The wind was howling. Or was that the wraiths? Susanna wasn’t sure. She felt dizzy, disoriented.
This wasn’t how it usually happened. Where was the world? Where were the tower blocks and rusting cars? Where was the blood stain on the pavement from Jack trying to haul himself away from danger – and towards death.
“What is this?” Jack hollered. It was hard to hear him over the whooshing, whirling and screaming.
“The wasteland,” Susanna shouted back.
“Why doesn’t it look like it did before?”
Because it was real now. The bloody red core that lay beneath every soul’s projection. This was the underbelly where the wraiths didn’t have to follow the rules of sun and shadow, because the burning ball in the sky shone deep red, keeping the landscape in a permanent state of semi-darkness.
Susanna stared at Jack, dread bubbling in her stomach. This is how the Inquisitor had punished them. Crossing the wasteland like this – following the thin sliver of inky-black pavement that wound through the blood-soaked sands – was almost impossible.
It was a death sentence.
“Jack,” Susanna said, turning to the soul she’d led too far from his path, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”