Reaching for the power within himself, he chanted. Hers was there, as well, in him. Bright as a fire on a winter night. Stronger than ever before.
With a groan, the door swung open. Fathomless darkness lay beyond. At the same time, the far wall of the vault collapsed. The demons rushed in.
Immediately, the door began to close, as though the very act of opening was unnatural. Bram leapt forward and braced his free hand on it, still chanting, fighting against its tremendous weight. It wanted to shut, and he struggled to keep it propped open enough for Livia to slide through. His muscles burned at the excruciating strain, but he would release it.
“Go, damn you,” he shouted when she hesitated, worriedly looking between him and the nearing demons.
Livia ducked under his arms, edging through the door. He felt the pressure suddenly lessen. Looking down, he saw her hands gripping the door, pushing against it to keep it open. She hadn’t run on to safety, to the realm of the living. She stayed behind for him.
“Leave,” he growled. The demons were almost on them.
“Not without you.” She wrapped one hand around his wrist, and with unexpected strength, pulled.
He tumbled through the doorway. It scraped against him as it began to swing closed. A demon’s claw raked his shoulder. The door slammed shut.
And then, abruptly, he was swallowed by complete darkness.
Livia’s scream abruptly stopped. Her throat felt raw. Her throat
The floor was hard beneath her legs where she knelt. She was aware of the weight of her body, a mass of bones and muscles and solidity. Staring down at her hands, she saw they were opaque, and when she pressed them to the floor, she felt its dust and the grain of the wooden floorboards, the bite from miniscule pieces of glass.
Her gaze flew to Bram. He lay upon the ground, his eyes open and sightless. Blood pooled upon the floor. His face was waxen and pale.
Across the room sprawled the body of the
Reaching out with a trembling hand, Livia placed her palm upon his chest. She gasped at the touch, but the gasp broke apart and turned jagged when she felt his stillness. He had brought her back—at the cost of his own life.
She could not marvel at her corporality, not when he lay dead on the floor of this crumbling building. She could only feel the renewal of sorrow. It was like the world being made then suddenly destroyed a moment later, the ember of life crushed out by an indifferent creator. She stood on a barren plain of loss, a howling nothingness on every side.
Something moved beneath her palm.
She snatched her hand back, then, tentatively, lay it down on his chest once more. There. Another pulse. Stronger this time.
Her breath caught as she felt his heart. Beating.
He suddenly arched up, gasping.
Livia stumbled back, falling onto her behind, as she stared at him.
He sat upright. His eyes widened as he saw the blood all around, his hands moving over his chest. He pulled at his shirt to uncover his skin. No wound pierced his heart. As color returned to his cheeks, he looked at her.
“You’re . . .” His voice was hoarse. “. . . Here.”
“As are you.” Words, real
Slowly, they reached toward each other. Their hands paused as bright orbs of light streamed from the partially-open chamber door. Power permeated the chamber, imbuing it with tangible life and potential.
“Souls,” Bram said, wondering. “From the vault. They must have fled with us.”
She saw herself, in a vast stone-walled room, and the gleaming souls within. Including Bram’s soul.
Other souls swirled around the room, yet her gaze went to Bram’s immediately. It shined brighter than the others—not a pristine light, not pure, but replete with strength, and edged. It and the other souls spun through the chamber, borne upon the wave of magic she must have created within the realm of the dead.
The other souls veered out of the room, flying through the shattered windows and beyond, into freedom. They streaked away, seeking their owners. Watching the souls wing free, the space within herself became expansive, weightless. Some of the Dark One’s wickedness had been undone, her own misdeeds set right.
Bram’s soul remained. It circled the chamber as though wary.
Movements stiff, Bram got to his feet. She did the same, dimly aware that she stood for the first time in over a thousand years on solid legs, her own strength keeping her upright.
Both she and Bram watched, unspeaking, as his soul neared. He eyed it guardedly.
“It doesn’t want me,” he said, bleak.
“You belong together,” she answered.
He raised his chin, the line of his jaw hard as he stared at it. Belligerent, challenging. “Stay or go,” he said. “Make your choice.”
Livia held her breath as the soul hovered at a distance, as if deliberating. Aware of time at last, she felt another thousand years pass as both she and Bram waited for the soul to make a decision.
Her breath left her as the soul began to drift forward. She chanced a look at Bram—his eyes briefly closed, his only admission of relief, then opened again.
Only a few feet separated Bram from his soul. In a moment, they would be united after so long apart.
She staggered as the house suddenly quaked, and Bram braced his legs wide to absorb the shock waves. They both glanced around, alarmed, looking for the source of the tremor.
A man appeared in the chamber. The Dark One.
Before she or Bram could move, the Devil reached out. He snatched Bram’s soul from the air. As if he were stealing an apple.
His long white fingers gripped the soul, and he brought it against his chest, cradling his prize. He drawled, “This is mine.”
Nausea rolled through her to see the Dark One touching Bram’s soul.
“Return it,” Livia spat.
Bram raised his sword, his face dark with fury. “Thieving bastard.”
The Dark One lifted his brows. “To the contrary, we made a fair exchange. It is you who undermines the terms of our agreement.” He made a sound of disapproval. “And look,” he continued, glancing toward the body of the
Indeed, he looked a gentleman. He wore a suit of embroidered silver satin, expertly tailored to his lean form, and in his hand he carried an ivory-tipped ebony walking stick. He was ageless, his skin unlined, yet his pulled back hair shone a pure white that did not come from powder. His eyes were as glass, the pupils vivid black dots in the middle of colorless irises. He might have been a handsome man of fashion but for the color of his hair and eyes— and the unmitigated malevolence pouring off of him in poisoned waves.
“This isn’t gentlemanly, either,” said Bram, and he lunged with his sword at the Dark One.
The Devil merely waved his hand, and the sword in Bram’s grip transformed into a snake. Instead of stabbing the Dark One, the serpent reared back, hissing. Bram threw the snake across the chamber before it could strike him. It coiled in the corner.
“Don’t need a blade to make you hurt,” Bram growled. In a blur of movement, he darted forward, fists swinging.
The Dark One merely waved his hand again, and Bram flew backward, slamming into the wall. Chunks of plaster rained down as he groaned and slid to the ground, conscious but dazed.
Red-limned fury boiled through Livia. She sensed her magic within her, whole now. Yet difficult to wield—this physical body of hers felt ungainly after the lightness of being a phantom.
