Unhooked(86)

Pan jerks at Fiona’s touch and releases me from his hold. I hit the ground hard, but I don’t shatter. I don’t come completely back to myself either, though.

“Rowan?” Fiona’s voice buzzes, dangerously close. She doesn’t release Pan from her grasp.

But Rowan can’t answer. A cough shudders through him, and his body slumps again to the ground, too weak to go on.

“Was this your work?” Fiona growls at Pan. Before he can answer, Fiona shakes him.

But Pan’s eyes are unfocused, almost drunk on whatever power he’d taken from me. Fiona shakes him again before placing her hand against Pan’s chest. Her face remains calm as she hisses for him to answer her, and when he does not respond, her fingers pierce his skin and he screams with pain.

Disgusted, she tosses Pan’s limp body aside.

My vision is still dark around the edges when Fiona scoops Rowan up and brings him to where I lie.

“It is time,” she whispers in that strange humming voice. “You have hesitated long enough.” She helps him up to his knees, supporting him as they loom over me. And I see why I don’t feel whole—Fiona has the thread of my life wrapped around her fist. When Fiona tugs on the trailing stream of light, I want to move toward her—and when she offers it to him, toward Rowan.

“Now, Rowan. It must be now,” Fiona buzzes from somewhere very close. But I can’t see her. My vision is darker now, closer to the end.

All I can see is Rowan above me, his dark eyes flat with pain, looking more lost than I’ve ever seen him.

Do it, I think. Because it doesn’t even feel like a betrayal. Do it.

He leans his forehead against mine. It’s cool, clammy. Do it. Hurry. He needs to take whatever it is I can give him. He needs to go on.

“Hurry, Rowan,” the Fey buzzes. “My Queen is free. Pan has been defeated. You need not die as well. If only you will take her.”

“I can’t—” I feel his breath on my skin, hear the weakness in his voice. “Won’t—”

Fiona hisses, her voice dangerously low. “Do you think I gave you your place in my world to have you waste it on this pathetic excuse for a halfling? Take her Rowan, or I will kill her just the same.”

“Kill us . . . both. . . .” I hear him say from far off. Vaguely, I feel the weight of his body slump on top of me.

I’m slipping, though. If a soul had fingers, mine are trying to grab at my frail body, reaching clumsily to stay with myself, but it isn’t working. I don’t have enough spirit in my hollowed-out body to keep my eyes open any longer, and I know, after everything I’ve been through, I’ve finally reached the end.

There are words. So many words I’ve never said. Words I thought I would have time for. But it’s too late. My soul slides away from my body, the last fragile wisps of it leaving behind the pain and despair until I’m almost nothing more than light.

And then I no longer feel Rowan’s weight holding me to this world.

Fiona has my life wrapped around her fist, and every bit of who I once was wants to flee from my body, toward that light.

But before I can, before my soul slides away completely, a shadow appears over Fiona’s shoulder. A dark form whose eyes burn with hatred.

And Fiona screams.





That night the boy dreamed of hell—of fire and brimstone and a face he should never have forgotten. And in the morning it was as though he were waking from an endless dream. . . .





Chapter 39


JUST AS THE WORLD BEGINS to slide away into a field of stars, a great roaring brings me back, slamming me into my aching body with a violence that leaves me shaken and rattled from the pain. Next to me, Fiona lies headless, her blood staining the ground. Near her, Rowan lies unconscious, his hand still holding a blade coated with the Fey’s strange dark blood.

“No,” I croak, my voice barely working. It takes an incredible effort to hoist myself up enough to move toward Rowan’s still form. He could’ve taken everything from me. He could have saved himself, but he didn’t. He used the last of his strength to save me.

“Don’t leave me,” I whisper, brushing back his hair. His face is so pale. His lips tinged with blue. My hand cups his face, and I press a kiss to his lips. “No,” I whisper again, my throat tight and aching.

His eyes blink, but he’s very, very far away. His face is almost colorless and his skin is growing ever cooler to the touch.

Little by little my strength is beginning to return, though. Little by little I become more conscious of everything around me. Pan’s still body is slumped to the ground nearby, his skin covered in a maze of dark lines, like a shattered plate.

Olivia stumbles to Pan, a sleepwalker just beginning to surface from a dream, but when she takes his hand, his body is so fragile, so brittle, it shatters, crumbling beneath her touch. A strangled scream escapes her lips as she draws back in horror.

I should feel the same horror, the same revulsion, but I’m still too much in shock to feel anything at all at the sight of the headless Fey on the ground nearby. For a moment, I can almost begin to feel relief, but the moment doesn’t last long.

All around me, the world turns a brilliant white, and I recognize the power strumming through the air that signals the presence of the Queen.

She comes and floats over us, her face strangely beautiful in its fury. “He has killed one of our own,” she rages, her voice a terrible screech of fury. “He shall pay with his life.” She raises her hands as though to strike him down.