XI

Faith

"Argh."

I woke up with a crick in my neck and Skittles mewing outside the door. Easing into a standing position vertebra by vertebra like an old lady, I pried the door open to pick my diva cat up like a baby. Across the room, the digital alarm on my nightstand read: Wednesday, November 1, 10:00 a.m. Oh my God . I'd managed to knock out for five hours on the floor without waking up. It crossed my mind that the mysterious power had drained my energy, or maybe I'd just been exhausted from all the stress.

I rubbed out the knot in my neck as I moved across the room. Being the sleep-deprived, messy-haired, puffy-eyed-from-crying zombie that I was, I wanted to face-plant into the bed and sleep for all eternity. As I leaned my knee onto my mattress, something crinkled in my pocket. I slid my hand inside and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

Faith,

There are things I couldn't tell you on the way home.

Before Michael, I met Devin Star. He was beautiful, charming, and I was so na?ve that I fell for him, until I found out he had a secret agenda. The Guild protects the balance between good and evil in the mortal realm. Therefore, we are in possession of the Book of the Dead. Devin crossed paths with me right before my father passed the grimoire to me.

Faith, I am the protector of the Book of the Dead .

When I started training for this responsibility, I had a moment of clarity. I realized how stupid I was being. I cut ties with Devin and warded him off from my apartment. He never came looking for me again.

There are rules with the Book of the Dead . Heaven made sure a long time ago that no creature of the night can touch it. Only the protector of the book can pass it down to another, and they don't need to be a blood relative or a Guild member. If you can believe it, the grimoire has been in our family for over a century. When I die, since I don't have a child in the Guild, another member will take on the role of protector.

This all being said, it is well-known that nobody has been able to read the script in over three hundred years. Until now. I think that Lucifer and Death believe you can read the grimoire, and we must never let them test this theory.

Whatever happens, you made the right choice. Above all else, Lucifer cannot get his hands on the spells inside the book. You are everything good, and I am so proud of how strong you are. Now burn this note, kiddo.

Love you,

Aunt Sarah

Hurrying into the kitchen, I found a lighter in the junk drawer and lit the note on fire before dropping it into the sink.

Aunt Sarah knew where the Book of the Dead was, and she could hand it off to anyone she wanted to, but Devin Star couldn't touch it or read it because he was Lucifer and a creature of the night. If I really was this chosen person who could read the book, Devin's opportunity to use me had passed, since I'd denied him my soul.

So Devin had to let my aunt go at some point, right?

No, because there was more to the relationship between her and Lucifer. There had to be.

Yeah, no way was I going to school today.

After anxiously cleaning up my room to declutter my space, I unplugged my cell phone from the charging cable and checked my missed messages. Marcy had texted me a bunch of times the night before.

Are you still at the farm???

Hellooooo?

BITCH, HELLO???? R U ALIVE?

I sent off a quick reply.

Me: Sorry, got home safe!! My phone died.

Marcy: Dude, you need to charge your phone! I was so worried about you and Thomas, and everything is just so weird right now. What the hell happened last night at the corn maze?

Me: No clue. I hope Thomas is okay.

Marcy: Me too. His eyes looked so strange. I swear they were like black . . .

Marcy: Do you think it's drugs like his big bro?

Me: IDK. All I know is Thomas is not our problem anymore. We can care without getting involved.

Marcy: Harsh. True tho. Thomas messed with me, and I shouldn't get involved. But I hate how he dumped all that on you about telling his mom he loved her?? WTF was that???

I felt wracked by guilt at the thought of not delivering that message to Thomas's mom yet. Malphas's underling had infected Thomas with his venom, and his body had accepted it. Now he was one of the raven demons. His life was ruined, and it was all my fault.

Me: I just hope he gets the help he needs.

Marcy: Me too. Also, WHY AREN'T YOU AT SCHOOL RN?

Me: Woke up with a bad stomachache. That time of the month. :(

Marcy: Awww. I feel u. Need me to drop off anything later to help?

Me: Nope.

Marcy: Ok, love u cutie, get some zzz's & feel better!!!!

Me: Love u!

