Sweat poured off her skin as the hot burn of the spider mark spread to encompass and define every inch of her, making her feel like a living flame.
Cold air swirled around her, buffeting her, attacking then retreating. Finally making her aware of its touch on her naked flesh.
Araña opened her eyes to gray nothingness, like being lost in thick fog. A glance downward revealed the truth of what the shifting mist had hinted at.
Her clothing was gone, including the fingerless glove. In the land of spirits, the brand on her hand glowed black-red, like a brick of charcoal.
Movement to her left made her stiffen, but it was only nothingness giving way to the shamaness and bringing with it a quick swell of relief.
“I probably should have warned you,” Aisling said, noting the blush stealing across Araña’s cheeks. “Only those who call this world home can manifest clothing here.”
Araña gave a small nod, unsure of what to expect next. “I don’t see a circle,” she said, and a man’s voice responded, cutting through the grayness like a foghorn. “I believe that’s my cue to appear.”
He stepped into sight, eyes dancing with unholy glee as he made a point of studying their nakedness. His face was marked with a criminal’s tattoos, and for an instant, Araña wondered if Matthew or Erik had introduced her to him in one of the outlaw settlements or boat towns, but her artistic ability allowed her to memorize features, and his didn’t seem familiar to her.
“I like your choice of company, beautiful,” he said, focusing his attention on Aisling. “Light meat and dark meat. My mouth waters. What a tempting, succulent feast you’d both make. If I was willing to pay the price, of course.”
The man gave a mock sigh, his lips turning downward in an exaggerated frown. “I’m afraid I’ve got more than enough on my plate at the moment. So I’ll have to content myself with my fantasies.” His smile became sly. “I hope you don’t mind sharing your starring role with your friend.”
He turned and the band around his neck Araña had thought was crude jewelry became a twisted metal cable trailing down his back and disappearing into the fog. It slithered behind him as he walked, playing out to form a large circle.
When the cable finally met and crossed, color and texture and shape filled it, altering reality by changing nothingness into a sandy beach surrounded by a black ocean. A man shimmered into existence, a robed figure who sent an inexplicable surge of fear and pity through Araña.
She stepped back even as Aisling rushed forward, whispering “Aziel” as she wrapped her arms around him. And then his presence no longer mattered to Araña.
Erik and Matthew rose from the sea and stepped onto the beach as though they’d been swimming. Water glistened and sparkled, dripping from their hair and streaming down bare chests and onto the ragged, worn-out cutoffs she’d so often teased them about.
They smiled and opened their arms, and in her joy she was unself-conscious about her nakedness as she hurled herself forward, able to do what she’d never been able to do before, embrace them without fear of killing them.
A sob escaped, wrenched from the depths of her soul and opening the floodgate to her tears. Her body shuddered with the onslaught of emotion.
“Hush. Matthew and I are fine,” Erik murmured, stroking her hair and pressing kisses to her temple. “Better than fine.”
“You’re wasting time with your crying, girl,” Matthew said, his voice gruff with his own unshed tears and his hand tightening almost painfully on her arm as he fought to keep his emotions in check.
Araña inhaled on a long, shaky breath. They smelled the way they always did, like boats and surf and sunshine.
She pulled away far enough to look up into their beloved faces. “I’m sorry,” she said, the words holding all her guilt and pain. “I—”
“Stop,” Erik said. “You’re not to blame. Going to Oakland was a gamble. I would have died soon anyway. You know that. There have only been a few cases where someone’s been cured of the wasting disease, and those have been called miracles.”
The sand swirled up, as if issuing a warning. Matthew rubbed his stubbled cheek against her smooth one. “Live in the moment. There are no guarantees beyond it. Isn’t that what we taught you?”
“Yes.” Her arms tightened on them. “This place—”
“We’re not allowed to tell you anything beyond that we’re okay,” Erik said.
“You’re together?”
“Yes,” Matthew said. “And what we’ve found here is better than either of us expected after death. It’s better than we deserved. That’s no lie.”
The guilt and sadness and pain drained away with Matthew’s use of their private code. If he’d said they were telling the truth then she would have known it was the opposite.
More sand joined that which was already dancing and spinning above the ground. “We don’t have much longer,” Erik said.
Out of the corner of her eye, Araña saw Aziel gliding toward them. “I love you,” she whispered, saying the words they’d so rarely spoken out loud to one another, unable to stop herself from clinging to them as if she would remain with them or drag them back to the world of the living with her.
It was Matthew who answered gruffly, “You know the feeling is mutual.” And Erik who laughed softly at Matthew’s response then spoke the words she needed to hear, “We love you. Always.”
The cloaked figure had nearly reached them, bringing fear and darkness with him. His shadow was the black sea Erik and Matthew had risen and stepped out of, now coming to reclaim them.
Matthew kissed her. Then Erik did.
“Don’t let your courage fail you,” Erik said, his voice little more than a whisper spoken in the night as Aziel reached them. “Matthew and I did some terrible things when we lived. You were our redemption.” And then they were gone and Aisling was there beside her, both of them standing in the eye of a ferocious desert storm.
The sand swirled around them, gaining in speed. Golden granules gave way to gray nothingness. The roar of the wind became the screams of the dead, hurtling Araña’s soul away, returning it to its flesh housing, to the small room with a dirt floor that smelled of delta waterways, to the place where the demon Zurael stood guard in the doorway.
Araña left moments later, after reclaiming the knives and giving the crystal fetish to Aisling. Her thoughts swung like a pendulum, between all that had happened since leaving the healer’s house, and the anxious need to return to it and find Tir waiting there, safe, the boat secured.
The emotions she’d experienced in the ghostlands still had the power to make her throat clog and her eyes burn with tears. She wasn’t sure she could put into words what it meant to her—to see Matthew and Erik again, to be able to embrace them and to know they didn’t burn in the Hell those who controlled her early childhood would have prophesized for them—but she wanted to try.
She wanted to wrap her arms around Tir, to breathe in his scent and feel the hardness of his body against hers. She wanted to share her joy with him.
Even the prospect of returning to the witches’ house in order to gain control over her gift couldn’t suppress the giddy feelings of relief and happiness, the unburdening of the heavy weight of her guilt over Matthew and Erik’s deaths. Only the empty house had the power to do that.
Araña knew Tir wasn’t back as soon as she reached it. There was no movement at the window, no door opening, no demand to know where she’d been or why she’d risked capture by leaving.
Fear clutched at her, squeezing her stomach in a tight fist. She forced the fingers of icy horror to open as she went inside to verify the truth of his absence.
She refused to believe something had happened to Tir. She told herself his delay meant only that he was paying whatever price the vice lord demanded for safe harbor for the boat.