Hades (7 page)

“Annabel Lee?” she said puzzled. “There’s nobody here

by that name.”

I felt a claw of ice fasten around my heart. That name

might not mean anything to them, but it meant a lot to me. I

could stil remember him standing before the class and

reading the poem in a voice like velvet:
“It was many and

many a year ago / In a kingdom by the sea, / That a

maiden there lived whom you may know / By the name of

Annabel Lee.”
I remembered the way his dark eyes had

seared into mine and I’d felt then a terrible, burning

uneasiness deep within me. That same feeling flooded

back to me now, and I felt my throat go dry and my chest

begin to seize up. Could it real y be him? Had an innocent

prank real y summoned something so monstrous? I didn’t

want to believe it, but looking at the bewildered

expressions around me, I knew there was no mistake. That

message was intended for me and me alone. Jake Thorn

was back and right here in the room with us.

My gut reaction was to instinctively tear myself away, but I

fought against it. Protecting the others was the only thing

that stopped me. I prayed we stil had time to end the

seance properly and return the evil we’d conjured back to

where it came from.

“Tel us what you want,” Abby said, swal owing hard, her

voice several octaves higher than before.

What was she doing? Couldn’t she see how out of our

depth we were? I was about to take charge and demand

that Abby stop when the doorknob began to rattle

vigorously. It shook and twisted from side to side as if

some invisible force were trying to get out. By al logical

reasoning it was impossible—the door was unlocked. Such

an unnatural occurrence proved too much for some of the

girls to handle.

“Try to stay calm,” I counseled in as level a voice as I

could muster, but it was too late. Mol y pul ed her hands free

and scrambled backward on al fours. In the process she

kicked the board with her foot and sent it skidding across

the floorboards. The sherry glass flew into the air and

landed beside me, splintering into tiny shards. At that

moment I felt a rush of frosty air hit me in the chest, almost

knocking the wind out of me. The bedroom door flew open,

rattling on its hinges.

“Mol y!” Hal ie screeched as soon as she’d recovered

from the shock. “What have you done?”

“I don’t want to play anymore,” Mol y cried in a choked

voice. She wrapped her arms around her torso, as if she

could hug the warmth back into her body. “Beth was right,

this was a stupid idea, and we should never have done it.”

I got up and fumbled for the light switch, my stomach

twisting into a knot when I remembered the power at the

house had been disconnected.

“It’s okay, Mol y.” I put an arm around her shoulders and

hugged her, trying not to let her see the panic that was

wel ing inside me. Somebody needed to stay calm. I could

feel Mol y’s body shaking uncontrol ably. I wanted to tel her

it was nothing but a stupid game and we could al have a

good laugh about it later. But deep down, I knew this was

no harmless prank. I rubbed Mol y’s arm and said the most

comforting thing I could think of.

“Let’s just go downstairs and pretend it never happened.”

“I don’t think it’s that easy.” Abby’s voice was soft and

ominous. She was stil kneeling on the floor, picking up

shards of broken glass, her eyes fixed on the mess before

her.

“Stop it, Abby,” I said angrily. “Can’t you see she’s

scared?”

“No, Beth, you don’t get it.” Abby looked up at me and I

saw al her condescension had fal en away. Her blue eyes

were just as wide and alarmed as Mol y’s. “She broke the

circle.”

“So what?” I demanded.

“Whatever we summoned was trapped within the circle,”

Abby whispered. “We could have sent it back. But now …”

Her voice was tremulous as she looked around the room

uneasily. “Mol y just set it free.”

5

Highway to Hell

I stood on the landing watching my hysterical friends

stumble down the stairs two at a time. It wouldn’t be long

before word spread that there’d been an actual ghost

sighting on the night of Hal oween. While no one had

actual y seen anything, I was sure the story would be

embel ished many times before the night was over.

A sudden wave of dizziness caused me to reach for the

banister to steady myself. So far what had been planned as

a night of fun had turned out to be anything but. I’d had

enough of this party. It was time to leave. Now al I had to do

was find Xavier and ask him to take me home. When the

dizziness passed, I found my way into the kitchen where I

was grateful to be greeted by a much more innocent

Hal oween activity. A group was taking turns bobbing for

apples in a tin tub they’d dragged in from the barn and

placed in the center of the room. A girl was on her knees

practicing taking deep breaths before submerging her face

in the water. The onlookers cheered her on. When she

final y rocked back on her heels, her dark hair clung to her

exposed neck and shoulders and a rosy apple was

clenched triumphantly between her teeth. When someone

propel ed me forward, I realized I had unwittingly joined the

line to play.

“Your turn!” I felt a swarm of warm bodies around me.

I resisted by digging my heels into the floor. “I don’t want

a turn. I was just watching.”

“Come on!” the voices urged. “Give it a shot.”

