“Dance,” Malachai says.
And just like that, Emily begins to do a little jig, a marionette being pulled by strings, small arms and legs bobbing about.
“Stop!” I shout. “You leave her alone!”
“Fascinating, isn’t it?” Malachai says. “This power we possess. Sing.”
Emily’s breath is coming fast, her little dance faltering. She opens her mouth:
“Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool? Yes, sir, yes, sir, three bags full—?”
“STOP!” I cry out.
“One for the master, one for the dame—”
“Be still!” I bellow with all my might.
And Emily crumples to the ground.
There is a moment of silence.
“Interesting,” Malachai finally says, looking at me. “You have power you don’t even seem to understand.”
He takes a step forward. “Come to me, darkling. Come to me, and I will show you how to use that power.” He pauses. “The irony is quite interesting, isn’t it? To shelter Alexander and Cora’s daughter under my wing.”
My blood boils.
“I’ll never help you,” I say through gritted teeth.
He chuckles, and it sounds like flies buzzing in a jar. He reaches into the folds of his jacket and withdraws a small glass vial. Liquid swirls within as he holds it up. “Yersinia pestis,” he says proudly. “The Black Death. England first saw it in the thirteenth century. Rats are the perfect vessel for transmission.”
In my mind’s eye, I see the Rosy Boy, screaming from the vicious bite.
“Even now, I have spread mistrust in the streets, blaming the foreigners and peasants for the sickness. Already they are at each other’s throats, like the dogs they are.”
Hatred boils in my veins. He is a monster—?an evil, wretched creature.
I think of smoke, a powerful white smoke that can choke the life out of the demon in front of me. Thought made material, Balthazar called it. If that is true, I need to think of a weapon—?something I can use to stop him.
I close my eyes for a brief moment. Immediately I feel it—?a warm tingling at my forehead. In an instant, a trail of white smoke floats from my head to Malachai’s, but at the same time, a sharp pain stabs me in the stomach, like knives twisting in my gut. I bend in on myself, gasping. I feel as if I will die. My thread of smoke vanishes.
“You have not the strength to compel me, girl,” he says.
I’m not going to compel you, I swear to myself. I’m going to kill you.
And then Malachai opens his mouth.
I shrink back, for it opens wider than any human mouth should. And out of it pours a smoke so foul and thick, I feel as if I will choke.
Open your mind to me, darkling, I hear inside my head. Open up and let me in!
The smoke spills from his mouth and weaves its way toward me. It is full of wriggling shapes and red spots, and makes me think of disease and sickness, a terrible pox.
“If you will not walk with me willingly,” Malacahi threatens, “you will walk by my side as an undead thrall.”
He steps from the circle. I can smell his breath now, hot and coppery, even though he is several feet away. It has the rot of the grave about it.
His smoke brushes my forehead, and pain sears my stomach again. I close my eyes, trying with all my might to remain standing.
“I am going to take the power from your mind, girl,” he hisses. “It will leave you jibbering. Do you know what trepanation is? A small hole is drilled into the skull. Just enough to leave you babbling like the idiot you are, but forever.”
A weak light pulses at the edge of my vision. I narrow my eyes to see Emily stirring on the ground. Her light is still pulsing, spilling around her small body. She reaches out a hand to Gabriel, who touches her fingertips.
I hear a sound, faint at first, but steadily growing louder. Something is running—?something fast and heavy, with footfalls like drumbeats.
Malachai turns away from me and peers down the tunnel.
A shadow leaps from the darkness.
A tremendous weight knocks me backwards. Sharp claws rip at my clothes. A ghoul! I reach out to grapple at the creature’s neck, but I don’t feel human skin. I feel . . . fur?
I look up into wild yellow eyes—?eyes like an animal’s.
But these eyes I have seen before.
“Darby!” I shout. “Darby. It’s me. Jess!”
The creature cocks its wolfish head. Does she know it’s me? Saliva drips from her teeth.
Malachai’s smoke slithers away from my head and coils around the wolf’s body. He is trying to compel her.
“Darby!” I shout again, struggling to breathe, for her weight is crushing me. “Your name is Darby. Come back to us!”
The wild light seems to fade from her eyes.