Aching everywhere from the stress of last night, I forced myself to take a hot shower to loosen my muscles and changed into clean pajamas. Face-planting into my bed, I slept another four hours, which left me surprisingly well-rested, but I still felt a little shaky. Despite my lack of appetite lately, I worked down two pieces of toast with butter and strawberry preserves and a big, cold glass of oat milk. Slowly, I started to feel like myself again.

My parents wouldn't get home from work until around six. With only a handful of hours to myself, and with all the reasons to distract my thoughts, I went back to my roots. Pulling out my paint-splattered stool, I sat in front of my canvas and started to paint.

And for the first time in a long time, I found peace.

It was finally Friday, and I'd survived three days since walking out of Hell.

Word of Thomas Gregory's disappearance had spread like wildfire throughout Pleasant Valley High School, the story shifting from person to person like a bad game of telephone.

Thomas had overdosed on drugs, just like his older brother. Thomas had run away. Thomas was dead.

I felt devastated, wracked by anxiety and guilt.

Thank God Marcy was coming over that night for a much-needed sleepover.

The smell of freshly baked muffins wafted into our living room from the kitchen. Mom slaved away in the kitchen baking blondies, Marcy's favorite dessert. Before we had guests over, she always made baked goods like muffins, cookies, or cupcakes. According to her, the scent of baked goods made everyone feel right at home. I couldn't help but think about when David Star had come to my house, and she had just made cupcakes. How David had stopped my softball bat from connecting with his skull. The bat with strawberry icing on it, which he'd licked off with unflinching eye contact. Warmth flooded my body as I replayed the kiss at the end of the night, and how he—

No, no, no . Why was I thinking about that maniac?

I pushed all thoughts of him aside and tried to focus on the baseball game. One of the Yankees hit a hard line drive. The outfielder on the other team dove for it and missed, and we leapt up from the sofa and cheered.

"What happened?" Mom asked as she walked into the room with a plate of banana-nut muffins. We all took one, and Mom sat on the other side of me with her legs curled in.

"Bases are loaded now. I smell a grand slam!" My dad hurried into the hallway and returned with his jersey inside out.

Mom rolled her eyes. "Here we go again with the game superstitions . . . "

Laughing, I bit into my muffin. "Mmm, wow!"

"Aren't they delish?" She bit into hers. "I used a different recipe this time. Super moist."

"Please, never say that word again."

The Yankees didn't hit that grand slam, but they won the game. Mom and I made two pizzas with pepperoni, mushrooms, peppers, onions, and (gasp) sliced pineapple for Marcy. Skittles jumped on the stool beside me as I washed my hands in the kitchen sink, her tail swishing back and forth. She looked up at me with her big doe eyes, and I discreetly snuck her a piece of pepperoni before Mom saw. She ran away with it like a bandit.

Things felt so normal. For the first time in a long time, I was happy.

"'Sup," I said, taking Marcy's bag as she entered our home a little while later.

"Nuttin'." She bumped my fist with hers. Skittles pranced over to greet her, weaving between her legs.

"Well, howdy, little baby!" Marcy bent down to pick my cat up and held her like an infant. "Oh, that's a little baby . . . "

"She is, in fact, just a little baby," I agreed.

"Hey, Marcy!" Dad called from the living room.

"Hi, Mr. Henry!" Marcy shouted back. She insisted on calling both of my parents by their first names that way. They thought it was hysterical. "Heard the Yankees had an awesome game!"

"That they did, that they did." Dad kissed Marcy on the cheek before plopping back down on the couch. "Did your dad catch it? Or is he out fighting crime as usual?"

"Dad's out fighting crime as usual, but I'm sure he caught snippets of it on the radio. He never misses a game."

"My man," Dad said approvingly.

"Something smells yummy," Marcy said, still holding Skittles as we meandered into the kitchen. "What are you guys cooking in there?"

"Pizza." I beamed. "With added pineapple, since you're a literal sadist."

Marcy adjusted Skittles to one arm to hold out her hand toward me. "Hater energy, begone."

"Hello, my other beautiful girl!" Mom took off her oven mitts and shuffled over to give Marcy a hug. "Hungry? I made pizza, blondies, and banana muffins."

"Oh my gosh, that sounds like so much work!"

