Grave Signs - Ivy Asher Page 0,118

world.

And the world will suffer us, because we’re done fucking around.

35

I feel like the entire world settles in my chest in less time than it takes to gasp. Surprisingly, it’s not heavy or painful, it feels enlightening, like I’m seeing things for the first time through the lens of my darkness and I didn’t know how much I was missing until now.

I can sense Delta and Medley as easily as I can sense my own heartbeat, and our connection is all at once humbling and empowering.

Time feels like it’s almost crawled to a stop, and when I look over at Medley and Delta, I realize we have the same awed look on our faces as we take in what’s happening to us. Our movements are fluid and slow like we’re moving underwater, and relief floods me when I see that Medley is no longer held captive by Morax’s compulsion. Her eyes are no longer dead, her face no longer slack, and the threads that tie us together once again feel right.

My vision focuses, and even though there’s a film over my eyes because my darkness is at play, I see orbs of light everywhere. It’s not bright like I’m surrounded by sunbeams, but more like I’m staring at the luminosity that happens when you close your hand around something bright and your closed palm glows.

What is that?

I blink, my eyes scanning around me, and I realize that the light is coming from inside each and every demon in varying shades of brightness and color.

My sisters’ lights are radiant and beautiful, and I’m not at all surprised to see they’re purple. I look down at my own chest, and sure enough, we each match.

Looking out past the horde gathered around the Origin Stone, I see a border of bright lights of all kinds of colors in the far distance, but I’m surrounded by dimmer lights in more muted shades, and they feel wrong to me, like they’re sick or malnourished in some way.

My scythe warms in my hand, like it’s encouraging me to seek these weaker lights out and do something about them. But what?

“Do you see it all now?” a soothing and decadent voice asks.

My awed gaze swings down to Lucifer’s stunning light blue eyes. They’re as bright as my sisters’ lights, but there’s no fear or fury in his gaze like there was just before our darkness took over and time clicked into sloth mode. No, Lucifer doesn’t look the slightest bit fazed by what’s happening right now. He looks all-knowing.

“What?” I ask, my voice echoing around us in the slow motion of time.

“Do you see them for what they are?” he asks.

I look around again at his prodding question, and understanding dawns on me when I realize that the light emanating from everyone’s chest is their soul.

That’s what all the orbs of light bleeding through everyone’s bodies are. Like a black light has been switched on, I can see the souls like they’re fluorescent beacons, guiding the way for me and Monster, my eager scythe, showing us our purpose—to maintain balance. That’s the point of an Annulus. We reset the souls who have tipped too far on the scale.

What is it that Lucifer told Morax?

Balance always wins.

“I was wondering when you and your sisters would wake all the way up,” Lucifer declares, still on his knees and wrapped in a lightly glowing fabric. My eyes fall back on him, but he’s completely at ease, and confidence is radiating off of him now, like he was just biding his time.

Surprisingly, the Devil’s soul-light is blindingly white. I learn quickly not to try and stare at it directly.

“I guess we’ve woken up now,” I say, and I see Delta and Medley look over at me in confirmation.

“This is...fucking incredible,” Delta says, her voice carrying that same echoing quality as mine.

“I can see everyone,” Medley adds, her gray eyes continuing to scan around us.

I look back at the stunning blue eyes of the Devil in front of me. “You played him,” I say to Lucifer, and a smirk tilts up one corner of his lips. I realize right then that the Devil is the trickster people claim him to be. He could give anyone in Hollywood a run for their money with the performance he just gave in front of Morax.

My mouth curves to match his smirk. “Ready to stop acting like a little bitch?” I ask the King of Hell, and he barks out a laugh that seems to float

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