Woven in Moonlight (Woven in Moonlight #1)(92)

My fingers find the weapon.

I plunge the blade deep into Atoc’s neck. It slides into his flesh like a key into a lock and I twist the steel. There’s a gurgling sound. His eyes widen as blood gushes out of his mouth. Splattering on my face, stinging my eyes. It’s hot and sticky, tasting sour and rotten.

The ground stops shaking. I shove him away, kicking at the dead weight pressing into my bruised ribs. He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead.

My anaconda hisses and uses its tail to grip Atoc’s waist, flinging him away. I turn to my side, coughing up the blood of my enemy. A soldier steps in front of me, his dirty toes encased in rough sandals. I duck away from his blade as the parrot dives and sinks its talons into the man’s eyes. The anaconda wraps itself around his body, squeezing and squeezing until he turns purple. The soldier lets out a final warbled scream that rings in my head.

I lurch to my feet, yanking the dagger from Atoc’s neck. My sword is buried in the belly of a guard, lost somewhere in the fight. Tamaya rushes to my side and helps me wipe her brother’s blood off my face.

“You saved me,” she says, breathless. She pulls me into a tight embrace. “Gracias, gracias.”

My gaze snags on something over her shoulder. Something that should have stayed dead and buried. “Don’t thank me just yet.”

She stiffens and pulls away, a frown marring her brow.

“The ghost army comes.”





CAPíTULO





The Illustrian horn blares a deafening bellow, heralding the advance of the spectral beings. Someone lets out a bloodcurdling scream and points toward the plaza. A twisting mass curves around the crumbling buildings and floods the street—not fog or smoke or vapor, but gnashing teeth and translucent clawing hands. The swirling bulk lets out a violent, collective shriek and the sound scrapes against me, blotting out my thoughts.

One by one, it separates into individual men and women. They encircle all of us, those left standing and wounded alike, standing shoulder to shoulder.

None can pass. We are trapped.

Tamaya latches onto my arm, her nails digging into my skin.

I barely notice. My attention is on the ghosts. Their pale skeletons are visible beneath their sharp silvery bodies. Carrying picks and axes, they’re dressed in simple clothing, worn and grimy at the knees. As one, their transparent flesh darkens, obscuring their bones, transforming them into something resembling humans. Harsh sunlight makes their skin chalk white.

They study their surroundings with centuries-old eyes.

The anaconda hisses. Fear blooms in my heart and spreads like poisonous ivy. My dagger trembles in my sweat-slicked hand.

Tamaya addresses the ghosts in the old language. Her voice rings above the clamor, almost shrill. But it’s no use—they raise their weapons and with a roar they barrel forward. A ghost separates from the group and races toward the princesa. I step in front of Tamaya and launch my dagger. It cuts through the air, spinning until the blade sinks into the spirit’s gut.

The hit does nothing.

The spirit doesn’t howl or slow down but yanks out my knife and raises it high. I quickly scour the ground for another weapon. The blade of a sword winks up at me, buried under a maimed body.

“Look out!” Tamaya yells from behind me.

I push at the fallen Llacsan, desperate for that weapon. The ghost reaches me. Its cloying scent assaults my nose. Rotten bones buried in mud and dirt for hundreds of years. A decaying carcass given the gift of hate and violence and life. It pulls me upright by my hair. I try to wrench free, but my attacker holds on and drags me away from the sword.

There’s murder in its glowing eyes. I scream as its knife angles toward my heart.

A blur rushes at the ghost. The grip on my hair lessens and I kick and claw away from the spirit. Juan Carlos stands above me, his weapon swinging. I drag myself to the sword, still hidden underneath the dead Llacsan. I shove the body away and grip the hilt.

When I stand, it’s in time to see the spirit slice Juan Carlos’s throat.

My chest burns as I let out a guttural yell. My friend slumps to the ground, his eyes unblinking as his life’s blood gushes from his neck.

Tamaya drops to her knees, attempting to stop the bleeding with her clothes. She’s sobbing, keening. Her hands are stained red from Juan Carlos’s slashed flesh.

Time slows. Sweat drips from my hairline, stinging my eyes. My veins are hot liquid. The clamor of the fight dims. Everyone is shouting, but I can’t hear any of it. I can’t tear my gaze away from his vacant gaze.

Juan Carlos is gone.

The ghost turns to the kneeling princesa and raises the bloody knife.

“Tamaya,” I say, my voice hoarse. “Get up.”

She slowly stands and once again I push her behind me.

The ghost advances.

And then, just over its shoulder, I see her. She comes into my line of sight as if she’s always been there. She wears no cape, her head uncovered, loose hair running down her back. The Estrella isn’t visible. She grips a sword in her right hand. It’s much too heavy for her.

Catalina.

I tip my head back and scream with everything left in me. “Condesa!”

She whips around, sees the ghost’s intent. “Don’t hurt her!”

It immediately quits its advancement.

Tamaya comes to stand next to me, slack-jawed as Llacsans continue to get killed. Catalina’s gaze flickers between mine and Tamaya’s, her eyes wide and confused. I catch the moment when Catalina realizes whose side I’m on. She clutches her chest as if I’ve stabbed her heart.