The beastly magic gaped below him, like the mouth of a horrible creature, and gulped him whole.
JACK sat atop the kitchen island and watched Declan search the fridge with a plate in hand. His stomach growled. They’d spent the whole morning in the Wood tracking down the beasts. Declan called them hounds. They couldn’t be killed with a gun, he’d said. The bullets went right through them. The only way to kill them was to tear or cut them apart or to fry them with magic.
He’d tracked the scents for hours, but most of them led out of the Wood, not to it. Declan followed him everywhere. Declan was fun in the Wood, Jack decided. He was quiet and he didn’t do stupid things. But now they were both tired and hungry. He thought Rose would be home with lunch, but she wasn’t here. Instead he and Declan had to raid the fridge.
“It seems we have enough food for a feast. We can even make our own Edger burgers—” Declan dropped the plate. It crashed to the floor with a thud. Jack jumped at the sound.
“Stay here!” Declan barked, his face terrible. “Don’t follow me, don’t leave the house! Do you understand?”
Jack nodded.
“I’m going to get your brother.
SIXTEEN
ÉLÉONORE cradled Georgie. He lay limp, his skin cold and clammy. His pulse fluttered like a dying butterfly under her fingertips. She tried to reach him again and again, but he had slipped somewhere deep, far beneath her power.
Below her the house shuddered and snapped, loud with breaking wood and heavy crashes, but none of that mattered. She focused on her hoarse whisper, pouring every iota of her power into the words. “Come on, sweetheart. Come back to me. Come back to your
She sensed only darkness.
“Come back to me, baby.”
Her magic suffused her. A faint glow spread from her face to her fingertips. In the darkness of the attic and in the darkness that had swallowed Georgie, Éléonore became a beacon.
“Come back to me.”
She was so intent on finding him, it took her several seconds to realize that all had gone quiet.
The trapdoor quaked. Someone or something had grasped the pull rope from below and jerked it. Éléonore began to chant soundlessly, gathering the magic around her. She couldn’t flash, not like Rose, but she had the old magic. She wouldn’t roll over and let them rip her to pieces without a fight.
The next tug tore the latch from the wood. The ladder dropped down.
The magic swirled around her like a death cloud. Malevolent streaks shot through her glow, twisting about her in furious ribbons. The spell would take her life in payment for its services, but she had no choice. Anything to buy Georgie a few more minutes.
The magic hovered at her fingertips, itching to be unleashed.
“It’s Declan!” a male voice called. “I’m coming up!”
She saw the blond head rise through the opening. His face was covered in silver spatter.
The death magic vanished, replaced by a single urgent need—to save Georgie.
“Hurry,” Declan called.
“He’s fading!” She thrust Georgie at him. Declan grabbed the body and disappeared down below. She scrambled after him.
Declan rushed through the house. She followed him, stepping over beast carcasses and shattered furniture. Declan swept the kitchen table clean with a brush of his arm, sending dishes and jars to the floor, and deposited Georgie on the table. He briskly lifted Georgie’s eyelid, exposing a tiny line of blue surrounding a black dilated pupil.
“I need a candle,” he said.
Éléonore turned, sliding on gore splashed across the kitchen floor, grasped a candle and a box of matches. She lit the candle with shaking hands.
Declan dug into his clothes and pulled out a small pouch. He pulled a small piece of paper from the pouch, sprinkled herbs on it, rolled it like a cigarette, and set the end on fire. A tangy sweet scent spread through the room. She realized what he was trying to do and swept Georgie up, raising his head off the table. Declan held the burning incense under Georgie’s nose.
The boy didn’t move. Declan gulped a mouthful of smoke, pulled Georgie’s mouth open, and blew into it.
No response.
Declan’s face turned grim. He grabbed a handful of the boy’s T-shirt and ripped it apart, revealing his bare chest. “Lay him flat.”
She grasped his hand and saw his magic gather, blazing with white. “No! You’ll kill him!”
“This is the only way.”
He pushed her aside, thrust his hand against Georgie’s chest, and flashed. The spark of magic slashed through the small body.
Georgie’s eyes snapped open, but they were pure white, his eyes rolled back in their sockets. He made a terrible creaky sound like an unoiled door, and Declan thrust the burning herbs under his nose. Georgie inhaled, coughed, inhaled again, blinked, and she saw his blue eyes looking at her.
“Mémère,” he whispered and coughed out a tiny puff of smoke.
Éléonore clutched him to her. She smelled his hair, felt his heart beat, and finally understood that he was alive.
“We must move,” Declan said briskly. “I can’t protect you here. Can you carry the boy?”
He needed his hands for his sword. She swept Georgie off the table. “Hold on to me, darling.”
Declan pulled a sword from his back and strode on. As Éléonore followed him, she realized his back was red with blood. Beasts bled only silver.
They crossed the kitchen to the front door. Declan kicked it open. A hound lunged at him from the right and was cut down in a flash of steel.
Declan crossed the porch and nodded to her. She followed.
To the left, near the bushes bordering the lawn, foul magic bloomed like a polluted flower, growing from several beast corpses. The silver blood from their carcasses pooled into a large puddle.
The silver surface shimmered and twisted up in a corkscrew fountain, turning dark and ghostly, flowing into the outline of a man. Éléonore couldn’t see his face or any features, just a black shape, like a hole in the normal fabric of the world.
The shade spoke. “I just want the boy. Just a taste . . .”
Declan spun about. A grimace clamped his face. A torrent of white ripped from him, disintegrating the beasts, the puddle, and the shadow with it.
“Come,” Declan urged her. “The wards at Rose’s house are better. Hurry.”
In the distance, Éléonore heard the rumble of a car engine. A moment later a truck shot out around the bend, Rose’s face behind the windshield.
ROSE gently pulled Georgie’s blanket up and glanced to Grandma. “Are you all right?”
Grandma nodded wordlessly. Rose stepped to her and hugged her. Éléonore was a plump, happy woman, but right then her shoulders seemed fragile beneath all those layers of tattered cloth. She raised her hand and patted Rose’s arm gently. “I thought I lost Georgie.”
“You didn’t.”
