Spirit

by Daniela Sacerdoti

  “Yes. They did,” Alvise whispered, and hugged her. “But I haven’t lost hope, you know. I can’t lose hope that one day she’ll wake up and it’ll be all over.”

  “She speaks, though. Does that mean that some part of her is awake?”

  “She does, but I don’t think she’s even aware of doing it. It’s like her power speaks through her. She has kind of conversations with me, when she has something related to demon hunting to communicate, but that’s not really her talking.” Alvise drew a deep breath.

  “If we survive this, Alvise, we must find a way to help her. There must be a way.”

  “Sleep now. You need all your energy to . . . electrocute things,” said Alvise, helping her lie down and tucking her in.

  Micol smiled in the darkness, her face still wet with tears. She held on to Alvise’s hand like a frightened child.

  36

  This Painful Love

  You took me to the edge and showed me

  What would happen if we stepped into the light

  And I recoiled and dreamt

  Of our destruction

  Elodie opened her eyes in the darkness, her lips flooded with poison, her hand curled around the dagger she kept under her pillow. She’d heard a voice calling her name.

  She blinked in the gloom, the glowing embers in the fireplace the only light. She lay perfectly still, and listened for noise. The silence was unbroken. There was nobody in her room. And still, she felt a presence. . . the same she’d felt briefly when they’d come in. It was stronger now. Mournful, infinitely sad.

  Hungry.

  Again, Elodie heard her name being called, this time from beyond her room, beyond the closed door. She got up slowly, shivering in the chilly night air. The stone floor felt cold under her feet. She lit a candle, its warm light flickering in front of her face, then walked out in silence. She stood in the corridor for a moment, looking left and right. And then, all of a sudden, she felt her body moving of its own accord. She hadn’t commanded it to, but it did – one step in front of the other, as if a foreign will had possessed her. She tried to resist, she tried to call for help, but it was no use. She couldn’t stop herself, and she couldn’t force out anything more than a whisper. She called for Sean, but nobody could have heard. Her muscles were tight with the effort to stop, and a trickle of sweat fell down her temple, freezing in the cold air.

  Elodie shuffled all the way down the corridor, each step a struggle between her will and the strange force that had possessed her, until she stood in front of the rosewood doors. Her hand rested on it, pushing it open effortlessly, and her body forced her to step inside. A deep, musky scent hit her. It was like a perfume, a heady mixture of flowers and fruit and spices, and something stronger, heavy, something she couldn’t identify. Once again she tried to call Sean’s name, but no sound came out of her lips; her throat was frozen. She whimpered once more as her body took her in front of the wooden wardrobe, heavily carved and decorated. She was forced to open the mirrored doors – the glass was rusty and speckled, and a strong smell of mould and dust and times past enveloped her. Rows and rows of dresses were hanging in the wardrobe on wooden hangers. They looked like they’d only been left there yesterday, though the pungent smell gave their age away.

  And then, she heard the first whisper. A voice in her mind, a voice saying something she couldn’t quite make out. Someone had taken possession of her body, someone who was talking inside her head. Somehow her thoughts were still there, her consciousness remained, but she held no power over her body or her voice. Elodie felt her heart pounding even faster as she contemplated the terrible possibilities – a demon, a malevolent presence that would make her harm her friends . . .

  Elodie panted in fear, her forehead covered in sweat, as those arms that weren’t hers any more began taking off her jeans and her top – she’d slept dressed, as the room was so cold, even with the fire on. She stood in her underwear, shivering, her body hurting with the effort to resist – and another whisper resounded in her mind, one single word that once again she couldn’t make out.

  Her hand swept the rows of dresses and skirts before tightening on a white one. She slipped it off the hanger and contemplated it: it was a simple cotton dress with short sleeves and colourful embroideries around the neckline and the hem. Elodie watched helplessly as her body forced her to slip on the dress, and then take out what looked like a corset from another hanger. She tied it around her waist, struggling to make it fit – it was too big for her, and the hem of the dress touched the floor.

