Page 20

I gripped my satchel tighter, terrified of any noise. As intricately as one might thread a needle, I stepped between two sleeping ghouls. It was agonizingly slow, but I made my way forward. I neared the halfway point. A ghoul shifted onto my boot.

Stop moving!

I glanced at the entrance, still so far away, and back to the ghoul. My breathing came quick, and I covered my mouth. I had to get out. It didn’t matter what happened once I was free, but I had to get out. Now. The smell, the fear—it was suffocating. Run. That’s all I wanted to do. Just run!

Stay calm!

Taking a deep breath, I slid my boot from beneath the ghoul’s head. It grunted but didn’t wake, and I continued. The light at the entrance flickered, as if someone passed it. Again, I stilled.

This is it.

Surely, this is another ghoul, returning to its lair. I’ll be discovered and eaten, my bones left to rot down in this horrible place. But, no. A filthy, but alive Rook tiptoed down the stairs. Catching sight of me, his lips parted.

I thrust my finger to my mouth, silencing him.

Rook’s eyes reflected my candle, appearing as two stars at dusk. They travelled along the ghouls, all the way to the corners of the mausoleum, where my candlelight couldn’t penetrate, and my human eyes couldn’t see. How many more monsters lay in the shadows?

From the look on Rook’s face, it was probably best I didn’t know.

Rook stepped forward. I put up my palm, stopping him. Indignation soured his face. I pointed at his feet.

Stay there!

Rook continued anyway, and I pointed at him.

Don’t you dare!

Rook’s chest heaved…but he remained at the foot of the stairs. I stepped over a ghoul—it shifted and I paused again. Rook turned away and covered his mouth, like he might be sick.

I was nearly there.

A breeze carried fresh air down the stairs. Glancing around, I looked for where I might step next. Dread threatened me. There was no path ahead. Too many bodies lay sleeping, back-to-back. I chewed my lip, searching for a way around them.

There wasn’t one.

I was stuck.

Helplessly, I looked to Rook. He raised a finger, as if to say, ‘Hold on!’ Moving quick, Rook leaned his axe against the stairwell.

He pointed to the ground behind me, and then opened his arms. I didn’t understand.

Rook lifted his hand, palm up. With his other hand, he made a running motion.

Then, he opened his arms and tapped his chest.

He wanted me to jump.

Shaking my head, I stepped back—my boot crunched a bone. Rook grimaced, looking as if the faintest noise might stop his heart. The ghouls below me shifted but remained sleeping. Rook waved his arms wildly, catching my attention and beckoning me forward with urgency.

I mouthed, ‘I can’t!’ and shook my head. Rook pushed his hands through his hair and then clasped them at his chest.

Begging me.

He was begging me to trust him.

I looked around, evaluating my options. Even the path behind me had vanished. There was no other way out.

Rook mouthed one word.

‘Please.’

‘Ugh!’ I wanted to scream back at him. Instead, I doused my candle and tucked it away. Careful not to step on more bones, I backed up as far as I could, which wasn’t very far at all, and then paused to breathe.

There’s no monsters. No danger. Just a jump over a stream, that’s all…

A stream that’ll gnaw your bones while you’re alive to feel it.

Shaking my head, I scrunched my nose and exhaled. I took several hurried steps, and when I was about to stomp on a ghoul, I leapt. I cleared the bodies and careened into Rook’s arms. He winced when I fell into his side but remained silent.

The ghouls did not wake.

Safely in Rook’s grasp, his arms tightened around me.

The same way I might hold something I’d lost and didn’t want to lose again.

Adrenaline pumping, I scrambled away from Rook and up the stairs.

Grabbing the axe, Rook wasn’t far behind.

I sprinted through the mausoleum and into the sunlight.

Each time I navigated out of the Hollow, I was met with a sweeping sense of relief.

The euphoria I felt now put all those escapes to shame.

