Free Flint Lock (Witches of Karma #10) by Elizabeth A. Reeves Page B

bones of her skeleton pressed hard against the flimsy parchment of her skin. Her nails were dark around the edges. Her lips were cracked and dark. As I watched, a trail of blood slid out of one corner of that wrecked mouth and dripped a pathway across her chin.
    She regarded me with her head cocked at an unnatural angle. It was a predatory sort of pose, the way she crouched there.
    I could not help but lean away from her, though I felt guilty for the movement. I wanted to force myself to look at her—to acknowledge the truth, but I couldn’t.
    I could not meet that hateful gaze.
    “You could have stopped me,” she croaked, her voice grating out of her broken vocal chords. Her fingers dug into the dirt below her, more claws than fingers now.
    I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell her that her death was not my fault. I wanted to tell her that there was nothing I could have done to save her.
    But, I had always wondered, in the deepest, secret parts of my heart. How many times had I been haunted by the very words that she accused me with? How many times had I castigated myself for not seeing what was in front of me? Sometimes awake, sometimes asleep, but this haunting was no new thing.
    She had haunted me for every breath I’d drawn since she breathed her last.
    “I’m sorry,” I whispered. My vocal chords were not damaged as hers were, but I could not make them work. The words scored my throat as I forced them to the surface.
    She made a distorted paroxysm of what could have been bitter laughter, if only her face weren’t so bitterly cold.
    “You’re alive,” she whispered. The words were an accusation… and a curse.
    I closed my eyes.
    “I did try to save you,” I whispered back.
    “Too late,” she scoffed. “Far too late. You were so content inside your little world, that you could not see that mine was burning.”
    She threw up one skeletal hand and pointed at the grate above us.
    “What is this place?” The words wrenched out of my mouth, despite my every effort. I had a hunch where this place was, and I didn’t want to know that I was right.
    “Rock bottom,” she whispered. “The place beyond the pain, where everything goes numb.” Her shoulders shook in that horrible, bitter laughter again. “See? There is no escape. Except my way.” She lifted her head further, and I could see the dark chord, still wrapped around her throat.
     
    I shuddered back into my body.
    I gasped for breath and slid down to my knees. Silent sobs wracked my entire body.
    The scent of the old barn was so familiar. The warmth of the candles had drawn out the sweet perfume of centuries of hay and horses.
    The perfume filled my nostrils, offering me comfort and solace as it always had. I pressed my hands against the hard floor, letting the foundation hold me together.
    “What was that?” Flint asked.
    When I looked up, his eyes were wide in his face. I could easily see the whites around the iris. The rest of his face was pale and drawn, almost like a death-mask, though I could see the rapid beating of his pulse in his throat.
    I hoped that wasn’t a dark omen.
    I crossed my arms over my chest. My own heart was pounding so hard that I could feel it in my head and the base of my spine. My whole body shook, not with cold this time, but with the pain and horror of what I had just experienced.
    I gulped back my tears and turned my head, so that Flint wouldn’t see my face. I could not bear for him to look at me. “You saw that?”
    I heard the chains clink as he nodded.
    “That’s never happened before,” I whispered. I couldn’t seem to make my voice rise any higher. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
    Still, it appeared to be loud enough.
    “Who was that?” Flint demanded. “What did she mean?”
    I closed my eyes. I could not run forever. I could not hide the truth anymore. If he hated me, when I was through, then that was nothing more than I deserved.
    I already hated myself. Wasn’t that enough?
    “That was