Strange and Ever After (Something Strange and Deadly #3)(3)

Though I knew entering the spirit realm meant certain death, I did not care. Now that I was here—now that I was in this no-man’s-land—I could find my mother. And I could say good-bye.

My boots struck the dock, muffled in the heavy air. Unnatural. I risked a backward glance. The golden door was distant now—much farther away than it should have been, given I had only moved twenty paces or so. . . .

Fear rippled down my spine, and for the first time since I had crossed into this world, my numbness pulled back.

Then it reared back, and panic crashed over me. Was this truly what I wanted: to find Mama? Was it worth the risk of the Hell Hounds? Of final, explosive death as they protected the spirit realm from the unwelcome living?

Yes, my heart told me. I wanted to see her so fiercely, I thought my lungs would burst and my ribs snap. For my mother’s final words to me had been filled with hate and rage. . . . How could I go on living if that was all I had for a good-bye? How could I accept that Marcus had sacrificed Mama? Decapitated her just as Elijah had decapitated all those young men . . .

Suddenly, a whine sounded, and I jolted forward. A dog stood on the dock.

I scooted back two steps. This was not a Hell Hound—this dog was much too small. Yet it was something, and it was here. In a no-man’s-land that should be empty.

“Go away,” I croaked, stumbling farther back. “Go.”

It did not move.

I gaped at it, my heartbeat throbbing in my skull. This dog was much too real—just like my phantom hand. Its black-and-yellow fur was scruffy, its body lean and wild, its ears tall and erect. For whatever purpose, it belonged here.

Jackal. He is a jackal.

The words formed in my mind, almost as if . . . as if they had been planted there. From somewhere else.

My throat pinched tight. “You’re . . . a jackal?”

The jackal gave another keening whine. Then it . . . no, he sank onto his haunches and very distinctly nodded his head.

My jaw went slack, surprise replacing panic. And when the jackal’s yellow eyes latched on to mine expectantly, I eased out a breath—relaxing slightly.

Why are you here?

I flinched at the second blast of thought that was not my own. “You . . . want to know why I’m here?”

The jackal nodded.

“I’m looking for my mother. She . . .” My fingers curled into fists. “She died several weeks ago. She would have crossed this dock to enter the spirit realm.”

And?

“And I heard that those who are not ready to die will stay here. On the dock. My brother did it—he stayed here and did not pass to the final afterlife. Since . . .” I swallowed. “Since I do not think my mother was ready to die, then perhaps I can find her on the dock too.”

The jackal shook his head. She is gone.

My heart sank like a stone. Heavy. Choking. “So you have not seen her?” I could not keep the tremor from my words. “She is taller than me—broad shouldered and . . .”

The jackal saw her pass on, and you are too late.

“But maybe she is here anyway.” I insisted. “How do you know she’s gone? Who are you? What are you?”

The jackal is a messenger, and the jackal knows. Your mother is gone, and you are too late.

The thought burned in my skull, bright and penetrating. I stared stupidly at him. . . . But then the words shifted and sank. Down they slid, like clotted oil into my throat. Into my chest.

My mother was dead, and I was too late. She had left the dock, and I would never, ever see her again.

It was over; she was over; my family was over.

Everything inside me went limp. My legs stopped working, and I fell forward. My knees hit the dock, my hands too. My wrists snapped back.

I did not care.

Because I could not have my good-bye. My final “I love you.” There would be nothing.

My lungs spasmed. No air in, no air out. I would suffocate, and I would not care.

I clutched at the dock, digging my fingers into the weathered wood. Splinters sliced beneath my fingernails. Into my knuckles. Blood welled.

You are angry, the voice said in my head. And he was right. I was angry. I was angrier than I’d ever thought possible.

When Marcus had taken my brother’s dead body and donned it like some ill-fitting suit, I had wanted to kill him. When he had killed all those people in Paris and then kidnapped my best friend, Jie, I had wanted to destroy him.

But now he had sacrificed my mother’s blood for his own power. Now . . . the fury blistered inside me.

I would crush Marcus. I would slice him open, and I would laugh as he bled out. I would rip his soul apart bit by bit.

He had stolen my good-bye, and I would obliterate him.

A growl sounded.

Dazed, I looked up. The jackal’s lips were drawn back, and the hair on his spine was high. He lurched at me.

I blundered back onto my knees. He lunged again—biting the air before my face. I scuttled upright.

Then for half a heartbeat, the jackal paused. His ears twisted behind, and the motionless air seemed to pause too. . . .

Go. You must go. In a rush of movement, he thrust at me again.

My feet shambled backward, my eyes locked on the jackal’s bared teeth. Go, go. And that was when I heard them. A new, layered snarling echoed over the water. . . .

The Hell Hounds were coming.

The jackal dived at me once more. You must run. NOW.