Behind me, Rook offered an encouraging smile that sent my pounding heart racing even faster. I wiped cobwebs and muck off my arms, and a shiver of disgust rattled me. Rook doubled over to catch his breath, freeing my view of the mausoleum behind him.

And the ghoul crouched upon it.

The ghoul screeched and pounced. It bypassed Rook and snatched my wrist. Without hesitating, Rook swung the axe up, snapping the ghoul’s arm like a weak branch. Down below, a chorus of shrieks rose from the mausoleum.

“Go!” Rook shouted.

Already running, I dodged headstones and pried the ghoul’s disembodied hand from my wrist. Tossing it aside, I risked a glance back.

Behind Rook, ghouls poured down the mausoleum steps in a grey, decayed wave.

I batted aside branches as we hit the treeline.

Rook dodged a trunk and continued running beside me.

Ghouls approached at our sides, sprinting through the trees.

My arms pumped tirelessly as I tried to outrun them.

Almost like a gate closing before penned livestock, the ghouls ran ahead and blocked our path.

I skidded to a stop, and Rook dragged me behind him.

A ghoul approached; Rook swung the axe in a wide arc.

The ghoul crouched and hissed, narrowly avoiding a beheading.

Rook kicked the ghoul and sent it into the trees.

More and more ghouls crept from the shadows.

My mind rapidly running out of options, I inched closer to Rook, careful to avoid the business end of his axe.

Rook shoved me back and I bumped into a tree.

Changing tactics, I grabbed a low branch and hauled myself up. I swung my legs over and shouted, “Climb!” Rook punched and frantically swung the axe, but there were too many. The ghouls overtook him; they snarled and tore at his legs. “Change!” I screamed and hammered the trunk. “Become the Hound!”

“I can’t! I’m not strong enough!” Rook shouted. “The transformation might kill me, and you’ll be left here alone—” A ghoul lunged at Rook’s face.

“Climb up!” I cried, reaching for Rook.

A low growl carried from the trees, freezing my hand in mid-air.

The gigantic ghoul who’d taken me into the mausoleum slunk from the shadows.

The smaller ones shrunk from it. Wasting no time, Rook turned and grabbed a branch; he wedged his foot against the trunk, then started to climb but swiftly lost his footing.

Panicked, I wondered, why was Rook suddenly so clumsy? !

“Drop the axe!” I snapped. “Use two hands!”

“I need it!” Rook snarled and tried again. I slapped the trunk, venting my frustration. Why had I assumed Rook knew how to climb a tree properly? The Hound simply ate anything that pursued it.

“Here!” I cried. “Take my hand!”

Rook reached for me. A ghoul snatched his boot. He slipped and tried to catch a branch. The hand holding the axe hit the trunk. The axe bounced and swung…

Directly into Rook’s throat.

“NO!” shrieked a voice, so shrill I hardly recognized it as my own. Everything around Rook vanished. I stopped hearing—stopped seeing anything but Rook.

Blood trickled around the axe, wedged into his neck.

Rook tried to speak—his lips formed words that wouldn’t come.

With great determination, he mouthed, ‘I’m sorry,’ and stumbled from the tree.

I swung my leg over and leapt down after him.

The axe fell, and a wave of blood spilled over Rook’s hand at his throat.

Still, he oriented himself between the ghouls and me.

As if the ghouls had done something they shouldn’t have, they retreated.

Beetle-like, they scuttled back into the shadows.

Only then did Rook fall.

“No, no, no, no!” I collapsed behind Rook, easing him to the ground.

Rook started, “I—” but the words gargled in his throat and died. Blood poured from the corner of his mouth, and he looked at me, helpless. I crammed my hands against his neck. The wound was deep, it spewed blood like a river.

Rook was going to die.

In doing so, Rook would take with him any chance I might have of escaping this broken place. Fear for my future rose up within me, but there was something else: an unwelcome sensation far deeper than self-preservation. Frantic energy hammered me, begging the light not to leave Rook’s eyes.

