Bone Crier's Moon (Bone Grace #1)(91)

“What’s happening? Where’s Ailesse?”

Marcel hurls the pot at Jules. She ducks, and the pot shatters above her head.

“What are you doing?” I exclaim.

“He’s in her!” Marcel points and grabs another dish from the shelves.

“Who’s in her?”

“The dead man! He’s taken over her body.”

My eyes flash to Jules. She glares at her brother with a look of pure hatred. She’s holding a knife in each hand—hers and Marcel’s. “Jules, wait!”

She lunges for him. Marcel throws the dish. He hits her this time, but it glances off her shoulder. I race over as she slashes out for him. I wrench her backward just in time. She drops one of the knives and screams, but it’s guttural and unnaturally low. I’ve accidentally seized her injured arm.

“Don’t let go of her!” Marcel says, but I do on instinct.

“I’m hurting her!” My hand is wet with her blood.

“We have to hurt her to stop her. Just try not to kill her.”

Try?

Jules reaches for the knife she dropped. I kick it away and scramble backward, unsure how to fight her. “When did this happen?” I ask Marcel.

“Back in the quarry, I think.” He gropes the upper shelves for another makeshift weapon, but they’re empty. “She’s been acting strange ever since she returned. Little signs at first—convulsing, becoming more and more irritable. I blamed it on her injury, but once we were alone together, she got worse, like she was struggling to suppress him. She became weaker and he became stronger and”—Marcel’s voice catches—“what if she’s not even inside herself anymore? What if he’s killed her soul?”

My stomach flinches. “She’s still in there. She has to be.” I pace a half circle around Jules, tensing up for her next attack.

She snarls. “Your Jules is weak and delusional. She’s still fighting against me, but her attempts are pathetic.”

I grind my teeth. I need to get the Chained man out of her. Now. “We’ll see how strong she really is, if you dare to put it to a test.”

Jules mirrors my pacing. Her posture doesn’t belong to her, with her shoulders bunched up and her head jutting forward on her neck. “What kind of test?”

“Jules is the best knife fighter I know, but she wouldn’t want you to kill me.” I steal a glance at Marcel. He’s sneaking up on her from behind. “Throw that knife at me, and if you miss your target, I’ll know you’re still the weaker one.”

Jules’s eyes narrow. “And if I’m the stronger one?”

I shrug. “Then I’m dead.” In the corner of my vision, Marcel’s gaze widens. Hopefully he’s catching on.

Jules’s mouth curves into a vicious sneer. “I like this game.”

“Good.” I covertly slip my knife up my sleeve, plant my feet, and spread my arms open. “I’m ready.”

She spits on the ground. Lifts her knife. Bends her knees and takes aim.

My heart beats erratically.

She pulls her arm back.

My knife slides to my hand.

She throws hard, and I swing my knife with practiced speed. Her blade hits mine. Metal clashes against metal as I knock her knife away.

“You’re stronger,” I admit. “But Jules’s throw is more deadly. I could have never blocked it.”

She growls and springs for me. Marcel jumps on her back and wraps his arm around her neck. She thrashes violently. He grapples to hang on.

I rush over to brace him. Jules jerks and flails with both of us on her, like she’s kicked a hornet’s nest.

“Squeeze tighter!” I shout. Marcel shakes with exertion.

Jules rams us against the nearest wall. A bright burst of pain hits my back. Most of the air leaves my lungs. I manage to croak out, “Don’t let go!”

She wheels around to ram us against the other wall. But just as she comes near it, she staggers to a stop and suddenly goes limp. Marcel releases his hold at once. I catch Jules so she doesn’t crash on the ground. Together, we gently lower her on her back.

Her eyes are shut, and her face is blotched red. Marcel winces. “Please tell me I didn’t just murder my sister.”

“She’s breathing,” I reply. “Do you have any rope?” He finds me some, and I drag Jules onto the limestone slab. We tie her up and anchor the end of the rope under the large stone, like we did with Ailesse when we— “Ailesse.” My pulse races. “Where is she? Did another Chained attack her?”

“No.” Marcel pops three knuckles and takes a step back from me. “But she might have taken the opportunity to leave while you were gone.”

I can’t move for a moment. I’m a child again, abandoned in my father’s cart. “Did she . . .” I try to swallow, but my throat is too dry. “Did she really think I’d hold her captive again?” I thought we’d learned to trust one another.

Marcel releases a heavy exhale and motions me several feet away from Jules. “Look,” he says in a low voice, even though she’s still unconscious, “I’m not an expert on romance—that is to say, I am madly in love with Birdie, but I can’t quite put a finger on the logic of it—but Ailesse did display some classic symptoms of unrequited love: weepy eyes, angst-ridden sighs, dramatic statements of farewell.”