A Place To Belong: Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter XXIII

Loss of Control

My vision narrowed to a pinpoint as I watched Grey fall. I heard screaming as I threw myself at the edge, only the panic of my beast kept me from hurling myself bodily into the air after him. 

Death is to be respected, but not sought after! I heard it say, rattling the bars of its cage. My legs froze, and I heard the screaming die, but only then did I realize it was because sobbing had replaced it. Pain burned in my chest, and I finally understood that the screams and sobs were mine alone. 

Staring into the abyss, I felt my arms begin to shake, and I could partially hear Callie and Diego talking. Diego wanted to go after Grey, Callie wouldn’t. They would argue, time would be lost. I could start climbing down. I didn’t know how long it would take, but it was better to start something than it was to sit and stare, hoping the problem would solve itself.

“A bad solution is worse than no solution,” I heard a voice say. I looked up and saw the ethereal form of a Nosferatu, his face twisted into a crooked grin as he looked down at me, then over the edge of the cliff. 

“I see it in your eyes, girlie,” he said, looking over the edge now. “You were thinking of climbing. Maybe you’d make it to him before he’s snuffed out, but I doubt it. Plus, you’re as likely to fall on top of him and kill you both as you are making it down safely.” 

“So what?” I snapped back at him, my voice low but hot. “I abandon him?”

I shook my head violently. 

“No. Never.” 

“You got spunk, girlie! I like it,” the Nosferatu’s spirit responded, and I felt the urge to strike him for his cavalier attitude towards the danger Grey was in. However, being both Kindred and Spirit, the concept of time probably didn’t mean much in his perspective. While a fascinating concept to explore, time meant everything to me right now, and I needed to get to Grey. 

“If you’re not going to help, then let me go,” I said bitterly, looking at the cliff, steeling myself for the climb.

“Go that way if you want to kill yourself,” the Nosferatu shrugged before turning and slinking through the passage we came from. “I’m going to go the right way. Follow me if you choose to. What you do is up to you, girlie.”

His shimmering form, duller than those of other spirits I’d seen in the past, began to fade even further away. There was no time to explain or to ponder the repercussions. I ran after him, shouting over my shoulder at the other two. 

“I’m going after him!” and left them behind to follow or not as they wished. 

It was nigh impossible to keep the Nosferatu in sight, especially in the dark. My touch of Oblivion was the only thing that allowed me to see even the faintest piece of his outline. The tunnels we traversed became a blur of dark rock and rotting beams, each indistinguishable from the last. Time came to me in waves as my mind leapt between fear and worry to panicked anger at why we hadn’t found him yet. 

The Nosferatu in front of me kept an even pace, never slowing, never stopping, but not running from me either. He moved with a grim determination that drove me nearly to the brink of exhaustion while still seeming impossibly too slow. There were moments I wanted to scream at him to move faster, but my own body would barely continue, while other times I wanted to demand answers, but only one of the questions seemed to matter to me anymore. 

I moved, trusted, and hoped, because it was all I could do. 

Hours passed like this, and I pushed myself to the brink of my sanity following him, when suddenly, he stopped. My mind barely registered it in time, almost causing my feet to carry me through the spirit. While not uncommon for the day to day, most spirits would take offense if one who could see them walked through their form. 

“We’re nearly there, girlie,” the Nosferatu said, turning to look at me. “You’re going to need a minute. I worked you hard down here. Save Grey, and he’ll be able to get you out. The boy knows his shit.” 

I looked at the Nosferatu, and suddenly clarity sparked in my mind. 

“Ledger,” I said, but the name was not a question. He nodded in the affirmative, not seeming surprised that I’d deduced who he was. “Why are you helping me?”

“I’m not,” he shrugged. “I’m helping Grey. Because Grey will help me.” 

“Help you with what?” I asked, confused. “And how did he speak to you?”

“Dreams are a beautiful thing,” Ledger responded cryptically. “But more importantly, he made me an offer, a promise one might say. I dismissed it before, but now… Now I want it.” 

“What did he promise you?” I asked, feeling the weight of Grey’s words pressing down on me like the stockade of a gallows. Making promises to creatures like Spirits and Fae were dangerous since they were even more long lived than we were and tended to hold grudges if those promises were not kept. 

