CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

"The plan is simple – and tricky," Scott informs the congregation, seated in the back of the van. There aren't any real chairs back here so everyone's huddled on the floor, backs against the metal doors. Ethel sits in the driver's chair, with Renée as a passenger. The glow of her skin taints the vehicles interior a flickering silver. Everything feels unreal, like a drunk stupor, like a dream.

"Melissa will present Keon with the anchor and will speak her intention to break the curse. With Renée's magic, we've already altered the energy of the curse to seek a new anchor as soon as the current one is destroyed. Melissa, your speech will have to be very general for this to work. Any mention of curse-breaking and Renée's magic will have no effect. A statement like, 'I wish to remove my power from this curse,' would be ideal. Once the anchor is destroyed, there will be a delay period of roughly fifteens minutes, during which it will appear as though the curse is broken. It's our job to get everyone out and away from Keon during that window.

"Of course, this is all theory. Application of this plan will be much more difficult. If Keon tells Melissa what to say when breaking the curse, we lose. If Keon notices something's up, we lose. If we don't get out in under fifteen minutes, we lose. And remember: we have no idea what forces he has at his disposal. He could have a telepath or a seer in the room. There could be dozens of Anarkks in there waiting for us. He could go back on his word. Ladies and gents, we could easily be walking into a trap."

No one speaks. It's not like anyone here hasn't thought of that possibility. But the way Scott says it, in his strong, persuasive voice, makes it all the more real. I can almost see the thought running through everyone's head with renewed intensity.

"Oh, stop it, Scott," Ethel says suddenly from the front. The fear is sucked from the room. "You're scaring all the kids."

Five minutes to midday, when all my nails have been bitten down to the quick, the van pulls up on a deserted stretch of road. No other parked cars. No people in sight. When the doors are slid back, I get my first view of the church. It's an imposing Victorian Gothic structure set back from the road on a large patch of dead grassy land. A sign at the edge of the weak lawn proclaims, St Margaret's Holy Church. And beneath it, You are about to enter hallowed ground. Please be respectful.

The hallowed ground in reference is a graveyard. Tombstones dating from the 19th century litter the lawn surrounding the church, almost at random. The clouds above let out another roar – a cry, a plea, a warning. The air smells like rain and rot.

Harrison hops out of the van and comes to a stop beside me. "Kind of overkill with the theatrics, don't you think? Spooky church. Graveyard. Thunder and lightning. If this guy's trying to intimidate us, he's trying too hard."

"It's a stage."

"And he's the sadist sicko running the show."

Suddenly silence. All Harrison's quips fade on the bitter winter wind. Keon's stage may be overly theatrical, but it's desired effect – intimidation – is taking its toll. Standing before the church, I feel a darkness creep into my heart. The whole scene pulses, beating like a heart, flashing between real and unreal. One moment I am witnessing it in my minds eye as a vision of the future; the next it is corporeal once more. Just like that, future and present blur ever more closely, space-time tangling impossibly, as though the universe is experiencing a glitch.

"She's in there, isn't she?" Harrison says, quietly, hopefully, fearfully. I don't have to reply. One look and I can tell he already knows the answer. They're brother and sister. Somehow, even now, they share a bond that transcends time and space. I have my abilities – telekinesis, regeneration, visions; and this – this unbounded connection to his sister – is his.

"Do we just walk in?" This question from Annalise, her blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. Everyone is more or less lined up in front of the church, staring at the imposing structure. Every fibre of our DNA is wired to run away from danger, and here we all are, intent on heading towards it. Well. Easier said than done.

Looking across, I realise her question was directed at Ethel. Everyone's staring at her. They're soldiers awaiting orders and Ethel is the commanding officer.

"Melissa will lead the charge," she says at last, and the decision is surprising to say the least. "It's important that she's the first thing Keon sees. He'll be expecting resistance so we need to make a show of it by coming in later, feigning an attempt to stop Melissa from breaking the Curse."

Everyone's attention is on me now. Ethel closes the distance between us and pulls the stone out of her jacket pocket.

"Are you sure that's wise–"

Katherine's protest dies abruptly as Ethel deposits the anchor in my hand. "We'll be right behind you," she says softly. I look at her. I have to remind myself that I wanted this. I wanted to be apart of things. I wanted to save Caden and save Sarah and save myself.

But suddenly I feel like I'm leading everyone to their deaths.

"Quickly now, there's only a minute to midday."

I swallow. With a look back at Harrison who gives an encouraging nod, I start the walk across the hallowed ground, up to the church. The further I get from the others, the colder I feel – the more alone. I'm almost sleepwalking at this point; my mind, knowing all that it does about what's coming, has shut down. I'm on autopilot, every step and every movement performed unthinkingly.

