Gerard and the other alchemists wore their cloaks. Each one was specially made, tailored to the necromancer who wore it. Jordan’s was floor length with a deep, wide hood and tight sleeves. Gerard’s was short, styled like a coat with a smaller hood. The others varied in size and shape. A person with cropped teal hair regarded Ryder with a flick of their eyes, features smooth and androgynous. Their cloak was tight-fitting, buttoned up the front and clasped beneath their chin.
“Ryder,” Gerard said and held out his hand, motioning Ryder closer. He gestured to the woman on the end, wrapped in a simple black dress. She had a mane of brunette curls and dark bronze skin. Her striking green eyes set her apart from the necromancers. “This is Margo Lewellyn. She’s here as a witness for the other clans.”
“I’ve heard about you,” Margo said. She had a voice that sparked like a wood-wick candle. “The Fire witch with necromancy in his veins. We’ve never seen one like you before.”
Ryder didn’t know what to say. He nodded and glanced from Margo to the other two witches.
The person with teal hair dipped their chin to him. “Vassa,” they said. “They, them if you’d be so kind.”
Ryder nodded. The side of his mouth twitched into a half smile. “He, him.”
“Noted,” Vassa said. They winked playfully.
“I’m Stefan,” the other witch said. He had a rugged, scruffy face, with kind, dark eyes. “I’ve been your father’s friend since we were kids.”
“Cousins,” Gerard clarified. “Stefan and Vassa are here to assist, but mostly to witness. Jordan and I will be the ones dealing your death.”
“Jordan,” Vassa purred. “Good to see you.”
“And you, Vassa,” Jordan said politely. An inkling of shared history lingered between them. Jordan steered her attention to Ellen. “Did you finish it?”
“I did, yes.” Ellen tucked a piece of silky blonde hair behind her ear and unfolded the bundle in her arms. “I’m no seamstress, but it’s done.”
The cloak was knee length, and more a coat like Gerard’s than a draped piece like Jordan’s. Black clasps climbed one side, matching loops on the other, and the collar was short and trimmed, perched around a wide hood. Red satin lined the inside, which he could only guess was a nod to his Fire magic.
“I added these,” Ellen said. She flicked one of the triangular loops. They matched the symbol etched into his hip. “And the inside, but the cloak has been yours since you were ten. We never knew if you’d use it, but…” She shrugged. “Here we are.”
“Here we are,” Ryder echoed.
The forest whispered around them.
Darklings. Bone benders. The unmade. Thieves.
“We should get started,” Gerard said. “You’ll get your cloak once you wake up.”
Ryder’s stomach was knotted and tight. His chest hurt. His throat started to close.
“It’s all right,” Jordan whispered. She pressed her hand on his lower back again. “I’ve got you.”
Ellen chewed nervously on her lip. Margo watched, wise curious eyes flicking from Ryder’s feet to his face.
“Vassa,” Gerard said.
Vassa nodded. They reached onto one of the headstones and grabbed a dagger. Its blade was stained red, jagged and uneven, with a white handle displaying the Wolfe clan’s emblem, a set of fanged jaws. They handed Gerard the weapon and stepped back.
“Stefan,” Gerard said.
Black smoke floated beneath Stefan’s feet, tendrils of it expanding out, over the cobblestone and grass, like veins. He handed Jordan a hooked needle and a strand of thick black thread.
Ryder looked at the thread questioningly.
Jordan met his eye and said, “To stitch you.”
Ryder swallowed hard. He resisted the urge to touch his throat, but did manage to take a step back. The black smoky vines wrapped up his calves and held him in place. Panic built in his stomach and arms and chest. His wide eyes must’ve alerted them, followed by smoke of his own lashing out from beneath his feet. Heat blistered on his skin. Steam billowed out of his mouth.
“Sweetheart, it’s okay—” Ellen stopped when Gerard flashed his palm to her.
Ellen’s magic spiked, hot and familiar.
Margo rested her hand on Ellen’s shoulder. “Ellen,” she said firmly, “let it be.”
Time stopped and restarted. The forest shivered in the wake of the darkest magic—unnatural and sticky, the kind of black magic that dripped like sap. It weighed down Ryder’s shoulders, vicious and powerful and chaotic.
“Now?” Ryder blurted, voice shaky and wrecked.
“Yes, now,” Gerard said.
Ryder’s pupils bled over the rest of his eyes. Instinct took over and his magic lashed out, thrumming around him, trying to shield him. It clashed with his father’s, then his sister’s, biting and clawing at their energy.
“Ryder,” Jordan warned. “You have to accept it.”
His Fire burned in him. The air turned dry and hot. If he had a flame—any flame, he could surround himself with it. But there was nothing. His gaze darted around in search of something, anything. The black tendrils dug into his thighs and held him tight. He barely felt them curl around his wrist, and suddenly he was bound and unable to move. Flames burst in his palms, but he couldn’t focus enough to direct them. The fire burned and burned and then faded.
“Jordie,” Ryder whimpered. His heart raced. Percy hissed somewhere nearby. His gaze whipped to the left, where Moon’s huge body was curled around the base of a stone cross, her tongue flicking out, upper body poised to strike. Percy’s back arched, his ears flat against his skull. Black smoke billowed around Ryder, cutting off his vision of Percy and his mother and the cemetery altogether.
Percy yowled and hissed. It was like a knife to Ryder’s gut. Moon’s teeth in his throat and his stomach and his legs—he felt Percy scrambling to stay alive, heard his claws in the dirt and felt his lungs being crushed. Tears burned Ryder’s eyes. His Fire twisted around him and inside him.
It happened quickly.
The black smoke bent around Jordan’s shape, making room for her in front of him. She lifted the dagger to his neck and pressed its teeth against his flesh.
“Don’t fight it,” Jordan whispered. She placed something in his hand. A match. And dragged the blade across his throat.
Blood filled his mouth and lungs. He clung to vitality—to life. But it was no use.
The forest got louder and louder, until all Ryder heard was a whirlwind of languages he didn’t speak. He tried to breathe but couldn’t. He tried to keep his eyes open but couldn’t.
There was a hand on his face. Jordan’s hand.
“Belial,” she whispered, “I need a favor.”
RYDER OPENED HIS eyes.
He inhaled as much air as he could and pawed at his neck. He’d expected to find blood, but his smooth skin was unmarred and intact. Blackness pulsated around him, a nether rich and unwavering. The afterlife, the in between, or something else.
“Okay, guys, bring me back,” he said through gritted teeth.
Anytime now.
His heartbeat was steady. Good. He lifted his hand and looked at the reaver curved over his index finger. Am I…? He slid his thumb across the pointed tip and winced. Blood beaded up from the tiny cut. Not a ghost. A relieved sigh fluttered over his lips.
He fiddled with the match in his palm.