“He offered to take me back to my people,” Ledger said, his eyes darting away from mine, as if the simple act of any honorific for him was humiliating, undeserved. “He said they might want to have me back, or at least part of me. So, I know where part of me is, and I want him to take me back home. Maybe then I can get out of this hell and go to the one I belong in. I don’t know what happens to my spirit if I pass on, but it can’t be any worse than having to listen to that deranged Garou talk to himself all day about lies and entropy.” 

“Garou?” I asked, a chill running through me. “There’s another Garou down here?”

“Yeah, calls himself Sorrow-of-Ages,” Ledger explained. “A member of the Ghost Council at one point, apparently. Garou who do what Hecata like you do, seek answers to life’s great mysteries through the spirit world, and whatnot.” 

I didn’t bother to correct him on the semantics of what my Clan really did. Nuance seemed less important at the moment than understanding what I was up against. And this spirit of Ledger had been here long enough that his insight would prove to be more valuable than any other tool or weapon I could wield. 

“You said, ‘at one point’,” I noted. “What is he now?”

“The loon apparently rode the Spiral and became a Black Dancer,” Ledger said, gritting his crooked teeth. “Ain’t many Garou out there more dangerous than that. Immensely physically powerful, mad as a hatter, and this one can summon and control spirits. Hence the reason I’m telling you where to look for me, how far it is to Grey, and then I’m getting the fuck out. Grey’s a good kid, but he ain’t worth being enslaved to a cracked out Garou for. I’d rather be locked in a room with a Malkavian for a hundred years.” 

I nodded, taking no offense at his blunt words. Spirits had so little of themselves left. They’d been stripped of their bodies, parts of their minds and memories, and what little sense of self the interrupted transition to the afterlife had left them with. To be made a slave on top of that would be worse than death. At least in death, consciousness was supposed to end, though here he and I stood disproving that hope. 

“Tell me where your remains are,” I told him. “Should Grey and I survive, I will ensure that he brings you home.” 

Ledger smiled a wicked little smile at me. 

“Clever verbage, girlie,” he said, a small laugh escaping his twisted lips. “Setting a condition to make sure that I can’t hold a grudge if you fail. Fair play, fair play. Fine. You ain’t gonna find much of me, but next to your boyfriends ‘restraints’ you’ll find a pile of bones. Most of ‘em are kindred, though there are a few Garou in there. Fucker wasn’t too particular when trying to keep from starving to death.” 

I ignored the boyfriend comment and tried not to think of the horrible implications Ledger’s description painted in my mind about how this creature called Sorrow had survived in the dark down here for so long. Months, if not years, lurking and waiting, cannibalizing his fellows just to survive. It was little wonder he’d gone insane. 

“Anything with marrow in it was snapped and sucked out, good luck figuring out one arm from another,” Ledger continued, then tapped the side of his misshapen head. “But there’s little chance in hell you’d mistake this mug for anyone else’s. Take that back to my clan at least. They can decide after that if they want to bury it, throw it in a sewer, or use it as a pisspot for the rats. I don’t much care, but at least part of me will have made it out of here.” 

I studied Ledger’s face, observing the lines and creases that he must have carried during his life and unlife as they reflected through his spirit. Through the cold detachment, the defensive but false apathy, and the hard words, I saw a man who truly cared about the legacy he’d left behind. He’d, by his own admission, been a vengeful spirit. Now he was helping me save Grey, not because of anything I’d done as I was so used to with spirits, but because of what Grey had done without even realizing its value. He’d respected Ledger, trusted his instinct and guidance, and defended him to others without ever knowing the struggles the Nosferatu must have faced. Rather, Grey had judged him on the merit of his work and trusted that work implicitly. 

“He means a lot to you, doesn’t he?” I asked Ledger. He shifted uncomfortably, despite his lack of a physical form that could feel comfort or discomfort. It was an emotional discomfort that weighed on him. A desire to deny, to keep up his facade in order to protect himself from harm, while at the same time not wanting to disrespect the one who had shown him the greatest respect. 

Gently, I placed a hand on Ledger’s arm. His eyes widened in shock as the phantom touch, solid enough to be felt, connected us for just a moment. He looked down at my hand, then back at me, utter disbelief painted across his face. 

“You don’t have to answer,” I reassured him, smiling. “You’ve risked so much to help him, your actions speak loud enough. He means a lot to me as well. The first in a long time who took the time and effort to get to know me, who didn’t judge me based on my clan or my allegences. Who chose to value the person rather than the pawn.” 

