CHAPTER 8: RACE AGAINST TIME

  Gunmetal gleamed. Fingers tensed on triggers. The air crackled with the promise of death as the Witch Hunters raised their rifles in unison.

  A whisper slithered through the battlefield. Low. Haunting. Inhuman.

  Then, from the depths of the earth, the hands of the dead emerged.

  Pale, clawed fingers shot up from the soil like grasping weeds, spectral arms stretching, writhing. The ground beneath the Witch Hunters split open as if the very world had betrayed them.

  Melancholy Man had spoken.

  The twins stood in perfect symmetry, eyes hollow with focus, their silhouettes thin and eerie against the chaos. Eve and Evie’s voices overlapped, singing in a hushed, deathly harmony.

  A gunshot rang out—then another. Muzzle flashes bloomed like dying stars. Bullets ripped through empty air as the Witch Hunters fired wildly at the ghostly hands clawing at their legs.

  One by one, they screamed.

  Dragged down.

  Swallowed whole.

  Their howls dissolved into the howling wind as they were pulled, piece by piece, into the afterlife.

  Victor swayed. His vision blurred at the edges, the agony in his stomach a molten brand of fire. Too much blood. Too little time.

  Then—warmth.

  A hand on his arm, steady, urgent.

  Elizabeth.

  She was kneeling beside him, her expression fierce, her breath sharp. Without hesitation, she tore a strip from her own dress, the fabric ripping with a clean, swift sound.

  “Stay still.”

  She pressed it against his wound, her fingers firm but careful. Victor flinched—not from the pain, but from the strange tenderness in her touch.

  She tied the makeshift bandage tight, her hands working fast. Blood seeped through, staining the cloth a deep, violent red.

  “I’ll get us some help,” she murmured, her voice low but resolute.

  Victor, for once, said nothing.

  He just watched her.

  Watched the way her hair clung to her face, damp with sweat. The way her jaw set in determination.

  He had saved her before. But now—she was saving him.

  The forest was a sea of black and silver, moonlight cutting through the skeletal branches like ghostly fingers. Elizabeth's breath was ragged, her arms trembling under Victor's weight. He was heavier than he looked, his body slack against her shoulder, his blood soaking into the fabric of her dress.

  "Just a little farther," she muttered, more to herself than to him.

  Victor gave a dry, breathless chuckle. "You know… if you wanted me this close, you could’ve just asked."

  Elizabeth scowled but didn’t waste her breath on a retort.

  Then—a shape loomed in the distance.

  Half-hidden by the overgrowth, an old cabin sagged beneath the weight of time. The wood was warped, the shutters hanging loose, but it stood.

  Shelter.

  Relief crashed over her.

  “Evie! Eve!” she called, shifting Victor’s weight.

  The twins were already ahead of her, moving like wraiths, their hands raised. The door creaked open before they even touched it.

  Inside, the air was thick with dust, the scent of mildew heavy. Broken furniture lay scattered like forgotten bones. A fireplace sat cold and empty, but the Evelyns were quick—they knelt by the hearth, whispering under their breath.

  A spark. A flicker.

  Then fire.

  Warmth bled into the room. Shadows danced along the splintered walls.

  Elizabeth lowered Victor onto a battered old couch. It groaned under his weight but held.

  He exhaled sharply, his fingers twitching over his stomach. The bleeding hadn’t stopped.

  No time to waste.

  Elizabeth straightened, eyes sweeping the room.

  Then—everything lifted.

  Chairs, shattered glass, discarded books, rusted lanterns— all of it rose, weightless, swirling around her.

  She focused, pushing past the throb in her skull, past the exhaustion sinking into her limbs.

  She needed—medicine. Antiseptic. Anything.

  A cabinet snapped open.

  Bottles tumbled out of a drawer, clinking mid-air.

  There—small vials of something.

  She reached out, and the floating objects dropped into her waiting hands.

  Alcohol. Bandages. Something that might have been antibiotics once.

  Good enough.

  She fell to her knees beside Victor, ripping the cork from the bottle with her teeth.

  “This is going to hurt.”

  Victor smirked weakly. “Oh? And here I thought this was the part where you kiss it better.”

