Boundless (Unearthly, #3)(81)

“Caw,” says the crow, testing me, taunting me, calling me to join him across the tracks.

I start walking to him, and I don’t look back.

Because I know this bird.

He’s going to be my guide.

I spiral back to myself at the church. I’m stopped in the center of the circle, my face uplifted, the monks singing, singing, singing, their voices gone dark.

“Looks like it worked,” Thomas says, smiling, as I hand him back his iPod with shaky hands.

“Are you okay?”

I nod. “I have to go now.”

Boy, do I ever have to go now.

I walk to the Oval and sit down under the tree where I always study. I think Samjeeza’s name, over and over again, summoning him the only way I know how, hoping that he hasn’t given up his creepy stalking now when I’m really counting on him. And I wait.

I feel his presence before I see him. He steps out of the trees at the edge of campus, his amber eyes bewildered but curious.

“You called me,” he says.

“Yes, I did.” Although I’m as surprised as he is that it worked.

“I didn’t expect to see you here again,” he says. “You’re in some trouble with Big Brother.”

So he already knows. Of course he does. I’m sure gossip really gets around in hell. “You could say that. Anyway. I’m ready to tell you a story,” I say. “But I want something in return.”

He smiles, surprised and pleased and even more curious now. He opens his arms, palms up, and steps back in the semblance of a formal bow.

This guy is cheese to the core.

“What can I do for you, little bird?” he says.

This is it. Don’t chicken out now, I tell myself. I meet his eyes.

“The Black Wings took my friend Angela. Do you know where she is?”

“Yes. Asael has her.”

“In hell?”

“Naturally.”

I swallow. “Have you seen her?”

He nods.

“Is she all right?”

There’s a cruel twist to his mouth. “No one is all right in that place.”

“Is she … alive?”

“Physically speaking, yes, her heart was beating the last I saw her.”

“And when was that?” I ask.

He finds the question funny. “Some time ago,” he answers with a laugh.

I bite my lip. This is the insane part: Telling him my impromptu plan. Putting it all out there. Letting the chips fall where they may. The wind picks up and sends the trees into a furtive whispering, like a warning. Don’t trust him, they say.

But I trust the vision, and the vision tells me that I trust him.

Samjeeza’s getting impatient. “I told you what I know about your friend. Now tell me the story.”

“Not yet. I need something else.” I take a deep breath.

Be brave, my darling, my mother told me once. You’re stronger than you think. I can be brave, I tell myself.

“I need you to take me to Angela,” I say then. “In hell.”

He lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Whatever for?”

“So I can get her out.”

His eyes widen. “You’re serious.”

“Serious as a heart attack,” I say, which is appropriate, because I feel like I’m about to have one.

“Impossible,” he says, although his eyes take on an excited gleam.

“Why is it impossible?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. “Don’t you have the power to do it? You took me there before.”

I’m provoking him, and he knows it. Still, he smiles. “I could take you there easily enough. Getting you out would be infinitely more difficult. Chances are you’d lose yourself within a few moments and become as trapped as your friend.”

“I’m strong,” I tell him. “You’ve said so yourself.”

“Yes, and why is that?” he asks. “Why are you so strong, little Quartarius?”

I smile vaguely.

“You’d be waltzing in right under Asael’s nose and taking something that belongs to him,” he says, like the idea is not altogether an unpleasant one. He’s none too fond of Asael. Which works for me.

“Yes. Will you help me?”

“All that for a mere story? Do you take me for a fool?”

“Then I guess this is a pointless conversation.” I shrug and stand up, brush grass off my jeans. “Oh well, it was worth a shot.”

“Wait,” he says, all the humor gone from his voice now. “I haven’t said no, exactly.”

Hope and terror bloom simultaneously in my chest. “Then you’ll take me?”

He hesitates. “It’s very dangerous, for both of us, but especially for you. The likelihood that you will be caught—”

“Please,” I say. “I have to try.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t understand the nature of hell. It will swallow you up. Unless …” He starts to pace. He has an idea, something good—I can tell by the way he stands up straighter, by the diabolical bounce in his step. I wait for him to tell me.

“All right,” he says at last. “If you cannot be talked out of it, I will take you.”