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As soon as the creature moves, I turn on my heel and run for my life, charging ahead blindly in the dark, branches whipping at my face. Brambles tangle around my ankles, tearing into my skin as I trip and stumble onto my hands and knees. Scrambling, I try to kick the brambles off me, only for them to bite deeper into my flesh. My whole body is tingling like I’m full of white noise, heat building at the base of my skull.
The terrible thing approaches, appearing more humanoid by the second, yet still cloaked in shadow. When it speaks, pain lances through my head so sharply I must cover my ears. Like before, it’s layers of noise, images slamming into my head so rapidly I can barely keep up.
Tears burn at my eyes as I grit my teeth, making animalistic noises through the pain. Every sound is agony. I can barely take it, sinking to the ground, kicking aimlessly as I try to push myself somewhere, anywhere.
Is this what it feels like to die? Is this the dance that souls take in their final moments?
The noise cuts off abruptly, followed by a blood-curdling scream of pure, feminine rage.
I think I lose consciousness for a moment, because when I come to, my spirit friend is standing over me.
“It’s okay, Bellamy. It’s gone.”
I startle at the sound of her voice, coming through clear as day. We’ve been communicating through my board at home for a while now, but this is the first time her words have been clear to me.
“You…your voice. I can understand you.” My own is paper-thin.
“Yes, well. It’s just as well,” she says, putting her hands on her hips as she peers down at me. “Please do call me Delphine, from now on.”
“Bellamy!” a voice bellows through the trees, accompanied by the sound of twigs snapping in the distance.
Delphine simply curtsies in my direction and fades away as Sunday stumbles through the space she was occupying. The light from his phone hurts my eyes as he shines it over my prone form.
“I found him!” he yells over his shoulder into the darkness.
The fight goes out of me, my senses shutting down one by one, numbness spreading across my limbs until I feel like this is all a fever dream.
“Fucking hell, what is wrong with you?” My boyfriend grits out at me, his voice sounding syrupy and far away. “You can’t keep doing shit like this, Bels.”
He drops to his knees by my side, carefully picking the barbs from the brambles out of my skin and brushing mud from my legs. The tender actions don’t match the stormy, disappointed look on his face.
And that look?
It fills me with sickening hurt.
Chapter Eight
Bellamy
As far as awkward lunches go, yesterday was right up there. Thankfully, I haven’t seen much of Sunday today. Séverin has been his usual pleasant self, and I’ve been shadowing Lara on a couple of talks. This afternoon, she left me to run a classroom session with some of the younger kids. They’re my favorite age group to deal with—always coming up with the most random questions. Curiosity is such a sweet thing at that age.
Being so new, I don’t have much on my plate, so I head down to the occult exhibit to work on set dressing. I pass Séverin as I meander down the corridor, his face perplexed, a stack of papers clutched to his chest. I notice a flash of elongated canines pushing into the flesh of his bottom lip as he throws a look over his shoulder.
Seconds later, Delphine’s spectral form floats through the wall and scurries after him.
Well, that didn’t take long at all. A persistent woman, that one.
I arrive at the new exhibit, my footsteps echoing in the large, open space. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s making boring walls look much more exciting. The dark fabric I asked for will look great strung up on the walls, much like the tapestries in my new apartment.
I sling a bunch of gauzy fabric over my shoulder and stand on my tiptoes on top of the stepladder. I manage to staple a few pieces to the wall, then tuck the tool between my legs while I pleat and drape the fabric how I want it.
I lean a little too far, the ladder tipping with my weight. I try to steady myself, stubbornly holding onto the fabric, when the ladder suddenly lurches the other way, my thighs losing their grip on the staple gun.
It clatters to the floor as a warm hand lands on my hip, preventing my fall. Panicked, I grab onto the person as my body re-centers itself.
“Careful.” His voice is smooth and low.
Sunday.
