All the nobles Jack had tortured, all the Tatters he’d slaughtered—he’d been looking for information, desperately searching for an escape. Eden had died to save Jack’s soul.
Tobias couldn’t bring himself to do it. He couldn’t benefit from Eden’s death, too. What would he be like if he stayed alive for centuries, his mind warping with revulsion whenever he imagined his afterlife? Would he become the same twisted monster, burning cities to find what he wanted? His heart hammered against his ribs. I’m not like him. I won’t become a murderer.
Estelle gripped his arm. “You don’t look well. Sit down. Let me get you a drink.”
The room was too hot. He was burning up. “I need to get out of here.”
“You don’t seem to be taking this well.”
“He killed my girlfriend. He slaughtered the Tatters. He burned our neighborhood. He left blood in the streets, and bodies dangling from the gallows. I’m not like him.”
“No one said you were.”
“I mean I can’t go to him for help.” How hot is that fire, I wonder? “I’m going out.”
She held tight to his hand. “I’m coming with you.”
“No,” he snapped, yanking his arm free. “I need to be alone.” He hurried to the door, mind reeling.
“If you’re not back soon,” Estelle growled after him, “I’m coming for you.”
40
Tobias
He flung open Estelle’s door, eyes darting to the gathering storm clouds. Another squall was rolling in, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want to be around her any longer, nor did he want to run into Oswald. Oswald had said the Tatters needed Jack, and whether or not that was true, Tobias needed Jack now. And he hated himself for it.
Thunder rumbled through the rocky hills, and the hairs rose on the back of his neck at the drop in temperature. Jamming his hands into his pockets, he stalked the winding path that led from the village into the wild forests surrounding Dogtown.
What had been the point of anything he’d ever done? He’d saved Fiona, only to lose her to the Picaroons. He’d carved himself to avenge Eden’s death, but her murderer still lived. And if Tobias wanted to avoid eternal damnation, he’d have to go crawling to his worst enemy. At best, his only hope of salvation lay with a psychopathic philosopher he’d been trying to kill. Even if Tobias betrayed Eden’s memory and went running to Jack, there was a strong chance he’d get nothing out of it.
Everlasting agony. He couldn’t fathom the idea of burning for a few minutes, let alone eternity. His mind burned with feverish thoughts. Maybe the gods are the real enemy, and we’re just their playthings.
Leaves rustled as fat drops of rain poured from the sky. Jack has been searching for the loophole… Anything to get out of everlasting torment, unending agony…
Gods, couldn’t he stop thinking for one night? He craved oblivion, wanted to run with the stags, or to sleep quietly in the long grasses and mulberry bushes. He wanted out of his own mind.
The earthly gods shouldn’t have bothered giving humans Angelic. People like Tobias and Jack only screwed everything up. They’d have been better off with no language at all to twist their minds, better off living like crows and moths, flitting between trees in search of food or a mate, nothing more.
He pushed his rain-soaked hair off his face. Where was that damned woodwose now? He wanted to lose himself in the forest again. Closing his eyes, he felt the rain trickle down his cheeks. He breathed in the earthy smell of the oaks.
A flicker of hope sparked in his mind. He was running out of time, but he could still end it all. After all, he hadn’t signed the contract yet, and he didn’t turn eighteen for another week. There was still time to avoid his sentence. If he died now, Emerazel wouldn’t get his soul. What if he swam out to sea? Even with Emerazel’s strength, he’d grow tired in the storm at some point. His lungs would fill with salt water, and he’d drift into quiet oblivion at the bottom of the ocean. There were lots of ways he could die.
Lightning speared the sky, singeing the air. He hadn’t even realized where he’d been walking, but he’d come to the ash clearing, where he’d once felt at home with the trees and moss, and heard the gentle thudding of a sparrow’s heart. A sharp pang of sadness sliced him in two. He wasn’t ready to leave this world and all its ragged beauty behind.
The fires roiled deliciously in his chest, and his eyelids fluttered. He couldn’t let go yet. He still had one more week. Until the last moment before the hellhound came for him, he would take the time to savor every last wilting beach rose and craggy rock. This was all he had left. One week.