Below, the demon clasps hold of this infernal writhing rope and begins to climb toward us.
CHAPTER 20
Konrad and I stab at the nearest butterflies, severing and impaling, cutting short their writhing rope, but even as they fall away, new ones take their place.
The pit demon climbs, claw over claw, and with fewer butterflies upon the creature, I glimpse flashes of flesh, pockmarked with burst pustules, a knee that looks as though it’s jointed backward. And then there’s no more time for looking, for it’s nearing the hatch, no matter how fast Konrad and I slash at the butterfly rope.
I drop my sword, and Konrad and I take up our crossbows once more and fire all our remaining bolts into the monster. But the demon seems completely unharmed.
“Should’ve. Killed this thing. Before it woke,” Konrad gasps.
The demon hangs from its rope with one clawed hand, shoots up the other, and nearly catches me in its talons. Konrad stabs it with his saber, and a shriek rises from the creature’s hidden maw.
Closer he climbs. I look at Konrad, wanting to say something-to tell him I love him, to apologize again-but my mouth is so dry that it’s all I can do to swallow. I tighten my left hand on my saber, my right on my dagger.
A low howl fills our secret chamber, making my ears vibrate painfully. At first I think the noise comes from the demon, but then I realize it’s from outside the house altogether. With a great rattling, I hear, and feel, the windows of the chapel shake.
The pit demon must have heard it too, for I see its seething black skull jerk toward the windows. And even though I can discern no expression on its pullulating face, the tilt of its neck, the hunch of his shoulders, conveys emotion.
“He’s frightened,” I say to Konrad, who nods.
Is the spirit outside more powerful? The evil spirit-and only at this instant do I realize that everything Wilhelm Frankenstein, in the guise of Analiese, has told us might be a lie.
The pit demon’s head turns back to us. Again I see a flash of its serrated teeth, and above them a featureless expanse of skull that has no eyes but for the eyeholes of a huge black butterfly, wings spread. The monster climbs higher, and this time an entire forearm flails into our tiny chamber, rearing and striking like an alligator. Time and time again Konrad and I throw ourselves clear, stabbing with our blades.
My frenzied mind carves out a splinter of time, and I remember how once, in a play, we pretended to fight a monster side by side just so.
And then the demon’s claw catches Konrad across the right arm, tearing his shirt and opening a long gash in his flesh. No blood issues forth, only a dreadful line of darkness. My twin cries out, and I realize that all during his illness I never once heard him make such a heartrending noise.
I turn on the pit demon’s arm with such hatred that my vision contracts, and with my saber I chop at its thickest part, like a hatchet into wood. Amputated butterflies scatter and swirl, and I feel the blade bite deep. There’s an outraged howl, and the arm pulls back.
“If you feel pain,” I bellow down at it, “there’s more to come!”
I rush to my brother. “Are you all right?”
He nods weakly, looking at the strange dark gash on his arm. This thing can cut. It can wound, and in a way that makes my blood run cold.
Part of me has clung foolishly to the hope that this spirit world monster cannot truly harm us. But I’m wrong. If it can cut, surely it can destroy us altogether.
The demon’s head suddenly twists on its writhing neck, looking back toward the chapel entrance. The butterflies’ wings contract and tighten with anticipation.
“Dear God!” I hear a familiar voice exclaim.
“Henry?” I shout.
“Victor? Konrad?” Elizabeth calls out, her voice constricted with fear.
“Up here!” I yell.
The pit demon drops from his butterfly rope and hits the floor with a thunderclap. He turns to face my friends, shoulders hunched, knees bent backward in a freakish hunter’s posture.
I risk sticking my head out the hatchway and see Henry and Elizabeth just as Konrad first saw us, as creatures enveloped in light. With their swords raised before them, they might be archangels.
“Henry’s ablaze,” I tell Konrad.
He grunts in pain as he moves beside me. “But Elizabeth’s light is greatly faded.”
The demon takes a tentative step toward them, then stops, one freakishly long arm outstretched as though testing the heat from a fire.
“You’re powerful!” I shout to Henry. “Remember that! You’re both alive with light and heat!”
“We have your talisman, Victor!” Elizabeth cries. “Get out of there!”
“How?” I shout back, for the pit demon is still almost directly below, and his skull jerks up at us once more.
With a roar Henry is running at the pit demon, a streak of light, his flashing sword lifted over his shoulder. Frozen, I watch, my breath stoppered in my throat, as the pit demon takes a backward step, shrieking, one arm thrust forward to ward off Henry’s light and heat. As its talons sweep toward Henry’s head, Henry strikes with his sword, severing two of the monster’s claws. Howling, the pit demon staggers back, stunned, foul vapors pluming into the air.
Gagging, Henry peers up at us. “Now!”
The infernal rope disintegrates into individual butterflies as they rush to their master, but I can see that the chandelier rope still hangs from its pulley in the ceiling. “Go!” I shout at Konrad, who is wincing even as he nods.
We don’t hesitate. I let him jump first and grab hold of the rope. Then I quickly follow as the rope starts to swing outward with the momentum. We lower ourselves quickly, and when we let go, we hit the floor hard and stumble. Konrad cries out as he pushes himself up with his wounded arm.
I take hold of him and we run. From the corner of my eye, I see the pit demon clutching its severed fingers to their stumps, and butterflies crawling over them, excreting a black gossamer that seems to be fusing them back together.
With Henry and Elizabeth blazing the trail, we bolt from the chapel.
“Where are our bodies?” I gasp as we rush down the hallway.
“Your bedchamber,” Elizabeth says.
“The spirit clock, you brought it?” I ask.
“I have it!” Henry shouts back to me.
The pit demon’s hooves crack behind us. I glance back and see it stooping through the chapel doorway. Its skull turns left and right, searching for us, and then a torrent of butterflies issues from it in all directions.
“It’s blind,” I say. “It needs the butterflies to see.”
That fact will buy us a little time. Elizabeth turns and holds my ring in the air. I know she cannot hand it to me; her heat is a barrier between us now.
“Catch,” she says, and throws it. I clasp it gratefully in my hand, and the moment I push it onto my finger, I feel a surge. My spirit is reconnected with my body. We race for the staircase.
“I quite enjoyed knocking you out,” Henry says, completely unwinded as we take the stairs two at a time. “But when we put a drop of elixir into your mouth, and arrived in the spirit world, it was quite a shock to see you were Wilhelm Frankenstein.”
“I thought it was Analiese,” says Elizabeth.
“There was never an Analiese,” I reply. “You were right. Where’s Wilhelm?”
“We tied him up and dragged him into the library,” Henry says. “He was still out cold.”
When we’re halfway up the stairs, a swarm of black butterflies strafes us, then circles back to tell the