  Elizabeth rolled her eyes and poured the antiseptic over his wound.

  Victor hissed. His whole body jerked, muscles locking as fire seared through his flesh.

  “You—ghh—could’ve warned me properly—”

  “I did.”

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  He gritted his teeth, but amusement flickered behind the pain in his eyes.

  She pressed the bandages down, firm but careful. Her fingers brushed his bare skin for just a moment before she pulled away.

  Victor’s breathing was still uneven, but he watched her. Studied her.

  “You’re not half bad at this,” he murmured.

  Elizabeth scoffed. “What, saving your life?”

  Victor’s smirk softened—just barely.

  “No.”

  His gaze lingered. “Caring.”

  For a moment, she didn’t know what to say.

  So she said nothing.

  Instead, she tied the bandages tight and sat back, her heartbeat far too loud in the quiet.

  The fire in the hearth had burned low, its embers glowing like the last breath of a dying star. Shadows stretched across the cabin’s warped wooden walls, flickering in rhythm with the wind that howled softly outside. The forest beyond was an endless sea of black, the skeletal trees swaying as if whispering secrets to one another. A place untouched by time, a place forgotten.

  Elizabeth sat with her back against the rotting floorboards, exhaustion pressing down on her bones. Her dress was torn at the hem, streaked with dirt and dried blood. Strands of chestnut hair clung to her face, damp with sweat. Her limbs were heavy, but her mind still buzzed—too much had happened, too much to process.

  “I’m tired,” Evie mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Eve, as always, was quick to agree. “Me too.”

  Elizabeth turned her head slightly and saw them curled up by the fire. Mirror images of each other, their pale skin almost luminous in the dim light. Their raven curls cascaded over their shoulders, tangling together like vines. Their dark dresses were tattered, but the exhaustion on their faces made them look almost… human.

  They had fought hard. They deserved their rest.

  Elizabeth exhaled softly. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

  But when she looked back, the twins had already collapsed, making a pillow out of each other’s bodies. Their breathing had evened out, their hands clasped as if they were afraid of being torn apart in their sleep.

  A small smile flickered across Elizabeth’s lips.

  She pulled her knees to her chest, letting her gaze wander to Victor.

  He lay still on the couch, his coat draped over his body like a makeshift blanket. His damp hair stuck to his forehead, and his usually sharp features were softened by the haze of exhaustion. Even in sleep, there was tension in his jaw, as if he never truly let himself relax.

  His hand, wrapped in dried blood and bandages, rested against his stomach. The wound would heal—slowly, painfully—but he would survive.

  Elizabeth let her head rest against the wooden wall, her body sinking into the cold floor. The ache in her muscles dulled, her eyelids growing heavier.

  Outside, the wind whispered through the trees. The fire crackled, the warmth seeping into her bones.

  And for the first time in a long while, Elizabeth Rofford let herself drift into sleep.

  The first sign was the flickering fire.

  The embers in the hearth flared wildly, turning blue, then violet, then black. Shadows twisted unnaturally, stretching up the walls, writhing like living things. The wooden floor beneath Elizabeth’s limp body creaked and groaned as if the cabin itself were suffocating under some unseen force.

  Then, the air trembled.

  Elizabeth’s body convulsed, her back arching violently off the ground. Her hands clawed at the empty space, fingers twitching, spasming. Her breath hitched in ragged gasps, her face contorted in pain. She was somewhere else. Trapped. Falling.

  Visions clawed their way into her skull—images flashing too fast, too vivid, too wrong.

  A sky split open like a wound, bleeding rivers of light. A thousand voices shrieked her name, calling for her, cursing her. The Infinite City crumbling into dust. A skeletal hand reaching from the abyss, grasping at her throat—

  She screamed.

  A shockwave tore through the cabin.

  Glass shattered. The floorboards snapped like brittle bones. The walls ripped apart as an invisible force lashed out, hurling furniture against the walls, and sending wooden beams crashing down.

  The Evelyns jolted awake, their eyes wide, unfocused. “Elizabeth—” Evie started, but the words were stolen by the deafening roar of destruction.

  Eve grabbed at her sister, shielding her head as debris rained down. “She’s going to bring the whole place down!”