Ledger shuddered under my touch at those words, and I knew that I had read him correctly. We were the same, he and I. Both used up and thrown away by the Camarilla. Both seen as tools, both seeking what we thought would bring us peace, and both getting what we never knew we needed because of a man who didn’t want to shape the world to his whim, but to his vision of what that world could be. 

“Go, Ledger,” I told him, feeling myself stand taller as I turned to the tunnel ahead of me. I didn’t need him to lead me anymore; the dark ripples of necromantic energy mixed with madness were clear enough now that I knew what I was looking for. “Thank you for leading me this far. Should we survive, we will take you home.”

I turned to look at him, giving him a placid smile. 

“Should we not… perhaps we can talk again in the future,” I said, accepting that such a future was more than just a possibility. 

Before he could retort, I began walking down the hall, the heels of my boots clicking with purpose and determination. There was no reason to try and sneak up on a Garou. If he couldn’t smell me coming, his connection to the spirits would give me away just as quickly. It was better to face him boldly, especially since skulking about would do little to bring my plan to fruition. 

Perhaps it was generous to call what I had a plan. Perhaps it would be more accurate to term it as Grey had done and simply said that I had a few ideas. I wondered as I stepped into the open chasm before me, the smell of rot and the snarl of a Garou surrounding me, just how many of Grey’s ‘plans’ were really just him flying by the seat of his pants hoping his brain would process quick enough to fool us into thinking he was ten steps ahead of us when in reality he was stumbling towards the finish line. 

My eyes took in the scene before me and it was all I could do to keep my beast in its cage as rage flooded my body. A slimy, serpentine looking Garou stood atop the rubble of the collapsed bridge, jutting spears of wood and stone like a barricade bisecting the room. He snarled at me, one green eye gleaming out of the darkness, while one milky white eye stared at me, dead and dull. Its fur was matted and slick with gore and grime that coated and caked his claws and muzzle brown with dried blood and fetid earth. 

At his feet, skewered by a stalagmite, lay Grey. The stone jutted up through his gut, leaving him partially suspended above the ground. It probably was only three inches across, leaving a hole in him the size of my fist, but the impact must have left him nearly in torpor. A pool of vitae, the scent sickly sweet among the rot, spread under him like the yawning abyss hungrily opening below, preparing to rear up and devour him in death. Fear gripped my chest as my heart sank, and for a moment I believed that I had been too late. That I had lost him. Then a low, pained moan came from him as he slowly rolled his head in my direction. 

“Isa… dora?” he asked, barely aware of the world around him, but still able to be saved. That was all I needed to know. Steeling myself against fear of pain or death, determined to stave off loss, if only for tonight, I stepped forward pulling the item I stole from the vault out of my bag and holding it by my side. 

“Sorrow-of-Ages,” I said, my voice not loud, but carrying through the chasm with enough force to make the Garou in question flinch back in surprise. “The Warlock belongs to me! And I will not be denied!” 

The beast snarled, its claws biting deep into the wood beams below its feet. Its yellowed fangs were nowhere near as sharp as those from the Garou that attacked us in the tunnels. These were rotting and worn, as well cared for as the rest of the brute it seemed. This creature looked as though it had been dead longer than I had been, and without the mercy of vitae to stall the ravages of time. 

“My name…” it snarled. “How did you know my name, witch-leech?”

“You aren’t the only one who can commune with the spirits,” I told it, the bronze heavy in my hand. Satisfaction flashed through me as I watched its eyes flick about nervously at the empty air. “You have overstayed your welcome in their tomb.” 

“Come to evict me, mortician?” Sorrow snapped, his eyes now fixed back firmly on me. “These spirits belong to me, they bend to my will! They spy for me! And if they revolt, I will put them back in line.” 

“So you claim,” I said back, my heels clicking on the stone as I approached, trying to get closer to Grey while staring the beast down. “But you are no master of death. You are just a coward who hides in the shadows and feasts on carrion to avoid risking your own hide during a hunt.”

“What do you know of death, witch?” it snarled, and the bristling fur told me that I had struck a nerve. It shook its body violently, like a dog trying to cast water from its fur. “You, who study death like a scholar! You stand atop a hill and watch the village burn below and call yourself a master of flame! But you are no longer on your hilltop, witch! You stand within the blaze now, just as much kindling as the wood and straw!” 

