The Spirit Thief(85)

But the blow never connected. The demonseed ripped her legs free of the stone at the last moment and caught Miranda in the chest. The Spiritualist grunted in pain as the new impact hit the old bruises, and she tumbled backward, cracking her head on the stone floor. Nico sprang to her feet, flakes of dead stone falling off her like dried mud.

“Stupid girl,” she hissed, her eyes glowing like lanterns in her shadowy face. Her hand shot out, grabbing Miranda around the throat. Miranda struggled violently as Nico lifted her off the ground, but her head was ringing and the demonseed’s grip was like iced iron against her skin. Nico pulled her close, close enough that Miranda could smell the strange, metallic stench of the girl’s transformed skin. The demonseed’s mouth curled into a sharp-toothed grin as she dangled Miranda from her outstretched arm, the Spiritualist’s still kicking weakly as her air ran out.

“That’s enough.”

The deep voice cut clean through the spirits’ clamor, leaving only silence in its wake. Nico froze, her lantern eyes flicking past Miranda to the tall figure standing in the ruined doorway, outlined by the falling dust.

Josef stood lopsidedly, Heart of War under his shoulder, like a crutch. Very slowly, he hobbled past Eli, who was still on the floor, clutching his ribs, past Gin, who lay motionless on the ground, and stopped right behind Miranda.

“Put her down.”

Nico obeyed, and the Spiritualist landed in a heap on the shattered floor, coughing and clutching her throat. Neither the demonseed nor the swordsman paid her any attention. They stood face to face, Nico cowed and heaving, Josef still and calm. With great effort, he shifted his weight to his own feet and lifted the Heart of War over Nico’s trembling body.

“Time to come home,” he said, and he brought the sword down.

Miranda could barely breathe. She knew the Heart of War was an awakened sword, but that did not describe what happened next. As the blade connected with Nico’s shoulder, the Heart of War’s spirit opened like a wizard’s. Miranda had never even heard of a spirit that could open its soul, yet the Heart’s presence was doubling and doubling again, growing exponentially until it filled the hall with its oppressive, immobile weight. It was as if a mountain had fallen on the castle with the sword at its center and Nico beneath it. She crashed to the floor, and Josef followed her down, sinking to his knees.

With a shuddering sob, Nico started to shrink, the terrifying light in her eyes fading away. Her claws dulled into fingers, and her frame shriveled to skin and bones again. As she shrank, the aura of fear receded, and Miranda felt the spirits calming as the Heart of War’s weight pushed them into a deep sleep. Only when the room was still did the Heart’s spirit begin to pull back. When the mountain was just a sword again, Josef lifted the black blade and slammed it into the stone beside Nico’s head. She was lying on the floor with her eyes closed, small and feeble again, as if nothing had happened. Josef slumped down the dull blade of his sword, resting on his elbow beside her.

“Stupid girl,” he muttered, brushing the wild black hair out of her sleeping face with a gentle finger. He smiled and, his eyes rolling back in his head, fell forward to lie beside her, the Heart of War standing over both of them like a guard.

Miranda didn’t realize Eli was moving until he crawled past her, Nico’s silver restraints tucked under his arm. He pulled himself to her and began clamping the manacles back into place, a grim look on his face. “Gin’s still alive,” he whispered roughly, locking the silver ring onto Nico’s neck. “Get him up and get them out of here.” He nodded toward Josef and Nico. “We’re not safe yet.”

At this point it was meaningless to argue. Miranda climbed slowly to her feet and stumbled toward Gin’s collapsed body, almost crying with relief when she saw his bloody chest rise and fall.

“Gin,” she whispered, fisting her hands into his coarse fur. “We have to move.”

The ghosthound’s orange eyes cracked open, and he shifted just a little. “Gin.” She shook him, blinking back tears. “Come on, mutt. We have to get you out of—”

“Leaving so soon?”

She had never hated Renaud’s voice as much as she did at that moment. She turned slowly, putting her back against Gin’s shoulder. On the other side of the throne room, still safe on its dais, the pillar waited. But, she squinted in the dim light, it was different now. All the black, rotten sections had vanished and, instead of its original dingy gray, the pillar’s surface was now white and fragile as crusted snow.

A wave of spirit pressure burst out from the dais, and the room began to shake. Long cracks raced across the snowy surface of the pillar, and as they spread, the castle began to shake from its foundations. Showers of white dust poured down as cracks blossomed across the marble arches that held up the roof. Fissures sprouted on the walls, running like dust-bleeding capillaries from floor to ceiling as the stone spirits, already traumatized by multiple enslavements and a demonseed, finally started to lose their grip. Whole sections of wall began to come loose as Miranda watched, shattering the glass windows as the ceiling’s weight began to shift.