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I laugh at this.

Blackness again.

A gurgling scream has me opening my eyes, and I spy Remus lying on the floor in a pool of blood. Eviscerated.

Something sticks out from his body, and through a haze of confusion and weakness, I realize it’s a rib bone. Other rib bones stick out, as well. Like wings at each flank. The blood wings of a demon.

Blackness.

More screams.

Feminine screams this time.

I turn my head to see Agatha strung up on the cross where I was whipped. Her naked body trussed up by chains. Lilith stands across from her, tossing knives. Laughing. She hits her mark and tosses another.

My body jostles around, and I manage to lift my head toward where a man in a lab coat, covered in bright red blood, fusses over my wound. I recognize him. Doctor Levin. My father’s friend.

I don’t remember if I trust him, though. Everything is fuzzy, and an incessant ring in my ears keeps me from hearing his words. Only his lips move.

“No. Stop.” My voice is weak, and I bat him away, but he keeps on with his fussing. “Don’t … touch me.”

What a strange dream. An absolute chaotic illusion.

Blackness.

Strong arms slide beneath me, and I feel weightless. I open my eyes again.

Titus stares down at me with his one good eye, the other hidden behind a patch. Chest covered in thick, sticky blood and gore, his arms tremble around me, his expression vacant and lost. Depleted. Through a shield of tears, I smile and reach up to touch his face.

“The man in the paper boat. You’ve come to take me home.”

Chapter 40

The scent of alcohol and disinfectant invades my nose. Whispers echo around me. I open my eyes to see fluorescent lights slipping past overhead, moving too fast to keep up. Only one constant remains. Titus. I reach for him.

He takes my hand. “Hang on, Thalia. Just hang on, please.”

Intense pain strikes my abdomen, and I arch against it.

“You must let me finish! You must be patient!”

At the sound of Doctor Levin’s voice, I turn my head to where he stands on the other side of me. It’s then I notice the mask over my face, the cool air that I breathe into my lungs.

The pain begins to fade.

The room shrinks to a pinprick.

I lie on my back, hands clutched to my stomach, where a deep, cramping pain pulses. Curling into my side fails to alleviate it, and I open my mouth to scream, but nothing comes out. The agony radiates up into my ribs and down to my thighs. I need to get it out of me. To expel the poison trapped inside of me. I bear down, clutching the edge of the bed, and flex my stomach muscles. The pressure feels as if it might split me in half.

Still, I can’t scream.

My knuckles burn as I squeeze the mattress beneath me.

Pushing.

Cries fill the room. The incessant wailing of a newborn.

Confused, I sit up from the bed.