Nevermore (Nevermore 1)

Earth poured over her in rushing waves from all sides. It fell against her body in heavy clods, a suffocating weight that fast became crushing.

“No!” she screamed, flailing. She thrashed, battling to loosen herself from the raining soil and ash that threatened to consume her. She fought to stand, causing the dirt to press more tightly around her. It claimed her legs, trapping her. She reached with both arms toward the edge of the grave, toward the open sky, but the earth gushed, building to her waist, to her chest. It piled past her shoulders, her head, and now raced to consume her arms, swallowing the light one fragment at a time. With it went the vision of the trees, the gravestones, the ashen sky, and the scarlet, blood-drenched visage of the Red Death.

44

Red Death

The growing silence seared her mind. Isobel arched against the constricting earth, the enclosing darkness. Her dirt prison shifted in answer to her movements, compressing.

Out! She needed to get out!

With her mouth clamped shut, she unleashed a scream from the back of her throat. But who would hear? She couldn’t move her arms. Her legs. Anything. Panicked, she realized she’d been holding her breath. The packed dirt squeezed her chest, crushed her lungs. She couldn’t breathe!

She gasped involuntarily and was rewarded with a mouthful of coarse grime. She swallowed and her body convulsed at the acrid taste. Her lungs burned for air. Her heart knocked hard against her rib cage, begging for release.

If she didn’t get out, she was going to die. She knew it. She was going to die.

Varen. She thought his name over and over in her head. Varen, where are you?

No answer came to her, and gradually she grew still again. Locked in the earth’s suffocating embrace, she listened to the flutter of her heart, the only sound in her ears as, beat by beat, its rhythm began to slow. Its thump reminded her of the sound of a clock, one that was winding down, about to stop forever.

At least she’d gotten to see him, she thought, to tell him how she felt. At least he knew. At least she’d tried. Tears pricked at her eyes. How could she die when she’d promised to come back for him? When he was waiting for her? She squeezed her eyes and felt the tears leave her, stolen by the absorbing dirt that had taken her breath, and with it, her final hope.

Something cool grazed the very tips of her fingers. That was when she realized that they must be the only bit of her still above ground. Her waning consciousness told her it was the wind. The sensation came again, and Isobel flexed her fingers—and felt the soft brush of . . . fabric?

All at once, the crushing pressure pushing down on her lightened. Something drove into the dirt, and Isobel latched at once to the arm that plunged to grasp hers. It pulled, and she felt herself being dragged up one inch at a time. The dirt fell away, releasing her from its death grip. Her head broke the surface. She gasped. Someone was there, pulling her free.

Coughing, Isobel sucked in cool gulps of air, her lungs battling to expel hunks of dark gray soot.

“Varen?” she choked, groping for the arms that pulled her from the grave. “Varen!”

“Why will you not heed my words?”

The gloved hand clutching hers tightened. She opened her eyes.

From behind the white scarf, Reynolds’s dark gaze tunneled into hers, anxious, angry, and . . . fearful? He shook her. “Why do you not listen to me? If you would only take control!”

The world swam. Above him the sky churned to a deeper, more tumultuous violet. The ash fell heavily now, catching like snowflakes on her eyelashes. She blinked them away.

“Varen,” she croaked. She released her clutch on Reynolds and fought to sit up.

Ahead, through blurred vision, she could see the doors of the masquerade palace open. That thing—the Red Death—had gone inside.

Isobel pushed against Reynolds, who held her still. She struggled to stand, but he gripped her hard, holding her steady by the shoulders. “You will not find him there.”

Her eyes snapped to his.

A long, low moan of wind stirred the edges of his cloak, the gale picking up speed. It whisked a cascade of falling ash between them in a whirlwind.

“What are you talking about? Where is he?”

“Escaped. If I am discovered in this, his release could cost what is left of my soul. And yours,” he added in earnest. “In truth, it could cost everything. Do not let it have been in vain.”

Isobel shook her head, trying to understand. “How?”

“I followed you,” he said, his tone clipped. “You left me no choice. I knew how to enter the purple chamber. May it be that I was not witnessed. If he was not intercepted, then it is on the other side, in your world, that he now waits.”

Isobel hesitated, gripping his sleeve, wanting to believe. “You said there was no way!”