Page 131 of Veil of Blood and Bone

Audra’s scream cuts through the roar in my head. Piercing, shrill, sudden. It’s the blare of a horn. Panic blasts through me and obliterates everything else.

Nicholas is the first to follow me to Audra, to help, Wren and Forest on his heels.

Her body bows up from the couch, mouth wide, eyes blown open. The lovely chocolate of her irises is obliterated by white. Her spine arches, and frantic kicks knock blankets aside. Her tiny legs, those skeletal limbs⁠—

The room narrows to coffee and books hitting the floor.

Audra howling.

Nicholas says something—no, he shouts it from far away.

I pin her arms, but I’m clumsy. “No, no.” Spilled coffee decorates the front of my shirt. “Audra, come on, kid. It’s okay. You’re fine.”

The words are a song I’ve sung a hundred times. The meaning is lost, though. She’s always come out of it before. This is different.

Wren grabs Audra’s legs this time as her body bows between us. Forest grabs a pillow for her head to make sure it doesn’t slam against the back of the couch.

Soft moans claw up her throat, like a bird trapped in a chimney.

Fear sends railroad spikes of iron into the chambers of my heart. My grip slips, palms sweaty, vision narrowing. I hold her down, her body writhing, and my fingers vising around her wrists to keep her from hitting herself or me, to stop her from taking wedges of my skin beneath her fingernails in a seizure she can’t control.

“Audra.” Her name is a plea, a prayer. “Kid, you’re okay. You’re fine.”

The word is a mockery.

Fine fine fine. All lies. All shallow.

Meaningless as she jerks and spasms. Three immortal men can’t contain her. The power of her next kick knocks the air from Wren’s chest.

Forest’s massive hands frame her face but the expression there is pure nightmare fuel.

Her eyes slide open and they’ve gone chalky white, wide and cold and seeing far more than the room. The chill from outside sneaks through my bloodstream.

“Audra?” I manage her name, and the rest fails as she flings herself to the side.

What can I do to fight? How can I armor myself against this stark realization of my sister’s condition? She’s dying.

Sweat plasters wild ringlets to her forehead as her back bends harder.

A tremor passes through her, and her arms go rigid at her hip. Her head rocks, mouth opening. When she stops shaking⁠—

The voice rumbling through her throat isn’t hers. The first syllables land like the brush of death, the same eerie inflection as before.

“The choice is yours, daughter of fate.”

I’m hooked. The moniker is mine.

“You can run.” The echo of three distinct female voices rings through the words.

Young. Old. Motherly. Potent.

“Run, but the cycle will remain unbroken.” Audra cranes her face toward me. “Run and the repetition is threaded into the world again. Or stay, fight. Break the key with the locks, and end the cycle of mortality.”

My gut churns, knots, sickens. I bite down on my lip, and my fists clench tighter than a vise, the knuckles white as her eyes.

The Norns speak through her again, the weavers of destiny. They hold mine in their hands.

The choice belongs to none of us. I’m not sure if it ever has before, if the gods are playing games. If I actually believe what everyone tells me.