"You know I love baking for my girls. How's life? How's your father doing?"

"Same old, same old. We have a big volleyball tournament next weekend, so I'm excited about that."

"That's amazing! Your father must be so proud. Will he be going?"

Marcy's upbeat expression saddened ever so slightly. "Um, I think so, yeah. It doesn't matter, it's an away game. Those can be harder for him with his job. I'm sure he'll show up to a few this season, though."

Skittles wiggled in her arms, breaking the brief tension as Marcy set her down and returned to her bubbly self. "Anyway, how was your trip to Hawaii, Mrs. Lisa? You got tan, lady!"

"The food, the scenery, everything was so beautiful," Mom gushed with a sigh. "I wish we could have stayed there forever." She looped an arm around my shoulders. "We missed our baby girl way too much, though!" She proceeded to theatrically kiss my head until I wiggled away from her with a laugh.

Mom, Marcy, and I talked for a while longer while we all nibbled on pizza. Dad chimed in with his usual funny jokes to try to distract from the fact that he'd snuck into the kitchen to make his ice cream sundae with a blondie before dinner. The failed heist ended in my mom smacking him jokingly with her oven mitt as he ran out of the room with the whipped cream. Looked like Skittles wasn't the only bandit in the house.

Mom and Dad always went out of their way to make Marcy feel like part of the family, and I could tell she appreciated it, especially with her mom being gone. Even though we were best friends, Marcy had been busier with her volleyball friends the last two years. It felt like old times again.

"So, I got some more info," Marcy said later once we'd relocated to my bedroom. "About the whole Thomas sitch . . . "

I was eating my third piece of pizza at my vanity and froze. I chewed slower, hoping my face in the reflection in the mirror in front of me didn't give away my inner panic. The last thing I wanted to talk about was Thomas and the corn maze, because then I thought about Malphas, and Death, and his missing scythe, and the Book of the Dead , and no — no more!

"Do you remember Tommy's uncle Ben?" Marcy continued, mixing face masks in the little tie-dye ceramic bowl I'd made in art class. "The one we met at his house a loooong time ago?

"The guy who collected old-fashioned yo-yos and smelled like cooked mushrooms?"

"Yep."

"Of course, I remember him. He was funny."

"Funny in an odd sort of way. Like you!" Marcy dodged the rubber band that I quickly flung at her like an assassin.

"Apparently, Ben and Thomas's father had a big falling-out. Ben moved out to Colorado, and the Gregorys think Tommy might have been influenced by him or something. Like, to run away. The cops found sketchy messages on his computer between Ben and him. Dad said Thomas was feeling a lot of pressure from his dad about swimming. You know how Mr. Gregory is."

Like I could forget. Mr. Gregory had been an Olympic swimmer before a rotator cuff injury forced him into retirement. Now he was the head swimming coach for Pleasant Valley. It was no secret that Thomas's father berated and pushed his son harder than any of the other kids on the team.

"Did they confirm Thomas is with his uncle Ben?" I asked.

"Not yet." Marcy used a plush blue headband to push her hair back. Then she sat crisscross applesauce on the blow-up mattress and took little squirrel bites of her pizza and her banana muffin like she was savoring it all. "At least there's a lead, though, and it might not be drugs . . . "

"He'll be okay, Mar." I twisted my pizza crust between my fingers, urgently getting away from this topic. "So, how's Nathan?" Great transition, genius . "You two an item yet?"

Marcy coughed a little on her pizza. "Oh, Faith, Faith, Faith . . . "

"What?"

"Nathan and I are just hooking up. It's totally not serious."

"Oh?"

"There's nothing wrong with that, you know." She seemed hurt, like she wanted validation from me about it.

"I just think Nathan is good for you. He seems nice."

"And he is. He's nice. But yawn , you know?"

"Oh my God. Marcy . . . "

"What? Am I wrong? Plus, I've been thinking about it a lot, and I don't know. Is now the time to be looking for a boyfriend? ‘Cause it feels like now's the time to be dating an older drummer in a band. I'm going to be in the city for fashion school next year. Long distance is not the mood or the vibe."

"True, long distance is not the mood-vibe," I agreed.

