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I yank my hands back from his pebbled skin.

“Do you have to be a witch to do witchcraft?” He grimaces, screwing his face up on one side.

What an odd thing for him to ask.

Delphine paces behind me, uncharacteristically quiet, Sunday’s eyes tracking her⁠—

Wait… How? How is he seeing her right now? The only reason he saw her last time is because I spent so long trying to open his thick skull enough to receive messages.

I turn my head slowly to look at Delphine. She continues to pace, not taking her eyes off Sunday, something simmering behind her jewel-green eyes.

“What did you do?” I rasp, turning back to Sunday.

“Yes, Sunday, what did you do?” Delphine hisses from beside me, voice dripping with contempt.

I wait for him to say something—anything. I can tell he’s figuring it out, his mouth working around words that aren’t quite there yet.

I’m about three seconds away from telling him to spit it out when he does.

“I don’t know if blood magic is a thing or if demons are real or what, but there’s something wrong with me and I keep hearing voices and my reflection keeps fucking looking at me,” he spews, agitation making his voice climb and crack.

“Slow down, slow down,” I say, catching his wrists in my hands to stop him ripping out his hair. “Start from the beginning.”

He blows a breath through his cheeks before starting again. “I was at this abandoned hospital with Lara, and it’s so fucking creepy down there, I can’t even tell you. I…I got a nosebleed. It went into the water, and next thing you know, I was balls-deep in it.” His eyes dart from side to side, avoiding looking at me.

“What aren’t you telling me?” I urge, tightening my grip on his hands, ducking my head to try to get in his line of vision. “Sunday, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”

A low whine comes from his throat, almost a whimper. Like telling this little piece of truth is physically hurting him. “Something grabbed me. I swear to fuck, Bels. I’ve been trying to explain it away, but I can’t. Not with everything else that’s been going on, not with…not with you.”

Delphine lets out a short, sharp gasp, her eyes blowing wide as her hands clasp together at her chest. Between one breath and the next, she winks out of existence.

Incredibly dramatic and not at all helpful, not in the slightest. I shake my head, not willing to spend any time digesting her disappearing act when I need support.

Because everything Sunday’s describing…

I’ve come across my fair share of spirits in my short lifetime, but I’ve managed to escape the attention of malicious ones, for the most part. Demonology isn’t something I’ve engaged in, because the memory of that entity chasing me through the woods left a lasting impression on me. Left me frightened of being in my own skin. It’s taken me years to get to the point where I no longer suppress my magic.

“Can I try something?” I ask, already raising my hands. He nods, wrapping his arms around his waist, clutching at his stomach.

My mouth presses into a thin line as I lay my fingertips on his temples. I can feel his pulse there, beating against my skin.

“Just try to relax, okay?” I say, making my voice as soft and syrupy as I can.

Sunday shutters his eyes, leaning into my touch.

Here goes nothing.

I close my eyes, letting my magic gather at my fingertips before visualizing it threading into him, weaving through his synapses. Sunday groans, a pained sound that builds in his throat. I can feel the pull of his facial muscles as he reacts to my probing.

“I’m sorry, just hold on,” I plead, pushing deeper, deeper. Wading through his energy channels, slipping between his mind and his soul.

The room starts to slip away, the visualization tearing me from Sunday’s apartment and setting me down in an obsidian wasteland. Nothing but glossy black.

And a figure made of smoke and fear.

Death-touched.

From everywhere, nowhere, under and above, the words slam into me, throwing me from the vision and back into my body. A shuddering gasp rattles my frame as Sunday blinks up at me with wide, teary eyes.