“Thank you,” I whispered, in my most respectful tone. “I’m sorry that it took me so long to make this decision.”

Judging by their frowns and whispers, the demons had expected defiance—not submission. I took advantage of the moment, falling to my knees and bowing low to the floor.

“What is the meaning of this?” Belial demanded. “Why do you bow?”

“Because I am sorry,” I said, my voice muffled. “I thought I could fight you, but tonight, I came to realize that you truly are more powerful. And . . . and I don’t want you to destroy me.”

When the demons began to chuckle, I allowed myself a glance upward. Belial caught my gaze, flashed me that sharp-toothed smile, and waved his hand at an empty corner of the room. There, a black shadow solidified into Serena Taylor, looking very much like the puppet I’d seen the week before.

“I know that Serena is part of your plan for me,” I said hurriedly. “And I beg you to reconsider.”

Belial grinned again, but this time I could see a trace of respect in the smile. “You are a clever one, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” I said, bowing my head so that I didn’t seem prideful. “But don’t you think I could be useful too? That I could serve you, far better than Kade or Eli or that thing out there in the hallway? I’ve outsmarted two out of three of them—don’t you think that counts for something?”

Now the murmurs flew so wildly between the demons that they sounded like buzzing bees. After a long, obviously contentious pause—during which Belial conferred with his hive-mind companions—he turned back to me and smirked.

“Perhaps you would be useful, in the position we originally chose for you. But we cannot trust you; just remember what you did to poor Kade.”

My heart wrenched inside my chest, but I kept my face impassive. Earnest.

“Let me prove myself to you,” I offered. “Let me kill someone and then drag their soul here, to you.”

Now, that intrigued the demon. He raised one eyebrow, grinning. But then he shook his head with feigned sadness. “How could one soul matter, Amelia? What would some stranger who you pluck off the street prove?”

“What if it wasn’t a stranger?” I countered, barely speaking above a whisper now. “What if I killed my own mother?”

Chapter

THIRTY-FOUR

I don’t believe that you would do such a thing,” Belial said, sneering down at me. “That you even could.”

But despite the demon’s words, he didn’t look convinced one way or the other. In fact, he seemed to appraise me with a mixture of doubt and . . . maybe respect?

“Make me a wraith,” I suggested. “Just for the killing. That way I won’t have any choice—I’ll have to do what I promised. Then, if I don’t deliver, you can make me stay a wraith.”

“Or destroy you anyway,” another demon hissed from the jury box. I gulped but said nothing. Belial considered these options for a moment and then smiled.

“What have we got to lose?” He laughed, turning slightly to his companions so that they could share his amusement. “This sounds like an interesting night’s entertainment—one we haven’t had in a long time. So shall we agree to it?”

“Wait!” I called, holding up my hand like a child in school. “I do have one condition.”

Now, Belial looked less entertained. I could tell that he was about to deny whatever I said, so I spilled my request in a rush of words.

“All I ask is that you bring Gabrielle Callioux, Eli Rowland, and the real Serena Taylor here, so that if you decide to destroy me, then you destroy them and my mother as well. If I go, they all go.”

Each of the demons balked for a moment and then began to laugh uproariously.

“What an inspired suggestion!” Belial crowed. “How on earth did you come up with it?”

I shrugged as best I could in my groveling position. “If I can’t survive in some form, why should they?”

I could tell from the demons’ subsequent laughs that I’d just spoken a language they understood well: the language of callousness; of selfishness; of cruelty for sport. If I told the demons the truth—that I wanted to spare the people I loved an eternity of torture in this place—then my appeal would surely have been denied. But stating the request as I had, I’d captured their interest further.

After a few more seconds of amused deliberation with his companions, Belial faced me again.

“All right, Amelia Ashley—we will make you a wraith for the sole purpose of killing your own mother and bringing her soul to us here, in this room. Then, when you return, we’ll decide what to do with you.”

Once again, I lowered my gaze to the floor. “Thank you. Thank you for this chance.”

I heard them laughing, mocking my decision. So I spared another glance upward, just in time to see Belial flap his hand at me dismissively.

Abruptly, my ears began to ring. I sat upright and tried to clap my hands over my ears but found that I’d lost control of my arms. They wouldn’t move, no matter how much I ordered them to. Suddenly, I couldn’t move my legs, either. Or my mouth or my eyes or anything else.

I’d lost control of my own body.

That wasn’t to say that I’d stopped moving. On the contrary, some outside force had animated me into standing, turning around, and walking like some wooden soldier into the hallway. Evidently, a mere wave of the demon’s hand had turned me into an automaton.

As I crossed into the hall, I could see the old reaper waiting for me with a condescending sneer. His expression shifted into one of astonishment, however, when I stopped just a few inches past him and then rose several feet into the air.

While I hovered there, immobile, a black shadow crawled across one wall of the hallway to envelop me. Although I could tell that it had obscured my entire body, I could see out of the shadow as clearly as if it were glass. Of course, that didn’t mean that I’d regained even an ounce of control. I was still the puppet of whatever force was manipulating my body right now: fully aware of my actions, but unable to stop them.

The shadow held me in the air, floating inertly for a few more seconds. Then, without warning, it rocketed me down the hallway. I flew so fast that I wanted to scream in terror. I even tried, but the sound died in my throat.

I had no idea how fast or far I’d flown when the shadow jerked me to an abrupt stop and then my body shot upward, toward the ceiling. I thought that I would slam into it—the butt of some demonic joke, after all. But just before I crashed into it, the ceiling parted like a storm cloud, allowing me to pass through without harm.

I continued to shoot upward through an utter, impenetrable blackness. I wanted to look down, to see how far below me the hallway was, but I couldn’t; my eyes stayed fixed on some unseen target, high above me.

I didn’t have to wait long to find out where I was headed. Without warning, I burst through the darkness and into a glittering, purplish space that could only be the netherworld. In my peripheral vision, I could just make out the edge of High Bridge, looming to my right.

Of its own volition, my wraith body continued to swoop high into the night sky, shrieking as it did so. I couldn’t help but marvel at the sound that tore out of me—it was so plaintive, so desperate, that I wondered how I’d missed the agonized quality of the wraiths’ shrieks before now.

Finally, my wraith body reached the peak of its ascent and then arced back around to dive. On the surface of the bridge, I could just make out a group of figures: still-glowing Seers and their friends, as well as a handful of luminescent ghosts. I didn’t have to tell the shadow which figure to target; it was already making a sharp beeline for my mother, who looked as though she could hardly stay on her feet any longer.