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“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about your dear parents already?”
The world narrows to that terrifying point as I watch the smoke move, forcing me back through one of the most sickening memories of my life. I’ve seen it a million times in my dreams, but watching it like this brings a new level of horror.
The truck jackknifes, clipping my parents’ car. No sound comes from the smoky visage but I hear it clearly anyway: skidding tires, the sharp intake of breath from my mom, my dad yelling as the car flips. It rolls too quickly to count, winding up in a ditch on the side of the interstate.
I swallow against the need to empty my stomach. I don’t understand what that accident has to do with me and the demonic entity. It doesn’t explain why it chose Sunday.
Perhaps the demon has telepathic abilities, because it begins to speak again. “Your soul is not your own. Mortals should know better than to make deals with devils, but here we are.” It smiles, jagged rows of shark-like teeth gleaming under the fluorescent light. “We reap what we sow.”
“Stop talking in riddles. What do you want?” I bite, tired of this game.
It makes another clicking sound in its throat, head tipping to one side and then back again. “Your parents bargained for your existence. Two souls, one life.”
Bargained for my life? How?
“Witch blood is a hereditary disease. Your sire was just like you.”
I hate how the demon says it. Sire. Like I’m a sad little pedigree pup with no owner. A word comes to me, from when I ventured into Sunday’s mind and first made connection with the demon.
“Tell me what death-touched means,” I demand.
More clicking. I think…it’s laughing.
“Nearly there, witchling,” it teases, the smoke in front of us dissipating. “You—”
It raises a finger, pointing it squarely at the middle of my chest. I can’t decide if my heart wants to beat right out of it or stutter and die.
“—are Bellamy Parris. The last of your line. Death-touched witch. Promised. And your time has run out.”
“What do you mean? Are you going to kill me?”
“Sadly, no. Your father’s protection spell is woven too tightly. Nevertheless, your soul is marked for the trials.”
“Trials? What trials?”
Click, click, click.
“Oh, Bellamy. I can’t be giving it all away now, can I? Wouldn’t want to give you…a head start.”
I slide my gaze to Sunday, the demon tracking the movement. I use its distraction to my advantage, raising my hands into a protective stance, beginning a banishment incantation in my head.
“One week, Bellamy. Submit yourself at the place where it began, or your precious lover dies.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Sunday
It’s quiet here, in the space between sleep and being awake. It doesn’t hurt, and I feel at peace, I guess.
There’s something missing, though. There’s a cavernous feeling in my chest, like a hole has been ripped right through it, punching straight through my heart.
Am I bleeding?
Maybe I am.
“Wake up.”
The voice is familiar, feminine. Annoying.