  Victor was already moving. His wound screamed in protest, but he forced himself forward, shoving aside falling wreckage. His coat whipped around him as the force of Elizabeth’s power surged again, splitting the ceiling apart.

  The house was coming down.

  “Elizabeth!” His voice cut through the chaos like a blade. “Wake up!”

  She thrashed violently, her eyes rolling back, her lips moving soundlessly, lost in whatever nightmare had swallowed her whole.

  Victor dropped to his knees beside her, grabbing her by the shoulders. “Elizabeth, listen to me! You need to stop—

  She gasped.

  Her eyes flew open—glowing, burning.

  For a split second, the entire world froze.

  Then, reality snapped.

  The house exploded.

  A blast of raw psychic energy detonated outward, tearing through the structure like a hurricane. Splinters and shattered wood erupted in all directions, flames licking hungrily at the ruins. The force flung the four of them into the night, the wreckage of the cabin collapsing in on itself.

  Elizabeth hit the ground hard, gasping for breath, her head spinning. The nightmare was gone. The visions had stopped.

  But the destruction remained.

  Victor groaned as he pushed himself up, dust and blood smeared across his face. He turned to look at Elizabeth, his expression sharp, urgent.

  “We’re running out of time.”

  Smoke still lingered in the air, curling around the wreckage of the cabin like spectral fingers. The trees surrounding them were scorched, their leaves trembling as if the earth itself had recoiled from Elizabeth’s outburst.

  She sat among the ruins, knees drawn to her chest, hands trembling as she stared at the destruction she had caused. The Evelyns sat close, their identical faces pale in the moonlight, quiet for once.

  Victor wiped the blood from his temple, wincing as he forced himself upright. He turned to Elizabeth, his voice edged with exhaustion.

  “That was quite the spectacle. If you were trying to kill us, you came damn close.”

  She didn’t look at him. “We have to go back.”

  Victor raised an eyebrow. “To the Ravenholms?”

  “We have to destroy the contract. In the Blood Vault.” Elizabeth stood, shaking off the dirt, her hands clenching into fists.

  The name alone made the Evelyns shudder.

  Eve’s fingers curled tighter around her sister’s wrist. “That place is suicide.”

  Victor exhaled, tilting his head. “And if we do this, it’ll end the curse? Just like that?”

  Elizabeth finally turned to face him. Her green eyes burned, but not with certainty—only with desperation.

  “I don’t know.”

  Victor studied her, searching for something—certainty, conviction, hope—but there was none. Only the thin, fragile thread of belief holding her together.

  She stepped closer, voice raw. “We have to try.”

  Victor ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. He glanced at the ruins around them, the bodies still aching from battle, the road ahead filled with nothing but danger.

  Then, finally—he nodded.

  “Then let’s try.”

  The first pale slivers of dawn stretched across the sky, turning the distant clouds to embers. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and burned wood, the wreckage of the cabin still smoldering behind them. Shadows stretched long across the forest floor, retreating from the rising sun.

  Victor stepped forward, his coat billowing as he outstretched a hand toward the dirt road. His fingers curled into a fist, and the ground trembled in response. From the soil, skeletal hooves clawed their way to the surface, followed by rotted limbs and hollowed-out ribcages. The creatures pulled themselves free, their empty sockets flaring with an eerie glow as their decayed forms knitted together with unnatural strength. In moments, a carriage stood before them—blackened wood, iron-bound, and pulled by a team of undead horses, their breath fogging the air like frost despite the warmth of sunrise.

  The Evelyns hesitated at first, their gazes flickering between Victor and the monstrosities he had summoned. But Elizabeth stepped forward, unafraid, the tattered ends of her cloak sweeping against the dirt as she climbed into the carriage. The twins followed… Evie muttered something under her breath as she cast a wary glance at the horses' exposed bones.

  Victor took one last look at the ruined cabin, then pulled himself onto the driver's seat. With a flick of his wrist, the reins snapped, and the undead creatures lurched forward. Their hooves made no sound on the earth, gliding like specters as they carried their passengers down the winding road.

  The Ravenholm Estate lay ahead.

  Waiting.