All too quickly I'm at the grand double doors, one hand reaching for the brass knob. One turn. One push. One step. The door closes behind me, trapping me in a darkness, and I'm alone.

Except, not entirely.

The church is large on the inside. I can't see much in the dark but I can sense the grandness of the space, the cavernous expanse both around me and above my head. Every sound is a thunderclap vaulting around the room. Even just standing here I feel uncomfortably exposed, my muscles tightening, my body preparing to fight or flee. And far ahead, down the isle that divides rows and rows of pews, on the church stage, is a flickering blue light in a white marble baptismal font. The scene, spooky to anyone else, is a nightmare to me. And it's all I need to know that I'm not alone in here – that greater nightmares await me in the shadows.

With trepidation I start down the isle. The darkness recedes the closer I get to the stage, the blue light dimly illuminating the walls, the pews, the shadows. Yet in some ways, the darkness only gets thicker and stronger. Because I had felt a creeping-darkness outside, and now it is everywhere, in every pore, in every breath. I feel as though I am inhaling all the corrupted energy in the universe.

I stop at the final pew, my legs refusing to move any closer. This is the end of the road.

And then, from the heavy shadows at the back of the stage, a figure emerges. They are wearing a black coat, but they may as well be dressed in darkness.

"Just in time," the figure says, their voice booming in the silence.

Keon steps up to the light and the blue flames create harsh, ugly shadows on his face. The features I saw clearly only once in a vision are warped and unsteady – monstrous. Dark, deep-set eyes and bulbous cheek bones. Hollow cheeks and a sharp, pointed chin. When he speaks, the shadows pool in his mouth, jut out his lip, hide all the muscle movements that make his jaw look anything other than slack and clattering. I take an unintentional step back, my body recoiling from the terrifying man before me.

"I see the Curse isn't broken. Why's that?"

I struggle to find my voice. "...I'm not strong enough," I murmur. Like a kid mumbling excuses to her father. But the large space catches the sound of my words and nonetheless tosses them around the room.

Keon stands silent for a moment, watching. "No matter. We'll do it now." He beckons me over to him. "Come on up."

About now would be nice, guys.

I know they're just outside the door, waiting for the right moment, but as the seconds elapse I can't stop the part of me which worries that they've left me here alone. That they've weighed the odds and decided it's better to risk the life of one than the lives of many. After all, the only person who really needs to be here for this plan to work is me.

"Well? What are you waiting for?"

The doors at the front of the church are thrown open. Light cascades into the darkness. I spin around to the sight of seven silhouettes striding down the isle towards me. And behind me, laughter.

"Why, it's the resistance, here to save the day." The others join me at the foot of the stage, and all the fear and tenseness I had felt dissipates. There is safety in numbers, and I feel it.

"What a spectacle!" Keon mocks, and turning back, I see his laughter – and his smile, if he ever bore one – has died on his lips.

"We won't let you break this curse," Ethel says, voice clear and unwavering.

He frowns. "Well clearly you have me beat. I suppose I should just pack up and go home, bringing this one with me, of course." He nods in my direction. "Although it is a pity I won't have enough space left in the car for the other one. I'll just have to kill it."

No one says a word. I swear my heart skips a beat.

"Have you forgotten about your friend so soon? He is, after all, the reason you've all come." He turns and waves a hand. "Come on out, kid."

There's movement in the shadows off the side of the stage. And then the movement becomes shapes and outlines: a leg, a torso, a head. In fact, two heads, one half-cocked. The light hits the shapes and suddenly I am looking at figures. Two people, one with their arm around the shoulders of the other. Their head isn't cocked. It's lolling, drooping – like a doll.

Light hits faces. Illuminates the people before me. They stop moving, hovering at the edge of the circle of light. I suck in a breath. I don't where to look first.

At Caden, face bruised and beaten and cut-up, the skin pulled tight over his bones, his whole body shaking and barely upright, even with the support – a skeleton, only the basic components of his being left undamaged.

Or at the man who supports him, who holds him up like Caden's an object on display. On the surface, this man is achingly familiar. But upon closer inspection, he's also horribly strange. He's got the same pale skin, but it's marked with stubble usually shaven off. Same light brown hair, but cut shorter, and tinged with more grey than I remember. Same shape to his features, but harder, sharper, firmer. Yet his eyes – brown eyes above dark circles – his eyes are not the same at all. They are tainted by that same darkness I felt when entering the church. And beyond that, they are hollow.

Where there should be a man, there is a ghost. The father I knew is gone.