Page 133 of Ever After

His head lolls, his slitted eyes giving only a faint glimpse of the wolf-blue irises. I wrap my arms around him, pressing his face to mine. “Come back,” I whisper. “Come back, please. Don’t leave me here on my own.” I press his limp hand to my face, inhaling the faint trace of his peach scent.

“Levi.”

I shake my head, fumbling to get closer to Blue. I don’t ever want to leave him again.

“Levi!” The word is a shout now. It’s Branok.

I raise my head, and I’m suddenly furious. He caused this. I’ve lost Blue and it’s all because of him. I knuckle tears from my eyes, ready to unleash on him. “You⁠—”

“He’s not dead yet,” he shouts over me, struggling to hold off Boynton’s sword.

“What?”

“He’s not dead! He’s under an illusion.” He forces Boynton back with a flurry of swordplay, his own image wavering, becoming faint. “Joining the rings will break it. Do you have Xander’s ring?”

“I do.”

His image immediately strengthens. “Destroy the diary. Then unite the rings.”

“No!” the vicar shouts. He glares at me, undecided who to attack. Branok makes his decision for him with a battering series of sword thrusts.

“Where is the diary?” My gaze darts around the garden, bouncing from statue to statue.

“There!” Branok calls, tipping his head.

I see it on the ground, lying half out of the oilskin covering. I crawl towards it.

“No!” Richard shouts again. He makes a wild gesture, whipping up the wind. I’m flung against the ground and I fling my hands up to shield my eyes.

The wind dies as suddenly as it came, and I drop my hand. “What is happening?” I breathe.

I’m in a fog so thick I can no longer see more than a foot in front of me. The dense mist glows eerily, as if lit from within.

“Branok?” I shout, getting to my feet. Something moves in the murk.

The word echoes, hovering on the fog, and I sense this particular something is listening intently, waiting for my next step. I falter. My heart screams to return to Blue, but my brain knows I need that diary.

I step forward and abruptly slam into a wall. “What the fuck?” I breathe, shoving my hands against it. It’s not a wall. It moves slightly, a sickening sort of movement like loose skin over iron bones.

Panic fills me and I increase my struggles. Hands appear, reaching for me through the fog. They dig into my skin with a touch like ice.

“So, we meet again.” The voice is inside my head, and I feel a swooping motion like I’m on a lift that’s plummeting towards the ground. It’s Richard Boynton. “I won’t rely on an entity to do my work this time,” the voice continues. “I shall do the possession myself.”

“No,” I groan. Not again. I can’t go through that again.

The hands rise over my torso, their touch horribly caressing. And then they stop. I feel a warmth in my chest spreading down my body, and the stone in my amulet glows bright and warm. There’s a sudden cry of agony, and for a second, the battle between Branok and Boynton pauses. Then the hands are gone as suddenly as they appeared.

However, the fog is still there and as impenetrable as before. I stare at it in desperation. I have to get to the book. And then I remember. The ring. I have it in my pocket. I jab my hand into my pocket. The ring immediately slides onto my finger.

I raise my hand and the mist cringes back. Something groans low and long in the fog. I brandish the ring again and the fog vanishes. I look around in astonishment. It’s gone. There’s no sign of it.

“Blue?” I whisper uncertainly, but he’s not here. Nobody is here. It’s just a sculpture garden in the moonlight and something lying on the ground—a small bundle. The diary.

I scoop it up, grabbing it protectively to my chest, and something on the ground catches a moonbeam. I immediately recognise Blue’s Zippo. I palm it and then fumble with the diary to open it, finding pages of cramped writing and horrific-looking drawings.

“No!” comes a scream. “Do not touch that diary.”

I turn to see Branok and the vicar are now standing a few feet away. Branok has his arms wrapped around the vicar’s torso preventing him from moving. Boynton’s eyes glow gold in the strange light and his hair lifts in a breeze that I can’t feel. “You will regret it, boy,” he says. “I have power beyond anything you can comprehend. The power to raise the dead and any illusion I fancy.”