  She tried to close her eyes. She didn’t want to see what she was turning into, who she was turning into. But the spirit forced her to keep her eyes open, and she examined herself in the mirror – her face, her hair, her hands – she was herself, she was Elodie . . . And then, just for a second, she saw her, a black-haired woman, sweet-eyed and red-lipped, taller than Elodie, her hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders, kept back by a gold band. She looked young and sorrowful.

  In the blink of an eye, she was gone and Elodie’s own reflection stared back at her. Her hands travelled through her blonde hair and down her waist and hips, and then felt her face, her arms, her thighs as if she were rejoicing in her own body. A wave of panic swept Elodie as she felt the other woman’s emotions invading hers, and her own receding further. She felt full of a strange sense of joy as her hands travelled up and down her own body – the sheer joy of being alive, of having a body at all.

  The third whisper came: and this time she understood.

  “Martyna,” said the voice inside her head. Elodie gasped.

  Martyna . . . Is she back to take her revenge on Nicholas? Using my body?

  Elodie tried to stop herself from stepping out of the room, but she couldn’t. The film of sweat froze on her forehead, and all her muscles tensed once more against Elodie’s will – but Martyna’s spirit was too strong. Martyna took Elodie’s body out of the room, and into the corridor. The candle had been abandoned. She knew her way in the darkness. Martyna knew where she wanted to go.

  “Nicholas,” said the voice in her head, and then some words in a language she didn’t know. The words she couldn’t understand, but the tone was clear: tenderness and longing and need. So she didn’t want to exact revenge. She didn’t want to kill him? Unwillingly, desperately trying to stop herself, Elodie opened Nicholas’ door.

  Nicholas was standing in the middle of the room, a pained, incredulous expression on his face. “I felt you returning,” he whispered.

  “Nicholas,” Martyna said through Elodie’s mouth.

  “Martyna . . . how . . . how?”

  Elodie’s voice replied, “I never left this place. You sealed our home. You sealed me inside. I couldn’t leave, I couldn’t look for you. I knew you’d come back.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for what my father did. I didn’t stop him.”

  “You couldn’t have stopped him. Loving you destroyed me. And still I would do it all over again . . .”

  It wasn’t Elodie who placed a kiss on Nicholas’ lips, as soft as a feather, tasting him like the sweetest liquor. It wasn’t her who cried silent tears of relief at feeling his presence again. It wasn’t her who wrapped her arms around Nicholas’ waist and moaned softly. What was left of Elodie was prisoner in a body that wasn’t hers any more. She was in Nicholas’ arms, the son of the King of Shadows, the man responsible for Harry’s death, and so many others’. The confusion she felt made her shiver uncontrollably as all her muscles struggled to move, but Martyna’s spirit was stronger.

  Elodie’s lips opened and spoke words that didn’t come from her, words in a foreign language, of love and longing and pain for the long, long separation. She realised that Nicholas’ face was wet with tears, maybe his, maybe hers, and a small ripple of pity travelled through her. Suddenly, she didn’t know if it was Martyna or her who took his face in his hands, who studied his coal-black eyes and felt the bones and flesh of his features as if it were she who was blind. Hor
ror and confusion made room for something else as he touched her with infinite love and a hunger for her that melted her heart.

  He loves her, she thought, but it’s me he’s holding. Desire swept through her as she didn’t know where she ended and Martyna began. She was powerless under Nicholas’ touch. And she realised that she didn’t want to stop him any more.

  37

  I’m Coming to You

  The missing piece of my soul

  That piece you took with you

  Nicholas didn’t want to move. He knew everything was about to crumble around him, and he wanted that stolen moment to last forever. His time with Martyna, grabbed away from death’s hands. She wasn’t angry with him. She loved him still, even after death. The realisation made him cry tears of relief and regret.

  He had no idea it was going to happen. He hadn’t planned any of this. He didn’t know that Martyna’s spirit was there, trapped inside the house they used to share; that his spells, designed to keep every living being out, had trapped her inside. He didn’t know she’d come to him one last time.

