‘Violet,’ Lincoln cautioned, but we both knew I had to do this.
Sammael’s eye twitched. He really didn’t like to negotiate. A gust of wind whipped across the rooftop but his shirt barely ruffled while Lincoln and I struggled to keep our feet planted. It became clear that Sammael had some kind of protection within the pentagram.
‘Know that if you do not give me your blood my witches will find him and take it back. I will make sure he exists locked in a reality of pain and nothingness for hundreds of years.’
I shivered at his warning.
So, that’s what these women are. Exile-made witches. The real Voodoo.
‘I believe you. Now release him.’
Lincoln’s phone rang. I saw Chloe’s name on the screen and watched as he answered and listened.
‘He’s alert. He’s demanding she give him a dagger.’
My heart skipped and I let out a shuddering breath as I nodded.
He’s okay.
‘Your blood!’ Sammael roared.
I let go of Lincoln’s hand and pulled out my dagger, walking into the pentagram, careful to avoid the lines of blood and salt. Lincoln had been right: the chalice was large. I wasn’t sure if I would be able to stand after I had filled it with my blood. But I’d made my deal with the devil and I sliced my wrist open, carefully wiping the blade against my sleeve until it was clean as my blood – swirling with silver currents – gushed into the silver tabernacle.
I could feel Lincoln’s anxiety at my back as I bit the inside of my cheek to distract me from the pain. Sammael’s eyes lit up with greed as he watched my blood drain into the chalice.
When the chalice was finally full, Sammael held out his hand.
‘Dagger,’ he ordered.
Oh, shit.
‘Now!’ he yelled when I hesitated.
My mind raced with options. Fight him? Refuse him?
But he could take Spence’s mind again as easily as he had returned it.
Give it to him?
What could he use it for, anyway? A Grigori blade could kill exiles, but not angels. And I’ve already made sure to wipe my blood off the blade.
I clenched my jaw and held out my dagger. He snatched it and pushed me back and out of the pentagram. Lincoln caught me when I stumbled weakly and I felt his healing soothe me instantly as he closed the wound on my wrist and helped replenish some of my strength.
Using my Grigori blade, Sammael opened a small wound on his palm, hissing in pain as he did so, and allowed a few drops of his blood to mingle with mine. Then he passed the chalice to his witches and threw my dagger off the edge of the building.
In a trance-like fashion the witches separated most of the blood into two small bowls and returned the main chalice to Sammael before resuming their places.
The full moon was at its peak, and in the distance the bells of St Louis Cathedral began to chime over the rain and the battle cries below. Lincoln continued to pummel his healing and strength into my depleted body as two of the women stood opposite one another, each holding a bowl containing my blood stained with Sammael’s. Gracefully, in perfect sync, they threw the blood high into the air. Unaffected by the winds, the two streams arched and joined high above our heads, and then remained suspended as my blood, red and silver, turned to glistening shades of black. I bit back my gasp.
A black rainbow.
The air around us began to still. Gravity started to distort. And a slight vibration surrounded Sammael.
‘What is that?’ Lincoln asked from beside me, his hold on my arms tightening as he stared at the black arch.
I stared ahead, inevitability and fear mingling to create a bitter taste in my mouth. ‘He’s done it. The realms are crossing.’
Sammael heard me, his eyes alight as he pulled a long sword from the sheath at his waist and poured my remaining blood over the blade.
When he stepped towards the suspended arch of blood that would be his gateway, the hunger and victory in his eyes was maniacal. ‘His last thought will be of you. The knowledge that the very thing he created was the thing that delivered his end.’ His voice lingered over the final word.
Sammael stepped through the gateway, disappearing from this world. The arch of blood instantly dropped to the rooftop floor, and his human witches collapsed a moment later.
However he plans to return, it will not be through this gate.
Lincoln checked the witches.
‘Are they …’ I started.
He shook his head. ‘Unconscious. Maybe in some form of coma.’ He stood back up. ‘Vi, what was Sammael talking about when he said “the very thing he created”?’
I looked around us. Chaos had closed in. Below, I could see the war between light and dark exiles. There were too many. Thousands. Their battle had migrated to the river, using the open land along the embankment for maximum fighting space. I could hear their screams carrying in the wild wind and knew that many of our Grigori brethren were paying the ultimate price.
We’re losing.