The Mesmerist(43)

Emily sees the blood on my hands. “You’re hurt!” she cries.

They both huddle around, and Emily stands in front of me and lifts the slashed cloth. “Doesn’t look too bad,” she says.

It might not look bad, I think, but it certainly hurts.

“Eat one of the leaves,” Gabriel suggests.

For a moment I don’t know what he means, until Mother’s words echo in my head. If you ever find yourself hurt, eat one of the leaves.

I open the satchel. The acacia branch looks alive, as if it is still in bloom. I pluck off one of the leaves and hold it up to Emily’s dim light. I place it on my tongue. It dissolves almost instantly.

“How is it, then?” Emily asks.

I lick my lips and try to discern the flavor. “Well. It’s sweet. No—?it’s tart.”

Actually, I’m not quite sure how to describe it, but after a moment, warmth spreads in my belly like a spot of sunshine and I immediately feel more at ease.

“Let me try it,” Emily says.

She draws a little closer, and I pluck off another leaf. Emily takes it with her small fingers and pops it into her mouth without hesitation. She nods her head, as if thinking, and then swallows. “Better than mush,” she says to Gabriel.

“Gabriel?” I offer, holding out the branch. Maybe he could use some renewed strength too, after our fight.

“No,” he says. “Thank you, Jess. I have all the power I need within me.”

Strange, I think, and put the branch back into my satchel.

We walk a little more slowly, and I gather my thoughts. It all happened so quickly. The ghoul, Gabriel, the singing and the bells. “I need to know,” I say to Gabriel, turning around. “I need to know what else you are gifted with. It’s more than just your harp and voice. Tell me, Gabriel. What are you?”

I wait for what seems an eternity. “I promise to tell you,” he finally answers. “When all this is over.”

“I will hold you to it.”

“You will have your answers.”

I clutch my lash more tightly and head farther in.

We are now walking three abreast instead of single file, with Emily in the middle. I try to focus on Darby again, or Mephisto—?I don’t even know which, as my thoughts are jumbled. We walk for several minutes in silence, until Gabriel finally speaks. “They are damned, Jess. They cannot be saved.”

“I know,” I tell him. “It’s just . . . it’s sad, isn’t it? These creatures—?brought back from the dead. Do they even know who they are? What they are?”

“There is no place for the dead in the land of the living,” Gabriel says thickly.

I step into something wet, as if I am suddenly walking through muck. At the edges of Emily’s light I can see a slick pool of liquid, spilling across the tracks. “There’s something here,” I say, kneeling down.

I take a breath and dip my finger to the ground, but somehow, I already know what it is. “Blood,” I whisper.

Searing heat blazes into my forehead.

I am in a dimly lit hall, with an endless row of doors along each side. I sense pain coming from behind each one of them, and screams—?oh, so many screams. A ghostly red light pulses around one, and I walk toward it. I turn the handle and slowly step inside.

Something soft and squishy presses against the bottom of my shoe. I look down. It is a dead rat.

I look up. I am not in another room, but in a forest at night. Creaking branches stir in the slight wind. A crescent moon hangs in the sky, providing a soft, glowing light. I can actually feel the cold air on my skin.

I reach out to touch the tree that is in front of me. The bark is rough and sticky, and sap runs in rivulets along its trunk.

My ears perk up to murmuring voices. I step away and look into the forest.

Under a canopy of tall trees, six hooded figures form a circle.

The circle breaks, and I see what they are surrounding.

It is a man.

He is lying on a slab of stone, and he looks dead, for his bare chest does not rise and fall. His eyes are closed, and his skin is as white as ivory. His face is fair to look upon, with a lock of dark hair falling across his forehead and trailing down to a strong nose and chin.

“Master,” one of the hooded figures speaks. “As your will commands, we gather to bring you back to this mortal world.”

The figure begins an incantation of sorts, guttural and harsh. They are words I have never heard before, and they leave me with a dreadful sense of unease.

He pauses, and the wind whistles through the branches. “Now we begin,” he says, and reaches into the folds of his black garments. He pulls out a blade and holds it up with two hands, as if presenting the Holy Grail itself. “The Eternity Blade,” he announces. The hilt is encrusted with rubies and gemstones winking in the moonlight. He draws back one of his sleeves and, to my horror, runs the blade along his wrist. He passes the dagger to the next man, who does the same. And then the next, and the next . . .

My blood runs cold at the sight.

One of the men steps forward. He is holding a golden chalice, and with it, he collects drops of blood from each man. When they are finished, the first hooded figure takes the chalice and carries it to the motionless figure on the slab of stone. He holds it up to the closed lips. “Drink, Master,” he says. “Drink and be reborn.”