  If only he could stay there. Forget about the world outside, shed his body, live with Martyna’s spirit in eternal twilight. How could this have happened? Her spirit was here all along, and he never knew. He’d never been back in the home they shared, and she couldn’t leave. He’d always longed for life, real, human life – but now that he’d discovered that Martyna’s spirit had survived, that she didn’t hate him, that she longed for him, everything had changed.

  But at the same time, nothing had changed. There was still no tomorrow for him. His father would not leave him alone, whether he was a warm body or a wandering spirit.

  He folded Elodie’s body against his. Was it still hosting Martyna’s spirit? “Martyna,” he whispered. She was soft and warm, and he placed a kiss on her forehead and stroked her face, her hair. A wave of guilt overcame him. They’d used Elodie, him and Martyna. And still, it was Elodie’s body he’d held.

  Nicholas.

  A sudden bout of pain made him double over, and Elodie sighed softly in his arms. Nicholas, his father insisted. You’ll speak to me now.

  Sick with the pain throbbing in his mind, Nicholas released Elodie. She stirred, then turned over and took another deep sigh. He got up slowly. It took a moment for him to steady himself. He felt for his clothes and slipped them on, and then he stepped out of the room. He knew the house like the back of his hand, and had no problems walking down the corridor, one hand against the wall, and down the stony steps.

  Nicholas. It is nearly time.

  “I know. I know.”

  There will be blood now.

  Nicholas felt his legs give way.

  “There is no need . . .”

  Do you want to spare them? Do you want me to find a place for them in the new order, when we take over the human world?

  Nicholas forced himself to steady his voice. He knew it was a trap. His father had never showed mercy. He was testing him.

  “No. I want them all dead.”

  Good. You are making me proud once more, Nicholas.

  “That’s all I want, Father . . .”

  Right at that moment, something pierced his mind, a silent scream resounding in his head only. A call for help.

  “Elodie,” he breathed.

  His father was a man of his word.

  38

  Webs

  Every time I can’t stop looking for you

  The ropes get tighter around my wrists

  When she opened her eyes the next morning, she was free. Martyna was gone. And Nicholas was gone, too, she realised with a mixture of relief and disappointment. Elodie lay in an empty bed, bathed in the light of dawn, her body sated and her soul starving, bracing herself for a wave of shame and guilt to drown her. And they did, but with them was something else. A feeling she could not bring herself to name, or to acknowledge. On her skin, the scent of ash and fire, the scent of Nicholas.

  Memories of the night before flooded her. His touch, his body against hers, his lips on hers . . . All those images and visions that had flooded her while their bodies were one. For a psychic such as Elodie, intimacy of the body meant intimacy of the mind, too. And to wander inside Nicholas’ mind, with all his dark memories and fear, had been terrifying. Some of the doors in Nicholas’ mind had been shut, even to her – and she was grateful for that. She didn’t want to know what was behind them.

  Maybe it hadn’t really happened. Maybe it was all in her imagination, somewhere between a nightmare and an impossibly sweet dream. Sweet and terrible at the same time. Yes, it must have been a dream. It didn’t feel real.

  Elodie closed her eyes for a moment, probing her mind, but to her immense relief, there really was no trace left of Martyna. Her body was her own again. She concentrated for a moment, scanning the room with her inner eye – but she couldn’t feel anybody there.

  Nobody. She was alone. She felt beside her. Nicholas’ place was still warm, so he hadn’t been gone long. Where was he? She sat upright, covering herself with the sheets. She felt a wave of panic freeze her muscles and stop her from breathing. She placed a hand on her chest, desperately trying to breathe, but she couldn’t. Silent tears fell down her cheeks. It had all been too much, it was all too much . . .

  She slipped out of bed and got dressed. All she could find was Martyna’s dress and her shoes, but the panic didn’t seem to fade. She knew she would not suffocate, that it was all in her head, but she couldn’t help being terrified. The scent of Nicholas, ash and fire and salt, choked her. And so did that other scent, the one she now recognised as Martyna’s. On impulse, she strode across the room, grabbed the heavy iron handle and pushed the glass out, opening the window as wide as it could go. She closed her eyes and breathed in the morning air – one, two breaths – as her skin puckered up in goosebumps. At last. She could breathe.

