Sophie held her knife, her face bloodless and terrified.
She had to save Sophie. Her years of making quick decisions in a crisis paid off. Fear vanished. Her head was suddenly clear. There was only one way out, Charlotte realized. It was impossible for both of them to get out of this alive, but if she bought Sophie enough time to escape . . . It was just possible the child could survive. It was their only chance.
You will turn into the plaguebringer, a tiny voice warned her.
True—once she went down this road, nothing would prevent that—but the Hand were too many, and they healed too fast. They would overwhelm her before she could move on to the castle and cause damage to innocent people. It was suicide, but it was the best possible option.
The first agent Charlotte had downed, rose, shaking off his injuries like they were mere scratches. Charlotte whipped her magic, and the dark currents clenched the revolting hybrid of human and beast. An exhilarating influx of life force flooded into her. She siphoned off his life and turned it into power.
The dark serpents of her magic smashed into the second agent, draining her dry and dumping her desiccated corpse into the flowers. They stung another and another, stealing more life, feeding it back into her.
Charlotte squeezed Sophie’s shoulder. “Run!”
“I won’t leave you!”
“If you stay, I’ll kill you. I’ll clear the way. Run, sweetheart. Keep Richard away from me. Run!”
Sophie ran. She flew along the path back to the castle like she had wings.
Charlotte opened the floodgates. Her power surged forward, biting deep into the monsters in Sophie’s path. She stole their life force and vomited it back as an all-devouring plague. The Hand’s agents shuddered and fell.
Sophie dashed through the gap between the bodies.
Her magic reaped its grisly harvest. The enhanced agents fought to reach her and fell, cut down, and she fed on their lives, reveling in their taste.
Sophie shot up the stairs and through the arched doors.
Enough. She could pull it back now. Charlotte strained, reeling the magic back. The darkness buckled inside her, fighting to stay unleashed. So strong, so overpowering. Her hold on her power slipped a little, then a little more. It was if she were caught in the current of a violent river that pushed her back, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t force her way against the flow.
She had become an abomination. The magic streamed out of her like a black storm, and she was powerless to stop it. As if in a dream, bodies were falling around her, slowly and softly, like wilted flowers. The dark river inside her rose, the furious current creeping higher and higher.
Oh, Richard . . . It had all gone wrong. It had gone so, so wrong. She was crying, the tears rolling down her cheeks. I’m so sorry, love. I’m so, so sorry. You were all I wanted. You were all I hoped for. I’m sorry.
She shouldn’t have pushed him away last night. She should’ve invited him in, to love and be loved one last time.
The current inside her swelled, and she drowned.
* * *
RICHARD ran through the hallways, the walls a smudged blur. Ahead, Sophie dashed through the arched entrance, her face wet with tears.
“She’s gone!”
“What?”
“Charlotte’s gone, she’s gone!”
He pulled away from her, but she grabbed onto his clothes, dragging him away from the arch. “No, Richard, no! No, you’ll die. No! Don’t go! She said for you not to go!”
He hugged her to him, kissed her hair, and pushed free.
“Richard,” she screamed.
He burst into the sunlight.
Charlotte stood in the middle of the garden. Her magic raged, striking down the Hand’s agents, the black streams boiling, twisting, like a terrifying storm. The Hand’s freaks tried to run, but the magic bit them again and again. Some crawled, other lay unmoving, little more than desiccated husks, and some were decomposing.
Charlotte turned, and he saw her eyes. They were solid black.
The flowers by her feet withered. The blight ran from her, spreading through the garden. Roses died, rotting at the root. The last of the Hand’s monsters swayed and fell.
She had become what she always feared. She had turned into a living death.
He had to get to her. He had to reach her.
The flowers by the stone steps on which he stood withered. He stepped on to their dried corpses and walked across the garden.
The darkness streamed to him. It cloaked him. He felt its deadly cold sting.
“I love you, Charlotte.”
Ten feet separated him from her.
His body buckled. It felt like he was being turned inside out.
Eight feet. The bones of his legs melted into agony.
“I love you. Don’t leave me.”
Three steps.
His heart was beating too fast, each contraction slicing him as if someone were stabbing shards of glass straight into his aorta.
He dropped his sword—his fingers couldn’t hold it—and closed his arms around her. “My love, my light . . . Don’t leave me.”
* * *
She stood submerged within the black current of the magic river. The red pockets of magical essence washed over her one by one, glowing weakly, and she absorbed them in a cascade of euphoria.
No thoughts. No worries. Just freedom and bliss.
Another wash of red splashed against her. She tasted it and recoiled. It tasted too familiar. She hadn’t taken it. It was freely given, but everything in her rebelled against consuming it. How could this be?
She forced herself to sample the essence, letting it permeate her. It streamed along her, coursing through her, so unbelievably delicious. Wrong. It was wrong. Her magic shrank from it.
She strained, trying to identify it. There had to be a reason.
Richard!
He was Richard.
She heard a voice from a great distance. It cloaked her, separating her for a brief second from the darkness.
My love, my light . . . Don’t leave me.
She was killing him. She was draining his life, drop by precious drop.
No! No, she didn’t want it. Take it back! Take it all back!
She tried to reverse the flow and send life back into him, but the current gripped her, smothering her, trying to banish reason. She felt herself drowning and fought against it with everything she had.
No! I am the Healer. You’re part of me. You are part of me. You will obey me.
Pain flooded her, the current hammering against her body. Hundreds of pinpoint needles pierced her, burning her. The agony overwhelmed her, and she melted into blinding pain.
If she gave up now, Richard would die.
Charlotte ripped through the pain. A golden glow coated her. The current of the dark river shrank from it.