Chapter 10 No One Walks Away

It only took us about an hour to get there-my brother was gunning the engine like he didn't care about speeding tickets.

When we finally arrived at the crash site, broken metal and shattered glass littered the roadside. In the distance, a long-haul bus lay crumpled like a paper sculpture, twisted and scorched.

A traffic officer spotted us and waved us over. "Family of the victims? The injured were sent to the nearest clinic. Take the off-ramp and follow the signs."

We followed his directions and arrived at a local town hospital. If you could even call it that.

The place was small, old, and already overwhelmed by the number of patients flooding in. One nurse, flustered and red-faced, stood at the front desk yelling instructions at everyone.

"Excuse me-" I started.

She cut me off, barking, "Critical injuries are on the second floor. Minor injuries wait in the lobby. If you're looking for the dead, go down to the morgue. Figure it out yourself!"

My brother and I exchanged a glance, then split up. I checked every chair, every bed, and even peeked into open exam rooms, but my dad wasn't anywhere.

My brother came down from the second floor with a grim look. "Nothing."

The nurse, hearing us, hollered again, "Then try the morgue!"

Neither of us wanted to-but we headed for the basement staircase anyway. The stairs were narrow, dimly lit, and reeked of mildew and formalin. My gut clenched.

"I'll go," my brother offered, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Wait here if you're not up for it."

I nodded, grateful. He descended quickly, and I heard him speaking with someone downstairs, which gave me a little hope.

But then-

A tap on my shoulder.

I turned around and came face-to-face with a middle-aged woman.

"Are you Clara Duskgrave?" she asked with an overly sweet smile.

I blinked at her. She didn't look familiar at all.

"You're George Duskgrave's daughter, right?"

My heart leapt. "Yes-yes! That's me! Is he okay?"

"He's at another clinic," she said. "Too many patients here. They split them up between facilities. He asked me to find you-said he was worried you'd get lost in the chaos."

My knees nearly gave out in relief. That stubborn old man was still alive.

"Is he seriously hurt?"

"He's banged up, but alert. Come, I'll take you to him." She took my arm and led me toward the exit.

But something began to itch at the back of my brain. A small inconsistency.

"How did you know I was Clara Duskgrave?" I asked carefully.

She didn't even pause. "Your dad showed me your picture. Said the prettiest girl in the crowd would be his daughter." She laughed, a little too loudly.

Something about her laugh chilled me.

Still, I let her lead me across the street. We rounded the corner-and just as we reached the next block, she stopped.

Before I could react, a sweet, perfumed scent filled my nose.

Too sweet. Too strange.

I gasped-but she was fast. A cloth pressed hard over my mouth and nose.

The world blurred and tilted. My limbs turned to water. My knees buckled.

"...Ahh... so sweet smell... such tender flesh," a raspy male voice whispered with longing. "I ache to seep into her body... taste her from the inside. It must be exquisite."

A shrill, female giggle responded, "Oh, Crimson Wraith, I'm flattered, but I'm just a woman. I'm afraid I lack the proper equipment to help you possess her."

"This girl... what a waste on Alaric. I was just one day away-one day-from fully anchoring myself in her father. I could have marked her body with my essence..."

"There's still time," the woman crooned. "Once we extract the wombspawn from her, you can reenter the father. Her body will be wide open for you."

"No," the male voice snarled. "The old man resisted. He was willing to die just to purge me. Fine... strip her. Take her below. The ritual must proceed."

I kept my eyes shut, listening to them speak in hushed, breathless tones. But the man's voice-I recognized it.

It was the same gravelly whisper I'd heard from the crimson mask that haunted my father's back.

The woman, of course, was the one who had lured me out of the hospital.

Soon, I felt fingers on my ankles, pulling off my shoes.

"Spare me the theatrics, sweetheart. I know you're awake," the woman said, her tone mock-gentle.

I cracked one eye open-and nearly screamed.

She stood alone. But her face... wasn't whole.

One side was her usual, plump-cheeked appearance. The other... was warped, grotesquely stretched, barely holding together under the pressure of a crimson mask embedded beneath her skin.

The red visage bulged outward, thin veins snaking beneath the translucent flesh. It looked like it might rip free at any second.

I gagged.

In her hands, she held that same cursed red bridal gown and a pair of black velvet bridal heels. They radiated a musty, old crypt scent.

"You really are blessed, aren't you?" The woman sneered, eyes glinting with cruel amusement. "A Sigilborn Chosen Vessel, made to serve the dark."

I stared at the blood-stained gown in her hands, horror rising in my throat.

"Why... why not find a female wraith?" I asked, my voice trembling. "Isn't that what the Crimson Wraith needs?"

She paused-then burst into a rasping, bone-chilling laugh. "You're adorable. If it were just about indulgence and pleasure, there are plenty of darklings lining up to serve the Crimson Wraith. But two spirits can't create life."

Her eyes narrowed with greed. "Your marked bloodline... your body... it's the rarest kind of chosen vessel. Of course, the Wraith wanted you for more than pleasure. You were meant to carry his legacy. Too bad..." Her grin twisted. "Alaric got to you first."

My head spun.

So this was always meant to be my fate?

I barely registered her reaching for me until her fingers clutched my blouse-and then she screamed.

Thick black smoke erupted from her palm.

The Crimson Wraith shrieked inside her skull, a blood-curdling screech. "Get it off! Get it off! She's marked-she's wearing something!"

The woman's hand sizzled, flesh charring and peeling back to bone. The mask convulsed violently on her face, tearing her lips into a rictus grin as she screamed.

I froze.

The pendant.

The Crimson Sigil Pendant-the seal Alaric had given me.

He'd said it could keep that thing away.

And now I knew he wasn't lying.

"Kill her!" the Crimson Wraith howled. "Hack her limbs off! Tear the womb out! If I can't have her-then neither will Alaric!"

The woman stumbled back, smoke rising from her mangled hand. But then-she grabbed something.

A kitchen knife.

Long. Rusted. Stained.

She stepped forward, lifting it over my bound body.

And I-