I feel him reaching out to me, and as our energies bind, his power and mine intertwine, forming a more unified knot. With him secured, I reach for Declan. His life force is fainter, so faint I fear he won't last much longer. I latch onto it and tie him to us, though he doesn't regain consciousness. Finally, I find Estelle, her essence faded to almost nothing, but still present enough to latch onto.
Once we are connected, a flash of bright light momentarily blinds me, and then I am back in the iron room again, only this time I’m surrounded by women who lay on metal tables. There are dozens of them, and they all stare at the ceiling, their eyes forever blinded by death.
Each of their chests have been pried open and their hearts are missing.
I scream, though I don't know if I do so vocally or just in my head.
I feel Dean soothing me, his energy holding mine.
But it’s not enough. I know it from deep inside, from a part of myself I’ve never allowed to emerge.
I open my eyes and find Cutter has released Logan and now stands over the caged heart, his eyes gleaming with excitement as he watches the blood flowing into it from the tubes attached to me, Estelle, and the twins.
“Yes,” he coaxes. “More. It’s almost there.”
The heart beats faster now and I know he’s right. Whatever we’re doing, it’s working.
I look at Logan, who stands near where I sit, eyes unseeing as he watches it all unfold. Straining my wrists, I push my arm as far as it will go before the bindings stop me. My fingertips graze his in a slight brush.
But it’s enough.
He blinks.
I suck in a sharp breath, staring up at him.
His expression clears and he frowns down at me. When he opens his mouth, I shake my head, silently pleading with him to remain silent.
“My hand,” I whisper, hoping Cutter is too caught up in his own victory to notice what’s happening.
Logan reaches for my hand, and Schmidt screams, “Get away from her!”
Cutter straightens, eyes narrowing, but he’s too late.
Logan’s fingers wrap tightly around mine.
“Celeste, I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice anguished at the idea that he’s failed me.
But I don’t answer. His touch is the last bastion I need to unleash what’s inside me. If this doesn’t work, we will all surely die.
My power lashes out, and I pour everything I can into it.
A loud pop leaves my ears ringing and flames erupt.
An explosion.
I shut my eyes, turning away from the searing heat as the room becomes completely engulfed in fire.
My mouth opens in a scream.
I have failed.
And now we’ll all burn for my mistake.
But the flames never reach me.
Voices are drowned out by a wind that pulls on my hair. The restraints fall away and Logan’s hand tightens in mine, pulling me to my feet.
“You did it, Celeste.” His voice is full of wonder. And relief. “You—”
Logan’s hand releases mine and the sound of his voice suddenly fades to silence.
I stumble, rocked sideways by some great force.
And then there is darkness.
I jerk awake, startled by the sound of a door slamming.
For a moment, I don’t know where I am. I look around, puzzled by this out of body feeling, like I’m forgetting something—or someone—very important.
A great sadness clouds my mind, and I shake my head, wiping a trace of drool from my lips.
I’m sitting at my desk facing a large window overlooking the ocean. My head had been resting on an open copy of Italian Painters: Critical Studies of their Works by G. Morelli. I rub away the tension in my neck and frown, my gaze snagging on the jeans I’m wearing. The knees are stylishly ripped. My shirt features a poop emoji on it with the word “happens” written below. Shit happens, indeed. I must have fallen asleep studying and had quite the dream. I still feel like I’m tripping.
I glance at my cell phone and notice several missed calls. “Merde,” I say to myself, then raise my eyebrows in surprise. I haven’t casually spoken in French since my semester abroad a few years ago. How odd.
“There you are,” a voice from behind me says.
I turn and smile at the man who just entered my office. He stands in the frame of the French doors wearing a tailored tuxedo, his sandy blonde hair tussled in that casual sexy way that only works for certain men.