Elegy (29 page)

Belial wasted no time: he jerked his head at my wraith and it immediately obeyed, snaking an inky tendril around my shoulders and wrenching me backward, away from my mother and Gaby. Before I could fake another struggle or protest, the wraith pinned me to the tree, which then came to life as it wrapped two branches across my arms and abdomen. Within a matter of seconds, I could no longer move.

This new element of confinement frightened me, almost beyond thought. My entire plan hinged on my companions and me being able to hold hands so that our glows would connect. I had no idea how this might work, otherwise. I writhed and twisted inside my bonds, all the while watching the same imprisonment happen to my mother, Gaby, Serena, and Eli. Eventually, we were all pinned to our hellish stakes.

After trapping us, the wraiths waited until Belial signaled to them again. Then, moving in unison, the wraiths stood behind us with their torches. Without further signal, mine set the kindling beneath me afire.

I could see my companions craning desperately toward me, wordlessly begging me to give the order—to make whatever attempt we could, right now, before any of us suffered unspeakable pain.

But I couldn’t give that order yet. Not until I saw how the bluish hellfire reacted to my glow.

“Wait,” I screamed to my companions as the fire crawled up my boots and jeans, searing my flesh beneath them. “Wait!”

I could hear my mother screaming—I could hear them all screaming. I was almost past the point of rational thought myself when I saw the two flames join. At that second they began to boil and bubble like liquid, doubling in size and brightness, shifting until they’d both turned almost white in color. Combined, the two flames became something new—something incendiary that resembled pictures I’d seen of exploding atom bombs. Together these flames were terrible. Unstoppable.

Perfect.

“Do it!” I sobbed. “Do it now!”

Even over the growing roar of our pyres, I heard the distinct sounds of supernatural glows as they ignited. I also heard the collective gasp of the demons, as five separate glows united with the hellfire. It had started to spread across the floor, becoming one enormous, supernatural bonfire.

Soon, the flames were licking at my neck. I’d never felt anything like this—anything so painful, wretched,
evil
. But I still had the strength for one more plea.

“Please!” I screamed, crying out over the roar of the fire and the demons’ panicked shouts. Crying to the light, to the Highest Powers.

“Please, take us.
Please
.”

I ended my begging with one broken sob as the pain overwhelmed me. Blessedly, I began to lose consciousness. But not before I thought I heard Belial shout, “Divert it! Direct it toward the High Bridge hell gate before it incinerates us all!”

“Please,” I mumbled, forcing my charred neck to lift so that I could stare upward, toward whatever or whoever waited high above this evil place. A name rang in my mind, so, in a final, desperate attempt, I called out. Not to the Highest Powers or even to Melissa.

I cried out for my father.

And suddenly, an earsplitting boom echoed throughout the room—possibly throughout all of hell. Immediately thereafter, I went deaf.

Through the white flames, I could see the demons scrambling and running. I could see chunks of the ceiling cracking and falling to the floor. And I could still feel the fire, searing into my skin.

I lost
, I thought.
I’m lost
.

But suddenly, I
remembered
. Memories from my life, and my afterlife—they came flooding back into my mind, slowly at first but then gaining in speed.

My favorite stuffed animal—a bunny with an orange ribbon for a necktie, worn ragged by too much love. My first bicycle, a purple one with pink ribbons on the handles. The smell of my grandmother’s perfume. The way my dad’s hands felt when he held mine; the happy wrinkle just along the right corner of my mother’s mouth. How much Serena laughed when she couldn’t climb a rope in gym class, how bright the stars shined through my telescope, how excited I was when I solved a calculus problem. How I died, how I awoke from the fog. The taste of beignets the smell of salt water the silky lining of Gaby’s cape the slight chip in Jillian’s left canine the way a good song could run through my body like electricity Joshua’s smile Joshua’s kiss Joshua Joshua Joshua. . . .

And then, with his name still ringing in my mind, my world ended in a bright, beautiful flash of light.

