Runebinder (The Runebinder Chronicles #1)(46)

Blood splatters across their carpet, across the drapes. The boy staggers. Clutches his hands to his chest. But he only falters for a moment. When he looks from his bloody hands to the husband, his smile is gone. His eyes glow like the hottest part of a flame.

The man had raised his children to be decent and God-fearing, but the evil that cracks through the boy’s face is a force no faith can withstand. The man tries to reload. He knows he has damned them all, and already he is praying for forgiveness.

Salvation.

The boy snarls as his blood drips to the floor in deafening pats. His wound is already smaller. His flesh knits itself together, bloody and raw. When he speaks, the drawl is gone, replaced with a grit from the bowels of Hades.

“And here I was going to be merciful.”

The boy inhales.

It is like plummeting into the farthest reaches of space.

The man drops his gun and reaches for his throat, choking and gagging as his eyes bulge and his family falls beside him. They can’t even cry out as their lungs collapse. As the intruder pulls the air from their chests with a single breath.

The boy smiles again. There is blood in that smile. And hunger. He steps over to them. Just out of reach of their clawing hands, their rigid fingers. He smiles his demon smile and pulls the youngest child to his feet.

“I think I deserve dessert first, don’t you?” he asks, looking down at the father. He wants the father to understand. He wants the father to suffer the most. He pulls the boy’s face close to his and inhales. The kid’s eyes widen and roll back, bulging; his skin pales, and turns blue. His gasp is a rattle, a gurgle of bleeding lungs.

One long, last breath, and the child is dead.

The demon drops him to the ground.

“You will watch them die, old man,” he says, kneeling before the husband. His eyes dart to the rest of his family. “One by one.” Another flash of light outside, and the boy hesitates. Looks back to the engulfing darkness outside. “Actually, no.” He reaches out and runs a finger on the man’s jaw. “I think I will let you kill them. How does that sound?” He stands and walks to the window, calls out to the night beyond. “Matthias! I have a new convert!”

The demon turns. The hole in his chest has closed.

“Oh, we are about to have some fun. At least, I am.”

Someone slapped Tenn’s face, jarring the scene from his head.

Memories swirled in Tenn’s skull as Water slowly released its grip, sloshing back into silence in the pit of his stomach. His ears rang with the echo of gunshots and screams. So many screams. Matthias. Matthias is coming.

“Are you okay?” Jarrett asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

It was only then that the room swam back into focus. Pain lanced through his hands where he’d fallen on shards of window. His blood had turned the stained carpet crimson. He shook his head and forced himself up to sitting. He focused on his breath, on being here. Present. There were no bodies in the room. No screams or gunshots outside the window. Just him and Jarrett in the dining room. Tenn opened to Earth and pushed the power through his palms, healing the lacerations as pieces of glass plopped into the chilling blood like tears.

“What was that?” Tenn asked. He raised a shaky hand to his head. The ringing was worse, along with that train-coming-down-the-tracks vibration that always signaled a migraine. When he looked at Jarrett, the guy faded in and out of focus.

“What are you—”

“We heard a crash,” Dreya said, skidding into the room. Her eyes took in the scene in one quick sweep. “What happened?”

Tenn closed his eyes. The lights in the room were so bright. “I saw...something.” The scene played itself out over and over behind his eyelids. It wasn’t just a vision. He had been there, standing in the corner, watching the family die. He could hear them gasping. He could feel their panic, their dying emotions. He was there. They were here. It didn’t feel like the past at all.

“What did you see?” Dreya asked. Her voice was closer. He didn’t open his eyes, but he heard her kneel down beside him, her jeans crunching in the glass. She put one hand on the back of his neck. Her touch was cool and tingled with magic.

“I saw them die,” he whispered. “The family that lived here. I saw them get attacked by a Breathless One. And then he called out for Matthias.”

Jarrett was on his feet in a second.

“Here?”

“No. I mean, yes. But not now. It was like a vision...but stronger. Water opened up, and I saw it. No. I was there. I felt them. All of it. I felt them gagging for air.”

“Emotional transference,” Dreya whispered.

Whatever magic she’d been working had done its job. The pain in Tenn’s temples subsided. He opened his eyes and squinted. The twins were lost in a silent conversation, staring at each other as though their expressions could convey stories. He desperately wanted to know what they were thinking, just as much as he never wanted to know.

“What?” Jarrett and Tenn asked at the same time.

Again, another glance between the twins. When Dreya spoke, she didn’t look away from her brother. Devon’s eyes were furrowed with concern, and he kept looking over to Tenn like he was a newfound threat.

“Emotional transference,” she repeated. She sighed. “It’s rare. Very rare. But sometimes, if you use a Sphere for long enough, it becomes sensitive to the external world. Normally, the Spheres respond to inner triggers—emotional responses, like fight or flight. Or they are willed into use through training. But if a Sphere is sensitive enough, it can pick up triggers embedded in the nature of things. Strong emotions, from memories ingrained in the wood of a place.” She trailed her finger along the same dusty path he had. If she saw anything, she didn’t show it.