“And what do you claim to be? The flames themselves?” I asked, my tone mocking. “The one who thinks he can control fire will inevitably burn. Show me, Sorrow, what you arrogantly consider yourself to have mastered, and I will show you the end of an Age.” 

The brute snarled at me, spittle and blood spraying from its mouth. Lifting its claws, the Garou was surrounded by a green aura of necromantic energies. Even I had to admit that the raw power of its magic was impressive, but what it had in power it lacked in control. The spell was sloppy, simple, and something that my sire would have chastised me for even attempting. 

Power of this magnitude was reserved to describe forces of nature like electromagnetism or gravity. The point of it was to attract, not merely suggest, but force spirits towards him. I heard them wailing as they were pulled into Sorrow, a barrier of tormented souls surrounded the brute like a metaphysical shield. This is how it had defeated more powerful opponents while remaining so weak itself. Any Kindred disciplines used would be rebuffed by the shield of mortal misery; any Garou strength would be overwhelmed by spiritual pressure; any necromantic magic weaker than it would simply be absorbed. 

I smiled as I bore witness to the pathetic display Sorrow-of-Ages was clearly so very proud of. 

“Any last barbs, leech?” Sorrow-of-Ages cackled, ethereal green light filling the chamber as it summoned more and more souls to it, using the brutish power of the Garou to compensate for the fact that it didn’t seem to know anything more about necromancy than an infant knew about ownership or what a rich man knew about wealth. It isn’t always the one with the most toys who wins. It’s the one who understands how their toys work who has the advantage.

“You should have attacked us before we got to the vault,” I said, pulling the Etruscan Death Mask from behind my back, my hand brushing the dust away from the bronze exterior inlaid with veins of electrum. Turning it over, the calcified ash and pressed funerary clay had faded white over the centuries, creating a perfect canvas for the red and brown stains around the inside of the mouthhole, permanently marked with the blood of ancients. 

As I pressed the mask to my face, my mind was flooded with voices speaking dozens of languages, screaming, crying, begging, demanding I submit myself to them for judgement. The mask pressed harder against my face. Hard enough that my own fangs cut into my lips, pouring vitae from my mouth to join the other stains of centuries. As the mask pressured me more, I knew what I had to do. 

I was no mere witch attempting to wield necromantic forces beyond my control. I was a curator of the dead. A keeper of their crypts and secrets. Death was not my ally, nor my servant, nor my friend. My authority was not over death. My authority was not over the dead. 

My authority was over the living who dared pervert the sanctity of death as a power to exert over others in a pathetic dick measuring contest. 

And it was my authority that silenced the voices as I pressed back against them with it. One by one, they fell silent, until I alone stood before the Garou, a pathetic beast that only knew raw power, and felt no fear as it bellowed a roar and charged down the barricade at me. Through one hand, I sent a ripple of power, stopping the beast dead in its tracks as a mountain stops a hurricane gale.

“Raw power is impressive to some, Sorrow,” I said to the confused brute, grinning behind the mask as he stumbled and clumsily attempted to keep his footing as the force of his charge dissipated into nothing. “But the strength of youth is not enough for a novice to defeat a master, nor will it make a punk ass pretender who dabbled in death enough to be dangerous against the uninitiated, a threat against a true necromancer.”

“That mask…” Sorrow said, horror in its voice as he realized and accepted the true disparity between our abilities was not what it believed it to be originally. “What is that mask?”

Raising my free hand, I ran it over the mask. The Veil of Veii as it was called, was created by an Etruscan cult known as the Keepers of the Veil who believed that should the dead ever be moved from their resting place, the world would come to an end. As a walking corpse myself, I disagreed with their teachings, unless one prescribed to the theory that the world had already ended, which would make sense. To ensure that the dead went where they belonged and stayed there, the mask was crafted not as a means of controlling the dead, but of judging them. 

I could have told the creature all of this, but I didn’t have the energy to waste the words on something that wouldn’t exist long enough for the lesson to matter. Instead, I drew upon the power of the mask and began channeling its power. 

“Let the hungry dead be weighed…” I chanted, my words echoing from the mask, my voice echoing with all the others I’d heard when first donning it. The spirits shrieked and moaned all at once, a legion of the damned facing judgement for their deeds in life, no longer allowed to hide in the bowels of the city. “Let those with purpose return! Let the mindless be sealed! Let those borne down by chains be liberated! Let each soul be claimed!”