EPILOGUE

J
ust after dawn, an enormous, earthquaking boom echoed throughout the river valley. And just after
that
, High Bridge exploded into a thousand little pieces.

Immediately, everyone took cover. Everyone except Joshua Mayhew.

He watched his friends and family run, diving for the tree line as fast as they could. But he couldn’t bring himself to move from this spot on the riverbank—the place where she’d told him to run. Or at least, he
thought
that wraith had been her. It was hard to tell, through all of its murky black shadows.

But whether or not Joshua knew the identity of the wraith, he certainly knew what the explosion meant. Especially with regard to
her
.

The last time she’d tried to destroy the bridge, it had rebuilt itself within minutes. But this time, when the chunks of concrete and threads of wire landed with sickening thuds on the riverbank, they stayed put—no screeching shadows or smirking demons appeared to reclaim them.

Even better, when the bridge fell, the darkness fell with it. As the remnants of High Bridge rained down, the netherworld melted away like paint that had been splashed with turpentine. Purple and red stains, gnarled trees, icy splinters—they all slid into puddles and then retracted in upon themselves, as though they were evaporating. Slowly, branch by branch and eddy by eddy, the riverbank of the living world began to reappear.

Eventually the rain of pavement and metal ended, and Joshua could better assess the damage. First, he glanced up to where the bridge used to stretch above the river. Now, two jagged ends of a rarely used road faced each other across the empty expanse. On the portion of the bank closest to the part of the road where the cars were parked, huge slabs of concrete had piled on top of one another. Almost as though they’d organized themselves for easier cleanup.

Looking at these ruins, Joshua experienced a strange rush of both triumph and misery. He had hated that bridge as a child, and his hate only grew after he fell in love with . . . her.

He still couldn’t make himself think her name. Because he knew that the final destruction of the bridge didn’t just mean the end of this portal into the netherworld.

It meant the end of
her
.

Joshua didn’t know how, but she’d obviously done it: pulled down one of the entrances to hell, when no one else could. He’d never doubted that she was capable of it, but he’d hoped—God, he’d hoped—that she wouldn’t be willing to pay the price it required.

While he continued to stare at the wreckage, he heard the sound of voices moving closer to him. One by one, his friends and family rejoined him on the bank. Wisely, though, none of them spoke to him as they arrived. Not until his sister walked up to him.

At first, she didn’t speak either—just wrapped one arm around him and pulled him into a half hug.

Jillian waved vaguely to the river. “This is . . . ?”

“Impressive?” Joshua offered. “Horrifying?”

“Both,” she said softly, tightening their hug.

She didn’t ask to be forgiven for the role she’d played in all of this, and she didn’t have to. Joshua knew why she did it and, in a way, he agreed. They were safe—their entire
town
was safe—because the girl he loved made a sacrifice, and because his sister made one too. Joshua knew that, despite her uncaring façade, Jillian hadn’t wanted to pull that trigger.

After a long pause, she asked, “Do you think it’s over?”

Joshua hesitated, looking around the littered riverbed, and then nodded. “Yeah, it’s over. She did it.”

“You know, I kind of didn’t think she had it in her.”

“I did,” he said quietly.

The rest of their bedraggled little crew must have been listening to this entire exchange, because they all moved in unison, grouping more tightly together around the Mayhew siblings. Only now did Joshua notice that some of them were sobbing. He couldn’t say that he blamed them, after what they’d seen.

Joshua raked his fingers through his hair and then rested his palm on the back of his neck. He knew he should say something comforting to everyone—tell them that he would be okay. That they would all be okay, from now on. But he just couldn’t gather the strength. In fact, he suddenly didn’t think he had the strength to be around anyone, anymore.

So he turned abruptly on one heel and began trudging down the riverbank, toward the embankment. He ignored the calls of his friends and family members; he ignored the pleas of his little sister, who’d started to tag halfheartedly behind him.

Joshua let his mind go dark and angry, let each step tear into him like a knife. By the time he reached his truck, he wanted to punch something. Or maybe jump off of something tall. He wasn’t really sure which option sounded best right now.

