Page 24 of Divine Oaths

The figure’s pupils were… empty. Where irises should have been there remained, instead, a fracturing of red lines slicing through pearl white. Wood shavings and sawdust powdered his incandescent skin. And his Westfield blazer—it was covered in blood.

Bile rose in my throat. I stumbled backward, but behind me were the hedges.

Something yanked my arm. Hands—no, branches; branches twisted around my arms, snaking up my legs and thighs, around my waist, my neck, caressing my cheeks, nipping my ears, clawing at the fabric of my shirt and jeans.

I dug my nails into my palms, tried to break away and scream, even as branches covered my lips and leaves sprouted into my mouth, hungry and searching like a thousand salivating tongues.

I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. The figure drew closer and closer.

“B-b-b-beware the mark of b-b-b-b-blood debts.”

When he spoke, it was in unison with the leaves and the branches and the wind; the sound a chorus of nails on a chalkboard, a disjointed echo that raked through the back of my mind.

I tore against the branches, spitting out leaves, and clawing and screaming and suffocating. But I was trapped. Time caught me in its grip, and his empty eyes stared deep into mine.

On my wrist, the cowrie bracelet hummed, a soft glow of light emanating from the ring at the center and from the mouths of the shells. I thrashed and the branches retreated before lurching forward, stronger now, fueled with rage.

Hot warmth pricked against my nose, and a trail of liquid slid from my nostril down my chin. When I clawed at my face and pulled back, my fingers were covered in blood. My blood.

That’s when I started screaming. My view of the present disintegrated into flashes of time: the Westfield heir bleeding out in the alleyway, Jojo and the bodyguard arguing, a figure disappearing down a dark corridor in a hallway that was just as much of a maze as this one.

The visions were relentless. The past and the future melded with my own memories. It was all-consuming. I wanted the vision to end. I wanted to tear the bracelet off my wrist. But I was sinking further and further from reality until, faintly, a gentle, steady pressure on my palm broke through my psychic visions.

And then there were hands again; hands emerging from within the hedge, hands that wrapped around my waist and pulled me into the depths of the leaves and twisted branches just as the pupilless figure bared its teeth and launched itself at me.

Pain jolted through my body, and my forehead throbbed. I fell back, letting out a gasp as the arms encircled me and drew me across the threshold, to the other side of the hedge.

“Just breathe. We’re in a courtyard. Focus on that. Focus on where you are.”

The voice was deep and rich, but it came out muffled, like something was obscuring the mouth that had said the words. Hot tears of pain pricked my lashes. I pressed my eyes shut, trying to channel my powers and rein in the visions. Slowly, the fractured images of time flickered in and out, in and out, until I was back in the present.

And then I saw him.

He was tall, with dark brown skin, ebony-black hair, and cool, russet-colored eyes. Money dripped from every inch of him, from his clean-cut, low taper fade hairstyle to the designer trousers and shoes he wore and his Westfield blazer. But when his gaze fell over mine, my heart knotted in my chest.

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe.

It was nothing like I’d seen in my visions, nothing like I’d imagined since that night. But here he was.

Alive.

CHAPTER TEN

Cousin, I charge you

“CAREFUL,” HE WHISPERED, “OR THEY’LL find us.”

Seeing Kasem now, months after that night in the alleyway, set my nerves on fire.

Here he was, in one of the richest schools in the country, while I’d been fighting migraines and visions for the last three months.

I wanted to scream.

I wanted to grab him by his silver-spoon collar and show him just how that night had taken everything from me: my friendship with Jojo, my ability to control my powers, my chance to escape Westfield’s hold. It was all because of him—because of Kasem. But even calling him by his name felt wrong. We’d had no formal introduction, no moments cementing our connection other than the twisted rungs of death that stood between us.

And my mind was reeling.

Had it all been a vision? The hedges coming to life, the figure at the end of the maze with pupilless eyes. Was Kasem my attacker or my savior? And how could I possibly come to terms with what I’d just witnessed, what we’d both seen?