gemstone set into a gold pendant hanging from a metal wire strung with smaller jewels and precious stones. I recognized it instantly. The Constantina necklace, the relic Zane had died for and failed to protect.
Bastian set the necklace carefully into the bowl of my blood, completely submerging it. Kelaeno began to chant something in an ancient language, reading from the book. I listened carefully, digging deep into my memory for the translation, but I couldn’t remember the language. I looked to Lilith, who stood still and entranced, her chin tilted up and her eyes closed, as if the words had power over her. Once Kelaeno’s chant ended, Lilith opened her eyes and removed the necklace tentatively from the bowl. My blood dripped off the pendant and drenched the front of her white dress as she fastened the necklace around her neck. Then my blood seemed to move in ways gravity shouldn’t have allowed: It spread in every direction, red tracing the veins and arteries beneath Lilith’s skin and sinking through until it vanished and no blood remained anywhere to be seen.
And then light. I cried out and squeezed my eyes shut, turning my face away from the blinding flash. I could hear screams, hollow and distant as if the sounds played through an old television, screams that echoed untold millennia of torment and despair wrought by the Demon Queen. Unable to cover my ears with my hands, I pressed my cheek into my chained arm, desperate to drown out the horrible cries of terror and agony.
When the light and screams dissipated, I slit my eyes open to see what had happened. I took in a sharp, deep breath at the sight before me.
Lilith was whole. Her body was no longer a phantom’s. She was as solid and real as I was. The Constantina necklace had become a glossy black. She stepped close to me, peering into my face. The scent of dirt and buried bones that came from her made me want to gag. She lifted a hand and traced a crescent with the back of her index finger down my cheek and jaw, the smoothness of her nail sending shivers through my spine. Then her nail traced the same line back up my cheek with the sharp tip and cut through my skin. I gritted my teeth at the sting and felt the warmth of a crescent-shaped line of blood welling on my face.
“That is so much better,” Lilith sighed, her voice now full. “I’d love to chat more with you, Gabriel, maybe even rip a few of your fingers off, but I am too full of anticipation. Now it is time to wake my beloved, and then we will have fun with you. Don’t worry. Your time will come.”
The corners of her lips curved into a dark, slight smile before she turned away and moved toward Bastian. She took the dagger from his hand and cut it deep into her own arm, into precisely the same spot as Bastian had cut me. He held the bowl of my blood up and let Lilith’s own blood pour into it. Power leaked from the mixture of our blood, creeping across the floor like rolling fog, sending every hair on my body standing on end.
“Blood of angel,” Lilith murmured as she exchanged the dagger for the bowl with Bastian. “Blood of demon. Continue the ritual.”
Without questioning, Kelaeno began chanting again, a new spell, different from the one that had given Lilith solid form. The Demon Queen stood in front of the sarcophagus and tipped the bowl over a small notch in the center of the lid, letting the blood pour. It followed grooves in the stone—up, down, left, and right, swirling, filling in the Enochian spell imprisoning Sammael.
Dread filled me. Not just simple fear, but the sensation of unreasonable horror overcame me, sucking away any desire to even feign bravery, sapping my energy like a black hole.
The blood filled the Enochian carvings entirely, and something heaved and hissed within the sarcophagus, as if a safe had been unlocked. I couldn’t look away.
Lilith’s high, smooth voice shot through my skull like a bullet. “Remove the lid.”
26
BASTIAN’S EXPRESSION WAS A MIXTURE OF EXCITEMENT and trepidation as he stood beside Lilith. Kelaeno and Merodach pulled the heavy stone lid away from the sarcophagus and set it aside. I wondered whether Bastian was, for an instant, regretting all that he’d done, if he was second-guessing his decision to release Sammael. But he did nothing, frozen,