Bone Crier's Moon (Bone Grace, #1)(66)

“I’ll give them back after we figure out how to break the soul-bond.”

Ailesse ignores her. She darts back to the knoll and scours the hollow beneath it.

The dead man shouts again. Thirty yards now. I pull out my knife. “We have to go! We’ll come back for the flute later.”

“No!” Ailesse keeps searching for it. She digs through the wild grass beside the knoll.

Two more shouts. From the east this time. My pulse races. “They’re surrounding us!”

“I can’t leave it!”

The dead roar closer. Jules moves defensively toward Marcel.

Ailesse kicks at the grass and releases a cry of frustration.

Jules points to a spot between her and Ailesse, twelve feet away. “Throw your bones on the ground there, then I’ll fetch your flute.”

Ailesse purses her lips. She glances east and west. The dead will be here any second. “No one touches my bones until I have the flute in my hands. Agreed?” I can almost see her thinking, I’ll get them right back. She might have a chance. She’s still fast without her graces.

“Agreed,” Jules says quickly. “Now, throw them!”

Ailesse squeezes her eyes shut. Whispers something about Elara. Yanks the small pouch off her neck and tosses it on the ground. At once, she’s noticeably weaker. Drooped shoulders. Strained brows. But she still holds her jaw stiffly. “The flute. Hurry!”

Jules whips it out of her boot. My eyes widen. Ailesse blows out an enraged breath. Jules had it on her the whole time.

A ragged shout blasts into my ears. The dead man. He’s right here. I leap in front of Ailesse and slash out with my knife. I strike nothing. She wildly swings her fisted hands at the air. They connect with an invisible force, but it doesn’t stop the dead man I can’t see. Ailesse is hurled on the ground like a cloth doll.

I rush over to her. She’s flat on her back. She blinks at me, eyes dazed. “I can’t see them anymore.”

“The dead?”

She nods.

She needs her bones, as well as the flute. I spring for the pouch, but it’s already gone. Jules slips it over her own neck. Her chin quivers. “I’m doing this for you, Bastien.”

“Doing what?” I frown.

Ailesse cries out. She’s thrashing on the ground. The dead man is on top of her. My chest tightens. I race over and grab blindly at the man. I manage to shove him off, but a moment later he jabs me roughly in the gut. I double over, coughing.

Jules backs away, her hand on her brother’s arm. “Marcel and I will figure out how to break the soul-bond.” She bites her lip and glances at the flute in her hand. “I’m sorry, but he said we might need this.”

I gape at her. “Jules . . .”

“This is the only way to save you. You’re too smitten with her, Bastien.” Her brow furrows.

“We’ll find you when it’s done.”

I throw a desperate look at Marcel, but he only lowers his eyes.

They both run away.

I struggle to my feet. “Wait!”

Someone barrels into me from the other direction. Invisible. Another of the dead. I grapple with it—him, her, I can’t tell—and slice my knife across its arms. It shrieks and lets go.

“Leave both of them alone!” Jules shouts at our attackers. Several yards away, she waves the flute as she races off with Marcel. “It’s me you want!” Footsteps pound after her. A spike of adrenaline hits my veins. Not again. She shouts over her shoulder, “Go, Bastien! Take her and run for the catacombs!”

Ailesse stops moving. Her eyelids flutter and close. She lies lifeless on the ground.

Merde.

I bolt over and fall to my knees, gathering her up in my arms. Her head flops against my neck, and her breath warms my skin. I release a shaky exhale. She’s alive, but she has a large lump on the back of her head. The dead man must have bashed it on the ground.

I stand and heft her up with me. Cradling her close, I run as fast as possible—painstakingly slow—but at least no more eerie cries come from the forest. For the moment, the dead are gone.

I rush after Jules and Marcel, but quickly lose their trail. I don’t stop. And I don’t run for the ravine catacombs entrance. My friends won’t be there, and I won’t take Ailesse where Jules can find her. If Jules does find a way to break the soul-bond, she’ll come after Ailesse.

I square my jaw, inhale deeply, and take the path that forks to Dovré.

What are you doing, Bastien? This is the girl you wanted to kill.

I don’t know what I want anymore, but it’s not harming Ailesse—not in any way.

The city is still dark by the time I stumble in past the walls. My muscles burn, but I’m driven onward with almost manic energy. Ailesse is still limp in my arms, but she’s becoming coherent.

She mumbles, “Chazoure . . . can’t see it.” The word has something to do with the ghosts we fought tonight. I still haven’t processed all the surreal events.

I race through alley after alley. Every rustle and whisper makes me jump. I keep tensing for an invisible enemy to attack. I have to get Ailesse well out of sight.

In one of the poorer districts, the crumbling spires of Chapelle du Pauvre struggle to reach the sky. The church for the poor is in a state of near ruin and hardly used anymore. I adjust my grip on Ailesse and hurry inside. In one of the alcoves behind the altar, I yank a moth-eaten rug off the floor. Beneath it is a hatch. I flop it open on its hinges. I set Ailesse on her feet, my hand on her waist to support her, and guide her down a rickety ladder.