Bridge of Souls (Cassidy Blake #3)(49)

“You are in the wrong place,” says the rasping voice. “We will send you back.”

The color starts to drain out of Jacob’s face, his shirt, his hair, his skin. Something inside me begins to tear. A thread unraveling. A connection breaking.

“Cassidy …” Jacob says, his voice small and thin. “Go.”

I start toward him, but Lara catches my arm.

“We have to go,” she says, but I twist free, surging toward my friend, the camera already in my hands. The flash won’t work, I know, but the camera’s still heavy. I wrap my fingers in the purple strap and swing the camera as hard as I can, right at the Emissary’s head.

It hits the bone mask with a sound like metal on stone, like breaking pottery.

The Emissary loses its hold on Jacob.

Jacob collapses onto the bridge, and I don’t have time to run to him, to see if he’s okay, because the Emissary rounds on me, the ghost forgotten. The rictus grin of the skeleton mask splits and cracks, inky blackness dripping between the broken pieces of the mask.

“Cassidy Blake, your time has come.”

It reaches out a gloved hand.

This time, there is no invitation. No quiet order to come with us.

It simply drives its hand into my chest.





I look down and see the Emissary’s fingers, curling around the thread behind my ribs, the blue-white light of my life flickering in its grip. Darkness swarms over my senses.

My heart stutters, skips a beat.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lara, kneeling over Jacob, and I realize, this is the end, and I’m not scared to die again, not like this, protecting my friends.

“We will take you back into the dark.”

My vision tunnels. I squeeze my eyes shut. I can’t breathe.

“What about me?” Lara’s voice is crisp and clear.

I drag my eyes open and see her, standing there, several feet away, the warm red light of her life shining through her chest. The Emissary’s grip loosens a little.

“Lara, stop,” I whisper.

“I fled from Death,” she says, the words as strong as the in-betweener’s oath. Look and listen. See and know. “Why don’t you come for me?”

No.

“I fled from Death,” I say, and the Emissary’s broken face swivels back to me. Its fingers tighten around my life, and I shiver, suddenly cold.

“I stole from Death,” Lara says, as if it’s a contest, a competition. This time, the Emissary lets go. Its taloned hand draws out of my chest, and I slump, dizzy and breathless, to the bridge.

It starts toward Lara. “We will take you.”

And despite everything, Lara Chowdhury holds her ground. She doesn’t take a single step back. She is the bravest girl I know. And I can’t let her do this.

“I stole from Death!” I echo, and the Emissary stops halfway between us.

“We know,” it says. “We will take you both.”

“But who’s first?” I ask.

“It should be me,” demands Lara.

“No,” I say. “You came for me, right?”

“You didn’t even notice me.”

The Emissary looks between us, unsure who to take.

Which is why it doesn’t see Jacob.

Not until it’s too late.

Doesn’t notice how close it’s standing to the side of the rail-less bridge, until the pale gray streak of my best friend throws himself around its skeletal waist, carrying the darkness with him toward the edge.

And over.

“Jacob!” I shout, diving forward as he vanishes over the side. I get there in time to see the Emissary fall, down, down, down into the bottomless dark. And Jacob, scrambling to hold on to the lip of the bridge, and slipping.

I thrust the purple strap of my broken camera over the edge, feel the sudden snag of weight, like a fish on a line, and look down to see Jacob clutching at it.

“I’ve got you,” I say through gritted teeth. But he’s not weightless here, and the force of him drags me forward toward the edge and the bottomless mist below.

But just as I start to slip, Lara reaches me, wraps her arms around my waist, and together, we pull Jacob up out of the dark. We all sprawl, breathless, on the polished black stone.

I crawl to the edge and look down, searching the mist.

There is no sign of the Emissary.

No sound, either, just the silence of the empty dark. And my own pulse, like a warning in my ears, telling me I’ve been here far too long. Telling me to get off this bridge, and out of the Veil, and back where I belong—in the land of the living.

I get to my feet, and turn to see my friends.

Lara is trying to smooth her shirt, her hands shaking. She looks more disheveled than I’ve ever seen her. But otherwise, she looks like herself.

Jacob, on the other hand, looks like a ghost. He stands there staring out into the mist, thin and pale as a sliver of ice, and I remember the horrible feeling I had when the Emissary had him, like the thing between us was breaking. Like I was losing him.

Jacob, I think, but he doesn’t glance over.

“Look at me,” I say, catching his face in my hands. “Your name is Jacob Ellis Hale, you have two brothers, you lived and drowned in upstate New York and then you saved my life, and now we’re best friends.”