in fury. Across the grotto, our mother still lies unconscious. She would not be here if not for me—and neither would Reid, who anxiously attempts to revive Lou in the washroom while Jean Luc and Brigitte hasten to help. Odessa lost her brother. Michal lost his sister. Everywhere I go, pain and despair seem to follow, as if they feed on the shadows I cast. As if theythrivein my wake.

How much more will they be expected to pay? How can thecost climb any higher? Already it feels as if I am drowning in their grief, absorbing its weight and sinking, suffocating, until there is only darkness.