Tears streamed down my face as I knelt in the mud beside Dean. His chest rose and fell. He’s breathing. He’s still alive…but how? I had no idea how he survived getting hit by Weatherton and Mildred’s magic, but he hadn’t gotten through the fight unscathed. There was a wicked gash above his left eye and an ugly red burn across his hands. I reached out with shaking fingers and touched his cheek. Dean’s alive, but is Luke still inside him? The air around me grew colder, and I felt a breeze slide across my cheek.
I looked up and saw a banshee barreling down on me. No…that’s not a banshee. I recognized the expression of hatred on that ghostly face. It’s Weatherton in his spirit form!
The large gray mass knocked me over, and I felt a burning sensation across my arms. I looked down and saw long welts forming. Weatherton was attacking me as a spirit. Luke once told me that ghosts could get physical—they could push things, they could move things, they could scratch. What else can they do? I wasn’t about to stay and find out. I rolled, scrambling to my feet as something tore through the back of my shirt. I had to rip open the veil between this world and the next and shove Weatherton through it—but when I tried to channel my magic, searing pain exploded inside my head. I scanned the yard, but there was no place to run, no place to hide.
Weatherton’s ghostly form knocked me to the ground again and then violently tossed me onto my back. It floated above me. Within the shadowy face, his eyes shimmered with madness. Before I could struggle away, tentacles of gray mist stretched down and wrapped around my neck. Ghostly hands strangled me, relentlessly squeezing my throat, crushing with lethal intent. I couldn’t breathe. Panic overwhelmed me and I lashed out, but my fingers clawed at nothing but air.
I’m going to die.
I looked into those ghostly eyes, shining with so much hatred. Weatherton wouldn’t stop until I left this world. The electroshock treatment weakened me, my powers so far had been useless… My chest burned, tears clouded my eyes, and there was no air. My body began to go limp as my consciousness drifted away.
Then something inside me exploded.
Time seemed to slow to a standstill. Weatherton’s spirit hovered above me, motionless.
And then I was there.
I knew Weatherton was still trying to throttle my physical body, but not here. In front of the abyss, I was in control. The ink-black void spread before me.
A light appeared behind me, opposite of the darkness. I turned, and within it saw the outlines of people standing as if in a lit doorway. I couldn’t make out faces, but a sense of familiarity settled over me. Rays of golden light broached the abyss and I knew I had two options: enter the light and leave the heartache and suffering of this world behind, or plunge headfirst into the darkness that lived deep within me.
Wendy, Dean, and Mildred’s faces flashed across my mind. My friends. Once Weatherton killed me, he would destroy them, too.
I have to fight. I have to live. I have to see Weatherton pay. I turned my back on the light.
And I leapt into the abyss.
Dark forms swam around me. I’m not alone in here. Something slid across my skin. Not the touch of a spirit, but something else. Nails, claws? The air roared with angry cries and screams of terror. The noise beat against my ears, filled my head. There was nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. Would I die in here? Had I been wrong to jump?
There was fear inside me, but it I pushed it away. I had to be strong.
A voice from within the darkness—within myself—reminded me, There isn’t much time. Hurry now…
What do I need to help me fight against Weatherton? I asked myself. He’s bound so many souls to him for strength. The answer clicked then: strength. I need strength.
Was I strong enough? Could I destroy him? Or would he kill me before I could even try?
You’re too weak… The electroshock therapy had bruised my mind and my body.
“I’m not weak!” I shouted into the darkness. That rush of power, of rage, of certainty I’d felt after the second ritual—when I stared at my changed reflection—came back to me. And with it came strength. “I am strong. My strength is here, all around me. It’s here in the darkness—the darkness living within me.”
With that statement, an orange light sparked over me, all around me, through me. I would not give up. I want to live. I am a death dealer.
I opened my eyes. Weatherton’s ghostly face stared down at me. Gray tentacles were still squeezing the life out of me. Time had sped back up. My heartbeat was so slow, so weak. I was dying.
I focused on a spot in the air above me. Tears filled my eyes, blurring my vision. There was such a burning in my chest. My body screamed for oxygen, but I forced those thoughts away and concentrated on ripping open the veil.
There was a shimmering in the air, but then a white-hot pain flashed across my brain. This time I fought through the pain. I forced myself to go on. I focused on the spot again. The air shimmered, and the tiny spot began to grow.
I turned my attention back to Weatherton’s spirit, trying to push him toward the tear. He didn’t budge. I tried again, but he was too strong.
And then suddenly there were other things around me. Ghostly fingers caressed my cheek. I heard a whisper in my ear, “You aren’t alone. We are here.” Shapes flickered in and out of focus around me.
Morgana? Weatherton drew his strength from the spirits he’d bound to him. The spirit pack had destroyed many of them in the fight. If I can cross over the remaining spirits, if I can free them from his grasp, he’ll lose power. With the thought came a flash of panic and doubt. But I’ve never crossed over more than one spirit at a time, or a banshee.
I had no idea if I could do it, but I had to try.
I glanced around at Morgana and the spirits surrounding her and pulled them closer to me. Then, with all my might, I pushed them toward the tear within the veil. Golden rays shot out from within the rip. I could hear voices shouting out words of welcome, words of love. A light blazed out and surrounded the spirits. The light bathed them within it, and then they were slowly sucked into the hole.
I had maybe seconds left to live. I ripped open the veil again. This time there was no light; instead, dark flames shot out. I focused on Weatherton, trying to shove him toward it. He barely moved. I pushed harder. The tentacles around my neck eased off just a bit. I pushed again and again. Weatherton’s face contorted in rage.
I was running out of strength. My friends will all die if I don’t succeed. They’ll all die unless I force this madman into hell. I can do this. I have to do this.
Deep inside, a spark of anger came to life. I felt the darkness race through me. It coursed through my blood. I completely surrendered to the death dealer rage inside me. With more strength than I’d ever had before, I ripped the veil wider. Dark flames flared out as the hole grew. There is no more time, no more air in my lungs. I could feel myself slipping away.
With one last mental scream, I forced the killer back. I watched the flames encircle Weatherton’s spirit. I watched the darkness pull his ghostly form in. The portal closed. As it did, my heart stopped beating.