The ghastly cry of hundreds of lost souls hit me like a physical force, nearly knocking me to the ground as judgement was forced upon them. Horror filled me as they were ripped down, deeper through the earth, swallowed by the abyss. For a moment, I thought I saw a few that were pulled upwards, and a brief spark of hope erupted in my chest, but the agonized howl of Sorrow-of-Ages pulled my attention back to the scene in front of me. 

It had fallen from its perch atop the barricade of debris, halted charge now continued though under no power of its own body. There hadn’t been much left to support said charge as all the necrotic energy it had gathered had been stolen from it in one fell swoop. Unlike Grey, it was not impaled when it fell, but its body seemed flaccid and broken, as though its muscles were atrophied so badly they couldn’t support the Garou’s own weight. I nudged the creature with my foot, and felt as its sagging skin dragged across its bones like a wet sack. 

“All your strength was stolen,” I said, the voices of the mask speaking in tandem with me. I could feel them clawing back for control now that I had served judgement and released the yoked souls to their proper destinations, but I pushed them away. I needed to finish what I started, then the price for using the mask would be paid. I would not deny them their prize. I just needed a few moments more…

“Leech…” was all the broken Garou could say. There wasn’t even enough strength left in its body to breathe. Ragged attempts at gasping ripped at the silence of the air as its eyes bugged out in panic. 

“You used the spirits to keep your body together,” I said, seeing the truth in its panicked eyes, a wave of nausea washing through me. “You couldn’t feed enough to stay alive, so you cheated death by stealing what life you could from the echoes of it. Devouring souls to keep yourself alive.” 

Shaking my head, I laughed at just how pathetic a creature Sorrow was. 

“Sorrow-of-Ages is a fitting name, indeed,” I said, kneeling down and pressing my knee to the Garou’s throat. It gurgled and tried to fight, but there wasn’t enough strength left in the creature’s limbs to lift its own bones, let alone lift my body off of its neck. “As I haven’t seen something so sad or pathetic in ages.” 

No magic was used. No mercy was given. I knelt there on its neck, watching it panic and struggle as what little air it was able to draw in its weakened state was viciously cut off. The Garou stared up at me, its one good eye beginning to cloud over, and in the werelight of the lingering necrotic energy, I saw my own reflection, the neutral, merciless mask of death, cast back at me in that green orb that moments later joined the other in whatever afterlife it was destined for. 

I doubted its judgement would go well. 

I got to my feet and stood over the corpse that had once been Sorrow-of-Ages. With a brush of my hand and a touch of Oblivion that resided within me, what remained of the Garou cracked and decayed, turning almost instantly into ash. The fine flakes collapsed and filtered through the debris, lost in a whispering cascade, and finally the beast was gone, never to harm another creature again, living or dead. 

Turning to face Grey, I saw his eyes locked onto me, and shame flooded my body. Everything I’d done, I’d done to save him, without any thought to the consequences, and now, after everything, I was leaving him alone with the repercussions of my actions. I could feel the control I had over the mask beginning to slip, and knew that there was not enough time to apologize properly. I just hoped that one day he would understand and forgive me. 

Rushing to his side, I tucked my arms under his body and began to lift. He cried out in pain, calling for me to stop, but I couldn’t. If I stopped, he would die there without being able to tell him everything he needed to know. Everything I needed to tell him. Worst of all, without ever getting a chance to say goodbye.

“I can’t stop,” I said, trying to lift him again. “Too much I need to tell you, too much you won’t be able to know, and I won’t be able to help you soon. The mask… the Veil…” 

“The stalagmite!” Grey barked out through gritted teeth, gesturing at the implement of his torture with a curt nod of his head. “Break the top and you won’t have to lift me as high!” 

I blinked in surprise, then almost laughed. Of course his logical Tremere brain would realize something like that. I wasn’t as strong as Diego, but I didn’t need to be. With a swipe of my arm, I cleaved off the top foot and a half of stone and only needed to lift Grey a couple feet off the ground before feeling him come free from the piercing rock. He cried out in pain, but managed to remain conscious. My fangs flashed and pain erupted through my arm as I slit my wrist and held it to his mouth. He’d lost so much blood it may kill me to save him, but that may well be preferable to what was about to happen to me. 

“Drink,” I said, forcing my wrist into Grey’s mouth as he’d done for me just a few nights before. “Drink and recover. Don’t try to talk, just listen.” 

