Oblivion (Nevermore #3)

Oblivion (Nevermore #3) Page 93

The croaking became a choked wail as ink bubbled up from her mouth. Spilling over in streams, dark liquid fell to splatter the floor.

Isobel flinched when she felt droplets sprinkle her face. Transfixed by the horror unfolding in front of her, though, she could not tear her gaze away. Not even as Lilith’s head lolled forward, sending forth more of the black bile to pool at her taloned feet.

Isobel felt Varen shift at her side. Edging backward, he pulled her with him, away from the expanding bath of blackness.

Lifting her streaming chin, Lilith glared after them through the wild mesh of her hair, focusing her bleeding black eye sockets on Isobel.

“You,” Lilith gurgled, taking one jerky step after them, then another. “Yooouuuu.”

Varen tugged harder, sliding them both along the smooth marble.

Though Isobel heard him say her name, she couldn’t shake herself from the trance induced by the depth of those two empty hollows. Her mind remained fixed on the demon, who, faltering with her next step, collapsed to the floor, soaked veils slapping the marble.

“I will fiiinnd you,” rasped the demon, her haggard voice dropping low, going guttural. “Rot your heart before your own eyes.”

Still Lilith continued to advance on them, using elbows to drag herself forward. The sound of the sword hilt scraping stone sent spikes of terror through Isobel’s gut, but still she could not snap herself out of her spellbound stare. Not until a pair of white-spattered boots stepped in front of her, blocking her view.

“Go,” came Reynolds’s voice. “Through the blue doors. For now, the worlds blend and part at your whim. Use it to your advantage. Go somewhere safe. Somewhere hidden.”

Isobel blinked up at the tall figure standing over them.

But Reynolds’s piercing stare was not aimed at her. And neither was his command.

Rising, Varen brought Isobel to her feet.

“W-wait,” Isobel murmured through numb lips, but Reynolds had already turned toward Lilith.

Taking Isobel’s hand, Varen tugged her in the opposite direction.

“Wait,” Isobel repeated, louder this time, and she wondered why neither of them seemed to have heard her. Or were they choosing not to listen?

Before Varen could drag her any farther away, Isobel snagged Reynolds’s sleeve.

“Come with us,” she managed to blurt when his head snapped toward her.

Reynolds glared sternly at Varen, ignoring Isobel altogether. “Keep her safe,” he said. “I have bought us only time. And precious little at that.”

“I said,” Isobel snapped, pulling harder on his sleeve, her anger at being snubbed helping to jolt her back to her senses, “come with us.”

Reynolds scowled, but when he glanced to where Isobel gripped him, the knit in his brow softened.

“I’ll not be far behind,” he assured her, this time meeting her gaze full on.

Isobel hesitated. Then, deciding to believe him, to trust him . . . she let go.

“GOOORRRRDOOOOOON,” Isobel heard the demon howl.

Isobel looked to where Lilith lay like a spider in tar, all limbs and joints. Her body, reduced to bones, crackled as she moved, her sword-pierced rib cage dripping sludge.

“Gordon is dead,” Isobel heard Reynolds say in a monotone, his words echoing through the corridor as he placed the tip of his other sword beneath Lilith’s putrefied chin, drawing her hollow eyes to his. “As I shall continue to wager you very soon shall be.”

Isobel kept her gaze on the two figures as Varen drew her toward the blue double doors Reynolds had told them to take.

CLUNK came the sound of the push bar, loud in Isobel’s ears as Varen collided with it.

He pulled her with him beyond its boundaries, and as they shot through to the other side, Isobel’s eyes flickered up. Countless figures now populated the endless crisscrossing network of stairs—most of them cloaked, all of them men.

Lost Souls, Isobel thought, meeting the stare of one who, unlike the others, had channeled his focus on her instead of Lilith’s writhing form.

Then the door swung shut, blocking the sight.

Music boomed, bass thumping the floor beneath the soles of their shoes like a thundering heartbeat.

Colored lights blazed. Streamers and balloons—red and pink. People everywhere.

As Isobel’s vision adjusted, she slowly began to register the faces surrounding them as . . . familiar.

Boots squealing on glossed hardwood, Varen skidded to a stop, halting Isobel with him.

Though the music pounded on, those dancing nearest to them lowered their raised arms.

“Oh my God,” said someone nearby, inciting the unanimous withdrawal that came next.