“Two pockets full,” she says. “I found a vein. Of the metal. The same metal that’s in the blade of the Biodag Dubh.” She puts it back, out of view. Two pockets full. Plenty for the Order to forge a new athame. Something inside me quivers, some quiet, growling, jealous thing. “Now the Order will have its proper warrior. They’ll leave you and yours alone.”

I wouldn’t count on it, I want to say, but she nods at my shirt.

“Wound’s starting to show. I can feel mine too. I think that’s our cue to leave.” Her eyes shift toward Anna, and they regard each other levelly. Jestine smirks. “She looks like her picture.”

I put my arm around Anna protectively. “Let’s just get her out of here.”

“No,” says Anna, and when she speaks, the Obeahman roars, a high, mechanical screech that rings out from everywhere, like he’s directly above, or beneath us.

Jestine cringes and pulls out a short knife and what looks like a chisel. Both have chips and dents out of them. I guess they’re what she used to get the metal out of the rock.

“What’s that then?” she asks, makeshift weapons at the ready.

“The Obeahman,” I explain. “The ghost that Anna dragged down here last fall.”

“No ghost,” Anna says loudly. “He’s not a ghost anymore. Not here. Here he’s a monster. A nightmare. And he won’t let go of me.”

“You keep saying that,” I say.

“Where he goes, I go.” She closes her eyes, frustrated. “I can’t explain it. It’s like I’m one of them now. One of his. Twenty-five murderous dead. Four moaning innocents. We wear him like chains.” Brittle, pale fingers slide down her arms and wipe at the fabric of her skirt. It’s a traumatized, cleansing gesture. But when she sees Jestine watching, her hands return to her side.

“He’s tied to her,” Jestine says. “If we pull her through, he comes along for the ride.” She sighs. “So what do we do? You’re not going to be in much shape to send him back when we get home. I suppose the Order could hold him, maybe bind him or banish him for a while.”

“No,” Anna insists. “He’s past that.”

My ears have mostly shut off as they go back and forth. Twenty-five murderous dead. They’re all here, locked inside him. Every one that I killed. The greasy-haired hitchhiker. Even Peter Carver. That’s why I saw him in the rock, and why Emily Danagger chased me through the cliffs. None of them went where they were supposed to. He was lying in wait like a shark, mouth open, waiting to swallow them whole.

“Anna,” I hear myself say. “Four moaning innocents. What do you mean by that? Who are they?”

Her eyes move to mine. There’s regret in them. She hadn’t meant to say it. But she did.

“Two boys you know,” she says slowly. “One man you don’t.” Her eyes lower. Will and Chase. The jogger in the park.

“That’s three. Who’s the fourth?” I ask even though I know. I need to hear it. She looks back up and takes a deep breath.

“You look so much like him,” she says.

My fists clench, and when I yell it’s at the top of my lungs, so the sound will carry far enough in this f**king place for that bastard to hear.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

“Hey,” Jestine says. She takes me by the shoulders and shakes once. I shrug her off. “Now’s not the time to be doing anything stupid.”

The hell it isn’t. I pace across the damned rock, clenching my teeth every time my foot strikes the hardness of the surface. It sends vibrations of pain all the way up to my knees. What do I have? The knife in my hand. The rage in my throat. This body, bleeding out in another dimension. I turn to Anna. Her eyes trail across the landscape, wondering at the way the rock seems to hint at shades of red and electricity. It’s picking up on my intentions. The edges are getting sharper.

“Can we beat him?”

Her lips part in surprise, but something moves in her irises too. Something quick, and dark, that I remember. It makes my pulse go faster.

Jestine shoves me in the shoulder. “No, we can’t bloody beat him! Not here. She couldn’t beat him, and from what I understand, she’s some big badass ghost.” She glances at Anna, who stands quietly, dark hair hanging down her sides. “Course I can’t see that now. But even if we could, we don’t have time. Can’t you feel that? Can’t you hear it? Colin says that my breathing is slowing. What does Thomas say?”

“Thomas doesn’t say anything,” I reply. And it’s true. I haven’t heard a peep from him since we crossed over. If I looked back now, I could see him, but I don’t. Jestine’s breathing is slowing. Mine must be too. But time is different here. Over here we might have hours. And I’m not leaving until this is finished.