What could I do?

I peeked at the wound; ruby-red blood oozed out.

Rook was so still, his chest barely rising.

I was transported back to only a few nights ago.

When Lysander had stumbled in, eviscerated and crawling toward death—wait!

With one hand pressed against Rook, I rifled through my satchel for the remains of the cloth I’d used on Lysander.

Rook’s eyes fluttered and closed.

I knocked him with my knee and shouted, “Rook!” His eyes snapped open wide but immediately lulled.

I yanked out the fabric and jammed it against Rook’s neck.

He gasped and tried to pull away, but I held firm.

Scooting behind Rook, I lifted his head into my lap and wound the fabric around his throat.

Eyes closed now, Rook’s chest failed to rise at all.

Holding the wound, a tingling began in my fingertips. It travelled up my arms and dizzied my thinking. “Please,” I muttered. “No one else.” Tears welled along my lashes, and I leaned my forehead against Rook’s.

His pulse no longer hammered my palm.

“Please!” Tears fell heavy, and I laid everything on Rook. My tears, my sweat; if I had any magic, I laid that out too. “Let the fabric work,” I muttered. “I was quick enough. We kept enough blood from escaping.”

To myself, I muttered, “You can do this.”

I pulled away.

Rook didn’t stir.

With hands limp at his sides, and a look of serenity, one might pretend Rook was sleeping.

A sob wracked me, springing tears loose from my chin.

How could this happen again? How could I sit beside another dying person and not help them?

! Anger burned through me, and I hit the ground.

I couldn’t save my father; I couldn’t save Rook.

Lysander might die—I took a deep breath, and I forced myself back, out of the spiral and back to this moment.

As my breathing evened, the anger faded.

Sadness remained.

In my lap, I cradled Rook. I didn’t want to let him go, even if he was…

Dead.

Rook was dead.

After my father died, it took me so long to feel again.

That same sensation tugged at me, begging me to let it in and shove the despair aside.

I felt as if I was high in the canopy, seeing both Rook and myself tangled on the ground.

It all seemed like make-believe—like none of this was really happening.

But it was real, and I’d never escape this place.

Lysander would die. What would become of my mother? Would Marek take care of her? Mother said he was cold, but he’d spoil her, keep her safe at least. Though, with her children missing or dead save for Lottie, I don't know how she’d go on… And what of Lottie? Oh, she could hardly cook a thing!

I stroked Rook’s forehead, moving hair from his face.

Perhaps… Perhaps if I cut Rook’s heart out, I could escape on my own.

My own heart shivered, repulsed by the thought of plunging the blade into Rook, of ruining his body.

Blood and dirt smeared Rook’s cheeks; a compulsion told me to wipe it off.

The same way I might tell a loved one they had food or grime on them. I moved to wipe Rook’s cheek—

Rook’s hand caught mine.

A burst of air left my mouth in a startled hiss. Rook coughed. I shoved his face sideways. No blood seeped through the bandage.

Turning back to me, Rook murmured, “You saved my life.”

You saved his life? An enraged voice screamed. You saved the beast who killed your father?! I could barely hear it, could only focus on Rook’s pulse gently tapping my palm.

“Well…” I started. “If you died, how would I have escaped this place?” Rook glanced at the wet tracks staining my cheeks. He brushed his own face, where my tears had landed and settled.

And Rook smiled.

Lingering in my lap, Rook gazed upon me.

Grief squeezed my heart; I’d seen that look before.

Every night when my mother came home, and Father listened to her chatter on about the students.

Even if she was complaining, he was just so happy to have her there, to know that she was his and it was his good fortune to look at her.

Every night I’d wish— beg —I’d find someone who looked at me like that.

Rook brought my blood-spattered hand to his mouth and kissed it. In Rook’s reluctance to look away, I knew one thing. I’d gained his trust a million times over, and for better or worse…

Rook was mine.