He has fired seven nurses this week, and if your child makes a single sound, you will both be thrown into the snow, Chief Guard Mikhail warned me at the heavy iron gates of the Volkov estate.
Drake’s chanting filled the library, a low, rhythmic thrum that vibrated through the very stones of the manor. The shadowy entities writhed, pressing in, their forms almost solid.
I positioned myself between Drake and Lily, my body a shield. “Why, Drake?” I demanded, my voice raw but firm, trying to cut through his dark invocation. “Why the Volkov family? What did they ever do to you?”
He paused his chanting, a cruel smile twisting his lips, his black eyes gleaming in the candlelight. He savored the question, the chance to boast.
“The Volkovs,” he hissed, “are merely a vessel. A powerful lineage, ripe for harvesting. Their patriarch’s spirit, once a leader, now a conduit for my ascension. And you, Nurse Halloway, are nothing more than an inconvenient interference.”
He lifted the silver dagger, its blade reflecting the black candle flames. He held it above a parchment he had laid inside the ritual circle, a proxy for Damian.
“I am merely reclaiming what was always mine,” he boasted, his voice swelling with dark power. “The true legacy of the Blackthorn Guild, finally fulfilled. The blood curse on Volkov was just the first step. This ritual will seal his soul, making me truly… invincible.”
He leaned forward, beginning his final, chilling invocation. “By the power of the elder darkness, by the endless void, I claim this soul, this estate, this—”
Suddenly, a deafening crash erupted above us. The magnificent stained-glass ceiling of the library, depicting a celestial scene, shattered inward. A cascade of colorful glass shards rained down, sparkling like deadly jewels.
Through the gaping hole, silhouetted against the night sky, three figures descended rapidly on tactical ropes.
“STATE POLICE! DON’T MOVE!” a voice roared.
Before Drake could complete his dark invocation, before he could finish speaking the final words of his confession or complete his statement, the lead State Trooper swung down.
With a powerful, precise tackle, he slammed into Drake, sending him sprawling across the hardwood floor. The silver dagger flew from Drake’s grasp, clattering uselessly against a bookshelf.
The chanting stopped instantly. The black candles flickered, their flames momentarily guttering before catching again, but the power was broken.
Drake let out a strangled cry, pinned to the floor, his face twisted in a mixture of shock and incandescent rage. The sudden, violent interruption left him gasping for air, his dark spell cut off mid-sentence.
The air in the library, moments ago thick with oppressive dread, thinned and cleared, as if a great weight had been lifted.
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