  It hit her psychic sense at once – a presence, and not Martyna’s spirit, not a spirit at all. A Surari. She took a step back instinctively, then she fumbled with the iron handle once more, trying to close the window. Her lips were darkening.

  But it was too late. A black limb – leathery skin with black, coarse hair – had slipped inside and was now stopping Elodie from closing the window. A moan escaped her lips as a terrible realisation hit her. She’d broken the spells that Nicholas had put on the place. She had allowed the Surari in.

  Elodie opened her mouth to call for help, but before she could make a sound a black body had squeezed itself through the window and had propelled itself onto her face, blinding her, suffocating her. She fell backwards and felt something sticky, something that was at the same time light as a feather and as hard as metal, binding her mouth, her eyes, her whole face. The Surari moved onto her chest, building its cocoon around her body so fast that she couldn’t move. Her arms were bound to her sides, and then her legs were sewn together, as tight as an Egyptian mummy. Elodie tried to scream, but only muffled sounds came from her mouth, gagged and silenced with silk. From between the white, sticky threads, Elodie could see a little. She moaned and shuddered as the Surari’s grisly face appeared above her – that of a spider, its pincers rattling, ready to pierce.

  In horror, Elodie remembered something she’d read long ago: that spiders feed on their victims while they’re still alive.

  39

  The Price to Pay

  Once you look into the abyss

  There is no going back

  You will forever carry

  The abyss with you

  “Sean! Sarah! It’s Elodie! Niall! Help!” Nicholas ran back upstairs, as fast as he could go with no eyesight, tripping and falling and hitting his face on the stones.

  “In my old room!” he screamed, ignoring the blood coming from his lip, where he’d hit it. He ran down the corridor, bursting through the rosewood doors and feeling his way across, calling Elodie’s name. He felt something jump on his face and attach itself to him. Instinctively, he fell backwards, falling heavily to the
stone floor.

  Sean had found Elodie’s room empty. He’d gone to see how she was feeling, if she had got any sleep.

  Stepping into the hall, he saw Nicholas barge into the room with the double doors, and followed. He nearly tripped over Nicholas, who was lying on the ground with a demon-spider on top of him. It was already weaving its deadly web. And on the stone floor there was something else, a white cocoon, as big as human being – a slight, thin form – blonde hair escaping from the silky threads . . .

  “Elodie!” Sean threw himself on the ground beside her, clawing at the threads until he freed her face. “Elodie . . .” He took her head in his lap. “Please wake up.”

  Close behind were Sarah and Niall.

  Sarah knelt beside Nicholas and buried her hands deep into the Surari’s skin. She saw Nicholas’ fingers sparkling with blue fire.

  “Don’t! You’ll set me on fire!” she warned him. At that moment, Sarah’s hands began to prickle – it was as if she’d touched a nettle – and then they were hurting, a searing pain. She howled as a liquid as corrosive as acid seeped from the Surari’s skin together with the Blackwater and burnt her skin.

  Nicholas couldn’t breathe any more; the demon-spider was covering his nose and mouth. Dreadful sounds were coming from his chest as he desperately tried to draw oxygen into his lungs. Sarah didn’t move; she kept dissolving the creature, even though her hands were so sore she feared they were going to melt away.

  Niall’s song rose into the air, but all of a sudden he noticed the open window, banging in the wind. He leapt towards the glass, but it was too late. A black leg covered in thick, coarse hairs had slipped in. He stabbed it with his dagger, trying to keep the window closed, but it was no use. The blade couldn’t penetrate its thick hide. The demon-spider crawled inside and crept down the wall with a horrible scuttling sound. Niall’s song rose again as he watched the creature climb onto one of the columns of the four-poster bed and perch itself on top of the canopy, waiting to pounce. But before it could attack, an arrow broke through the air and embedded itself between its pincers. Niall turned back towards the window, just in time to see that another demon was on the windowsill, trembling with the pain of his song – but it wasn’t stunned enough. It leapt on Niall and silenced him, making him fall backwards.