"See, you get it." Swiping on her phone, she changed the song playing on my Bluetooth speaker through Spotify. "How about you? Apply anywhere else other than SVA?"

Blood rushed to my ears at the mention of one of my top college choices. It was my absolute dream to attend the School of Visual Arts. With all the madness of the past few weeks, I'd completely tabled applying for colleges.

"Did you know pineapple is a zombie fruit?" I blurted.

Marcy swiped a bit of mask on her cheek and paused. "Huh?"

"There's an enzyme in it called bromalin, and it tries to break down the proteins in your mouth. That's why pineapple can burn when you eat it. Zombie fruit."

Marcy narrowed her eyes, raw honey, nutmeg, and milk dripping off the brush in her hand and into the bowl. "Don't tell me you didn't apply yet, Ms. A Student?"

"B student."

"Excusez-moi?"

" Vous êtes excusé. I'm failing chemistry."

"What?" Marcy exclaimed. "You, Faith Williams, failing chemistry?"

"I missed the deadline on a big lab assignment." While I was being chased by venomous demons created by a raven demigod . "I'm talking to my teacher next week to hand it in late and get some credit. It's fine."

"Holy shit, Faith." Marcy set down the untouched face mask and sat down on the vanity beside my chair. "This is bad, isn't it?"

"I mean, I can get my grade back up . . . "

"No, I mean the reason you're failing. We both know I've had my fair share of flunks, but this is you we're talking about here. What's going on?"

I chewed on my thumbnail. "Can't a girl just miss an assignment—?"

"Did something else happen with David Star?"

I spun my chair away from her, pretending to look for a hair tie in my drawer. "I said it's fine, Marcy. Drop it."

"Clearly not," she said, crossing her arms. "You haven't failed anything since the third grade."

That result had been a mistake, since the teacher had accidentally graded one number ahead for half of my pop quiz, and she ended up correcting it.

"What's this?" Marcy asked, holding up a folded piece of paper that she'd plucked off the floor. "‘Tick-tock'?"

My heart fell into my stomach.

Death's note.

"Oh, that?" I snatched it out of her hand, shredding the paper into little pieces of confetti before dumping it into the trash. "That's just a note to humble myself. Tick-tock, life is short! Ha ha!"

Marcy stared at me like I'd just sprouted Medusa snakes as hair.

"Okayyy, let's look at the facts," Marcy began, flicking out a manicured nail as she counted off. "You, an A student , are failing chemistry. You're skipping school, like, all the time now—very unlike you. When you do show up to school, you're tired, daydreaming, and, frankly, a bit of a sour bitch. More than the usual loveable amount."

"Kiss my ass."

Marcy gave me a pointed look. "You've been doodling those freaky green cat eyes all over the place again," she continued, "and you've just been acting weird. And if none of that is enough proof, you literally just said ‘ha ha' out loud like a total weirdo. So, can you be honest with me? What's going on? Is it David?"

I felt frozen in place, emotion tightening my chest.

"Why don't we talk about it, Faith? You'll feel better."

I wasn't one to dump my problems on other people. I tended to keep everything to myself until it all surfaced, until it all exploded. However, all the paranormal happenings in my life were much harder to keep to myself.

I rubbed my hands down my face. "David is part of the problem." The other part being the ancient villain half of his split personality. I didn't mention that part. "We, uh, had a big fight . . . recently."

"You never did tell me what happened after he showed up at Manuel's."

"He came to apologize." And manipulate my gullible butt .

"Apologize for what? For letting the MF girl of his dreams go? You're funny, smart—nix that current chem grade—and you have the biggest heart of anyone I know. But it's not bigger than that ass."

"Marcy."

"Not to mention, you're gorgeous. Capital G for emphasis. Not in a ‘I know I'm hot' or attention-craving way like everyone else who's hot either. In a humble, girl-next-door kind of way. Which makes you even hotter."

I laughed despite the surge of tears blurring my vision. "I'm such an idiot, Marcy. There were so many warnings that we were wrong for each other, but I ignored every one of them. I think I loved him."

"Oh, Faith . . . " Teary-eyed, my best friend pulled me into a bear hug, and all the emotion I'd suppressed the past few days came pouring out. I broke down in tears.

