Bridge of Souls (Cassidy Blake #3)(41)

And I don’t understand, until I do.

The circle.

The circle is designed to sever the line, to break the connection between the Emissary and me. But we’re not the only ones tied together.

It’s cutting away Jacob, too.

I’m the only thing holding him here.

And the line is breaking.

The oil continues to burn. The fire carves its thin bright way around the circle, and Jacob collapses to his hands and knees, the life going out of him.

“No!” I shout, moving toward him.

“Just a little longer!” calls Lara as the circle burns and the Emissary tries, and fails, to drag itself forward. Its edges begin to smudge, the rim of its hat dissolving into smoke. But Jacob is fading, too.

“Cassidy, don’t!” warns Lara.

But I drop to his side, pleading with him to hold on, to stay. He shudders and rolls over, coughing river water onto the bare wood floor. But he’s stopped thinning, stopped fading.

“I’m okay,” he says, gasping for breath. “I’m okay.”

But he shouldn’t be. The spell’s still going. And then I look down and see that my shoe has crossed the line of the circle, breaking the flame.

“Cassidy, look out!” screams Lara.

I look up, and there’s the Emissary, freed from the ring and reaching straight for me. Its gloved fingers brush my skin, like an icy breeze.

And then Lara is there, throwing herself between the Emissary and me.

And the last thing I see is that gloved hand closing over her arm, before the ring of fire dies, and the grave dirt circle blows apart, and the Emissary is gone.

And so is Lara.





I sit, reeling, on the wooden floor.

In front of me, the smudged remains of the circle are still smoking.

It happened so fast. The white string is still looped around my wrist, but the other end drifts loose, abandoned. Lara’s red backpack sags against the sofa, the only sign she was here.

This isn’t right.

The Emissary was only after me.

But the truth settles like a weight on my chest. Emissaries are drawn to in-betweeners. To all those who’ve cheated death. Which means even though it came for me, Lara was always in danger, too.

“Cass,” says Jacob, still shaking off the spell.

But I’m already on my feet. I have to find Lara. She can’t have gone that far.

I scramble up, grabbing her backpack, as I reach for the Veil. I swing the bag over my shoulder, catch hold of the curtain, and throw it aside, trading one séance room for another. The smoldering ruins of our banishing circle scar the floor, but otherwise, there’s no sign of Lara, or the Emissary.

I run down the stairs, through the burning–not burning house and out into the crowded square. My vision doubles again from the overlapping Veils, and everywhere I look, I see ghosts and phantoms, carriages and fires and parades.

But there’s no sign of Lara.

I close my eyes and try to feel the pull of her thread, the thing all in-betweeners share, but the Veil is so messy, so chaotic, I can’t think over the noise, can’t feel anything but panic, so I shout her name.

I shout until it draws the attention of the spirits. Until a handful of ghosts start drifting toward me.

“Cass,” says Jacob, at my side. “She’s not here.”

But she has to be.

She can’t …

Tears prick my eyes, blurring my vision until the square is nothing but vague shapes and shades of gray, a world out of focus.

Focus.

My camera. Every time I looked at the Emissary through the lens, it was an inky mass, a pitch-black pool against the backdrop of the world. I lift the camera now, and look through it, sliding the focus on the lens as I scan the crowded square, looking for the darkness, the shadow on the frame, searching for something, anything out of place.

Nothing, nothing—and then I see it.

A horseless carriage.

It’s black as night, black as the space behind the skull’s eyes, and it’s cutting straight through the crowd, surging away and out of the square.

And I know Lara’s in there.

She’s not gone, not yet.

But I have to find out where she’s going.

I start forward after the carriage, colliding with a ghost.

He scowls and shoves me. “Watch it, girl.”

I lower my camera, and the square comes back into violent focus, a teeming mass of movement and spirits, too many starting toward me.

Jacob pulls me away from the ghosts, even as I lift the camera and slide the focus, still searching, searching. But I’ve lost sight of the carriage.

We cut back into the world of the living, the transition so jarring I have to brace myself against the wall for a moment until my vision clears. My heart races in my chest, with panic, but also with hope.

The horseless carriage must be going somewhere.

I just don’t know where.

I don’t know how long I have.

I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.

But I know people who will.

I take off, down one block and up another, skidding to a stop in front of Thread & Bone. I fling open the door. Or I try to, but it holds fast. I push again before noticing that the sign on the glass says CLOSED.

No, no, no.

I rattle the handle. I pound on the door. But the lights are off, and no one answers, and I can’t get through to the Society room and all the old members without being let in by a Society member.