Grey fought for control as his mouth latched onto my wrist and he drank deep. I could see the battle against his beast. The beast wanted it all while Grey fought to heed my warnings. So far, it seemed that Grey was winning the battle, but I couldn’t risk it. I spoke, my voice rapid, louder than I ever remembered speaking, trying to drown out the other voices, demanding that we continue our judgement, our crusade, to settle the dead and secure the world. 

“Ledger spoke to me, his skull is in that pile,” I told him as quickly as I could, gesturing to the pile of bones. “He said you’ll recognize it. Take it back to the Nosferatu or he will haunt you.” 

Pain flashed through my mind as the mask bombarded me with purpose. I needed to obey, or it would begin to judge me, for I too was counted among the dead. Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to look back at Grey, my eyes trying to memorize his face before the mask wiped my mind. 

“Callie and Diego didn’t follow me, they probably went to the surface,” I told him, shaking my head. “They took the scepter, Diego will think it's for Natalia, but Callie will give it to Marcus.” 

There was a flash of recognition in Grey’s eyes, he was gaining control over the beast again, his wound healing faster than it should… or has he already taken that much vitae from me?

“They don’t know… I wasn’t… I wasn’t honest…” I said, and I felt more pain, this time not from the mask, but from my own mind. Grey’s eyes widened in shock, but I didn’t have time for guilt right now. “I wasn’t speaking to you when I said the scepter was what you were sent for. I was speaking to Callie. Marcus wanted something to show his authority, a weapon to usurp a Usurper.” 

I felt more pain in my mind, only now it was travelling down my neck and into my chest. Biting past the pain, I continued to speak, fighting the strain that threatened to strangle me. He needed to know, know that there’s a cost, that there’s no saving me as I saved him, know that he needs to keep his promise to allow death to take me… to allow me to be judged. 

“That scepter is a weapon, a symbol of power, but it’s not what Marcus thinks,” I kept pushing, realizing that Grey was the one supporting me now, not the other way around. Maybe he would drink me completely before the mask took me… before I faced the judgement… before I went to…

“It won’t do what he thinks,” I said, my voice becoming a murmur as cold began to spread through me. The chill of the grave, I thought to myself, suppressing a giggle. “And it won’t do what Natalia wants… she wants… she wants…” 

I pawed at my face, tapping at the mask. It was firmly secured to my face, refusing to release its prize. Grey’s tongue rolled over the painful wound on my wrist, closing it and stemming the bleeding. I was cradled in his arms, my strength leaving me, my mind shattering piece by piece. I fought, refusing to leave him just yet. Too much left, not enough time, how could I tell him everything in time? 

“She wants the mask,” Grey’s voice came to me, and I heard a whimper escape my throat. My body burned as if what little vitae I had left was on fire. The pain was intense, but still he held me, so still I had to try and speak. 

“Mask… stops… wights…” I whispered, feeling as more and more of my humanity was being carved away, suspending me on the verge of wightdom. It burrowed into the fragments of my soul, demanding that which protected it die so I could be judged. “Kill… me… take… mask…” 

My fingers grasped weakly at his hoodie, trying to look into his eyes as darkness filled the slits of the mask. His face… I just wanted to see his face one last time. 

“Use… mask…” I heard my voice whispering as my hand became too weak to cling to him anymore. “Stop… wight…” 

I couldn’t see Grey, but I felt his arms wrap around me, pressing me against his chest. His face pressed against my neck, the scratchy stubble of his cheek like sandpaper, an oddly comforting texture. As he ran his fingers through my hair, he gripped tightly, holding my head back, and his voice flowed into my ear with the strength and determination of a bursting dam. 

“Isadora, I promised you that I’d respect Death when it came for you,” he said softly, pressing a light kiss to my ear. I felt another whimper escape my throat, only this time it was both one of longing and of fear. When he spoke again, his voice had hardened into something I’d never heard from him before. “But Death isn’t the one trying to take you from me.”

A shiver ran through me, though whether it was from the kiss or from his words, I was unable to tell. Suddenly, I felt his hand release my body and grip the front of the mask.

“This mask is,” he said, his voice cold and hard as flint.

Fear rushed through me. The cost needed to be paid, if he tried to take the mask… if it was denied…

“The witch belongs to me,” I heard Grey say, but it was clear even as the darkness battled his claim of ownership, that he wasn’t speaking to me. 

He was speaking to the mask. 

“I will not be denied.”