We stayed up late playing card games and doing each other's nails while binging Buffy on my TV. Between laughing until we wheezed and talking about all our stressors (minus anything supernatural, obviously), hanging out with my bestie had been the medicine the doctor ordered.

Marcy passed out before I did. I made sure the blanket was fully on her before I crawled into bed and hugged Mr. Wiggles to my chest. The lamp beside my bed was still on. I reached toward it but paused, my fingertips haloed by the light. A small, uneasy sensation shimmied down my spine at the thought of plunging the room into darkness. I slowly pulled my hand away and curled into a tight ball underneath my comforter to sleep.

I was in an abandoned mausoleum.

At least, I was pretty certain I was, based on the gray, crumbling marble and the crypt plates on one wall. My body felt light, numb, detached. Slowly, I looked down at my fingertips, which were haloed by a soft, white light.

A bad feeling prickled the back of my neck.

I was not alone.

When I turned, I faced a floor-to-ceiling mirror. I had no reflection. The glass surface rippled like water, and suddenly, from its depths, a bulge appeared on the surface. I moved backward. A face and body came forth, stretching across the mirror's surface like someone was shoving against a barrier between worlds. The barrier broke as a man emerged.

Ahrimad .

He stepped through the mirror like a door, just like he had in my vision of the willow tree with Alexandru. I remembered how he'd vanished into the mirrored ceiling at the D&S ball too. His amber eyes burned with wrath, but their spite was not directed at me.

He couldn't see me.

I assumed this was in the future, that some time must have passed, because Ahrimad appeared weaker, nearly unrecognizable. He was too pale, too thin, too sickly, like a parasite had drained him from the inside out. His cloak—Death's old cloak—hung off his wiry body, and in a bony hand he clutched Death's enormous scythe.

Another figure emerged from the mirror. Malphas . His eyes were like sharp onyx stones as he stalked the perimeter of the room, critically analyzing every inch of it. He sneered at a crack pipe on the floor and kicked it to the side.

"This place is foul," Malphas said, his rough voice grating like sandpaper. "It reeks of mold, and it's filthy. I strongly advise we assemble elsewhere."

Ahrimad strode past Malphas, a disturbingly evil grin stretching across his serrated teeth as he looked around the cold, dead space. "It is perfect. This is where we will house our army."

I gasped awake, jolting upward from the bed. My alarm clock read 7:30 a.m.

It had just been a dream.

Or maybe not.

Deep breathing did very little to calm me. With each exhale, my breath clung to the air like tiny clouds. The room was as frigid as a meat locker. Raking back a strand of damp, sweaty hair from my face, I crawled to the end of my bed and froze.

Marcy's spot on the blow-up mattress was empty.

Jumping off my bed, I jogged into my bathroom. Empty.

Hurrying back into my room, my attention snapped to my bedroom window. It was open, the curtains blowing in an icy breeze. A sliver of sunlight dawned on the horizon and seeped through the evergreen trees in the distance, creating a strange blue tint along our entire front yard. In the middle of the lawn, facing the street, stood Marcy.

My heart slammed into my ribs.

"Marcy?" I leaned out of the window. "Marcy!"

She stayed motionless, unresponsive. A cloud cast a shadow over the yard, darkening our surroundings to a dull gray. When I looked toward the horizon, I realized it wasn't a cloud at all.

Rawk! Rawk! Rawk!

Hurling myself through the window, my bare feet hit wet, dewy grass, and I tried to run. My body didn't seem to get the message. My limbs were heavy, lethargic, like moving through a dream. I stumbled to my knees. The air rippled in the sides of my vision like a mirage, and from behind the old oak tree emerged a dark figure with onyx eyes.

Malphas Cruscellio.

"Get away from her!" The scream tore from my throat like a roar, and heat rushed down my arm. Acting on instinct, I hurled out my hand, light unleashing over my surroundings, but my arm never made the full arc toward Malphas. One of the ravens had darted down from the sky toward my face, and the trajectory of my power sliced into the creature instead. It disintegrated into nothing. Another raven speared toward me, and I stumbled out of the way at the last second.

When I frantically looked up, Malphas was gone.

Marcy was gone too.

Gone.

In the blink of an eye.