I decided it might be easier to pick up an apple than try

to fight their enthusiasm. Despite the voice in my head

tel ing me to run, to leave this place, I found myself on my

knees staring at my own reflection distorted by the

movement of the water. I squeezed my eyes shut and

forced the warnings out of my head. When I opened them, I

saw something in the water that made my heart stop.

Hovering just behind my reflection was a wobbly image of a

wasted face, its skeletal features concealed behind a

heavy hood. It clutched something in its crooked, clawlike

hand. Was it a sickle? Its free hand reached out toward me

and its abnormal y elongated fingers seemed to curl

themselves like tendrils around my neck. I knew it was

impossible, but the figure was startlingly familiar. I’d seen

its iconic black robes in books and paintings and I knew it

from my teachings back home. It was a representation of

death … a Grim Reaper. But what did it want from me? I

couldn’t be touched by death so it must be here for a

different reason. It was an omen. But of what? I panicked

and pushed my way roughly out of the circle and ran for the

back door.

Outside I could stil hear the muffled cries of protest at my

al eged lack of participation. I ignored them and put a hand

on my chest as if wil ing my heartbeat to steady. The cool

air helped a little, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that the

phantom reaper had fol owed me and was lurking nearby,

waiting for a chance to catch me alone and encircle my

throat with its wafer-thin hands.

“Beth, what are you doing out here? Are you al right?”

I heard a strange sound and realized it was coming from

me. I was taking long, gasping breaths. The voice was

familiar but it didn’t belong to Xavier as I’d hoped. Ben

Carter got off the porch and came and stood beside me,

shaking me gently as if I needed to be woken from a trance.

The human contact made me feel marginal y better.

“Beth, what happened? You sounded like you were

choking … .” Ben’s uncombed hair hung over his brown

eyes, which now looked at me with trepidation. I tried to

catch my breath but failed and began to fal forward

instead. If Ben hadn’t been there to catch me, I would have

toppled facedown onto the ground. Ben seemed to be of

the opinion that I had caused my own state of suffocation.

“What the hel are you doing?” he demanded, once he’d

established that I wasn’t dying. He peered at me closely.

Beneath his apprehension I saw a new idea dawn. “Have

you been drinking?”

I was about to vehemently deny such an al egation before

realizing that it was probably the most plausible explanation

I could offer for my erratic behavior.

“Maybe,” I said, twisting out of his grasp and struggling to

my feet. I backed away from Ben, fighting the urge to burst

into tears. “Thanks for your help,” I said rapidly. “I’m fine.

Real y.”

As I walked away from him, one question kept sounding

in my head, loud and clear. Where was Xavier? Something

was wrong. I could feel it. Every celestial instinct warned me

that we needed to get out of here
. Fast.

I found a weeping wil ow in the front yard and leaned

against its sturdy trunk. I could see Ben stil standing by the

front porch looking at me with an expression of concern

mingled with confusion. But I couldn’t worry about having

offended Ben now. I had more important things to think

about. Could it seriously be happening again? Could

demons have returned to Venus Cove? I knew for a fact

that there was no more evil in this place. Gabriel and Ivy

had seen to that. Jake had been banished—I’d seen raging

tongues of fire consume him. He couldn’t be back. But why

was every hair on my body standing on end? Why were

chil s coursing through my veins like tiny lightning bolts?

I felt as if I were being hunted. From where I stood alone

on the gravel drive, I had an uninterrupted view of the back

fields and the thick woodland beyond. I could see the

scarecrow in the paddock, his head drooping onto his

chest. I hoped Xavier was on his way back from the lake. I

knew as soon as I saw him my fear would ebb away like a

receding tide. Together we were strong and could protect

each other. I needed to find him.

Just then, a gust of wind set the dry grass rustling. The

scarecrow’s clothing began to flap and its head snapped

up, staring directly at me with its black button eyes. My

heart somersaulted in my chest and I let out a piercing

scream. I spun on my heels and started back toward the

house.

I didn’t get far before col iding with someone.

“Whoa, take it easy,” said a boy, hopping lightly to one

side. “What’s up? You look kind of freaked out.”

His speech was far too slurred for a demon’s, and when I

glanced up, I saw he didn’t look like one either. He wasn’t

wearing a costume and I recognized him vaguely from

somewhere. My panic subsided a little when I realized it

was Ryan Robertson, Mol y’s former prom date. He was

standing with a huddle of people who had gathered outside

the front porch. A half-consumed cigarette dangled from his

hand. The group regarded me with sluggish disinterest.

There was a sharp, bitter scent in the air that I couldn’t

identify, but was strangely pungent.

I lifted a hand to my cheek, felt it burning hot, and was

grateful for the cool night air against my skin. “I’m okay,” I

said, trying to sound convincing. The last thing I wanted to

do was raise unnecessary alarm based on my own

misgivings.

“That’s good.” Ryan closed his eyes dreamily. “I wouldn’t

want you to be not okay, if you see what I mean.” I frowned;

he wasn’t sounding entirely coherent. Was it me, I