He yanked open his truck door so hard that it squealed in protest. He’d almost dived inside, ready to drive off at a ridiculous speed to some unknown location, when a faint scent made him stop.

This wasn’t the trace of the campfire that he’d noticed the night before. Nor was it the tangy, metallic smell of the ruined bridge, or even the muddy odor of the river. Instead, this scent was sweet—a strange mix of nectarines and flowers.

Joshua jerked away from the truck, searching. Nectarine was
her
scent, he knew. Before she Rose, he would catch it every now and then when they were close to each other. But no matter how hard he searched, he didn’t see her; didn’t see anything but a destroyed bridge, a broad river, and an empty forest.

And Joshua didn’t want to see
any
of those things right now. In fact, he’d nearly decided that he never wanted to see those things again, for as long as he lived, when something white in the nearby tree line caught his eye.

Tiny white dots, scattered throughout the forest. They were sparse at first, but as he watched, they began to spread fast, taking over the tree line near the road and then moving along on both sides of the riverbank like sudden, inexplicable flurries of snow. Defying natural law, the tiny, fragrant white flowers consumed the river valley.

The vines on which they grew wound their way up tree trunks and across branches, over rubble and wreckage, spilling a gorgeous scent into the air. Within a matter of minutes, the valley was full of exquisite, sweet-smelling flowers.

Honeysuckle.

Joshua didn’t know he’d started laughing until he heard people calling to him from the riverbank below. They sounded alarmed, as if they thought he’d finally cracked up. So he wiped his eyes (since he’d apparently started crying, too) and yelled down to his family and friends.

“I’m all right. I’ll be all right.”

And to his utter amazement, he realized that what he’d just said was true. Or it would be, someday.

Because he knew who sent those flowers to him, and he knew what they meant. They were a sign that her soul had survived. Seeing those flowers, Joshua knew that she’d made it someplace good, with her family. That she still loved him, and one day, after he’d lived a long, full life, he might get to see her again.

That he might get to love her again.

And so, on the morning of what should have been Amelia Ashley’s birthday, the river valley that had once housed High Bridge changed for Joshua Mayhew. For the first time in many years, it seemed beautiful to him.

For the first time in many years, it
was
beautiful.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

T
o my editors, Barbara Lalicki and Andrew Harwell: you have cheered, guided, and watched over me. I’ve become a better writer because of you, and I will be eternally grateful. The same goes for the entire team at HarperTeen and EpicReads. How is it possible that so many rock stars work in one place?

To my agent, Catherine Drayton, who I can always trust to be honest but also encouraging. I know I’m in good hands with you! And to foreign rights agent extraordinaire, Lyndsey Blessing—thank you for keeping an eye on my books across many borders.

To the most beautiful child and loving husband a woman could ever want. Wyatt and Robert, you are my angels, and I will love you both forever. In the immortal words of Bryan Adams, everything I do, I do it for you.

To my mother, Karen Stine, who is simultaneously my guardian angel, Jiminy Cricket, and best friend. I love you so very much.

To my father, Dennis Stine, thank you for every fairy tale, fantasy, horror story, and fable you read to me, from the crib days until the night that I insisted I read them myself. Without them, I wouldn’t be the well-adjusted weirdo I am today.

To Jinx Hudson, thank you for making me one of your own.

To Melissa Allgood and Kris Beery, the sisters I met as an adult but will keep for the rest of my life.

To Amy Plum, Josephine Angelini, Tessa Gratton, Natalie Parker, and Anna Carey: oh how I love my Wenches of Wereboar. Duck in a Can for you all!

To Beth Prykryl, Andi Newby, Jason Brown, Krissy Carlson, Tony Andre, and so many more: your support and friendship mean more to me than you can know. To Matt Berery, thanks for giving me one job that allows me time to do another. To Dave Luke, because he asked.

And finally, to my brilliant, kind, enthusiastic readers—thank you, thank you, thank you! I’m so glad you’re on this journey with me.