Tears streamed down my face as I knelt in the mud beside Dean. His chest rose and fell. But I had no idea how Dean survived getting hit by Weatherton's and Mildred's magic. Though he hadn't gotten through the fight unscathed.

A wicked gash above Dean's left eye and an ugly red burn across his hands marked his fight. With shaking fingers, I stroked his cheek. Dean was alive, but did Luke remain inside him?

The air around me grew colder, and a breeze slid across my cheek.

I looked up and saw a banshee barreling down on me.

No...that's not a banshee.

I recognized the expression of hatred on Weatherton's ghostly face. The killer in his spirit form knocked me over.

A burning sensation struck my arms, and I watched long welts form.

Luke had once told me that ghosts could get physical. They could move things, and apparently, they could scratch. I wondered what else they could do, but I wasn't about to stay and find out.

I rolled, scrambling to my feet as the ghost tore through the back of my shirt. To get rid of him, I had to rip open the veil between this world and the next and shove Weatherton through. But when I tried to channel my magic, searing pain exploded inside my head.

I scanned the yard, but there was no place to run or hide.

Weatherton knocked me to the ground again and then violently tossed me onto my back. He floated above me. Within his shadowy face, his eyes shimmered with madness. Tentacles of gray mist stretched down and wrapped around my neck. Ghostly hands strangled me, relentlessly crushing with lethal intent.

I couldn't breathe. Panicked, I lashed out, but my fingers clawed at nothing but air.

I was going to die.

I looked into those ghostly eyes, shining with so much hatred. Weatherton wouldn't stop until I left this world. The lightning treatment had weakened me. My powers so far had been useless. My chest burned, tears clouded my eyes, and I struggled to breathe. I grew limp as my consciousness drifted away.

Then something inside me exploded.

Time seemed to stand still. Weatherton's spirit hovered above me, motionless.

And then I was at the abyss.

I knew Weatherton continued to throttle my physical body, but in front of the abyss, I was in control.

The inky void spread before me. A light appeared behind me, and as I turned, I saw the outlines of people standing, as if in a lit doorway. I couldn't make out faces, but a sense of familiarity settled over me. Rays of light broached the abyss, and I knew I had two options. I could enter the light and leave the heartache and suffering of this world behind or plunge headfirst into the darkness that lived deep within me.

Wendy, Dean, and Mildred's faces flashed across my mind. Once Weatherton killed me, he would destroy my friends too.

I have to fight to live. I have to see Weatherton pay.

I turned my back on the light and leaped into the abyss.

Dark forms swam around me. Something slid across my skin. Not the touch of a spirit but something else. Nails, claws? The air roared with angry cries and screams of terror. The noise beat against me, filled my head.

There was nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. Would I die in here? Had I been wrong to jump?

I had no time for second-guesses and pushed my fear away. I had to be strong.

A voice from within the darkness—within myself—reminded me, There isn't much time. Hurry now...

What did I need to help me fight against Weatherton? He had bound so many souls to him for strength. And I had the answer.

I needed strength.

You're too weak... "I'm not weak!" I shouted into the darkness. That rush of power, of rage, of certainty I'd felt after the second ritual—when I stared at my changed reflection—came back to me. "I am strong. My strength is here, all around me. It's here in the darkness living within me."

With that statement, an orange light sparked inside and through me. I would not give up. I wanted to live.

I was a death dealer.

I opened my eyes back in the physical plane. Weatherton's ghostly face stared down at me. Gray tentacles squeezed me. Time had sped back up, and my heartbeat struggled to continue. I was dying.

I focused on a spot in the air above me, ignoring the burning in my chest. My lungs screamed for oxygen, but I forced that need away and concentrated on ripping open the veil.

There was a shimmering in the air, but then an agonizing pain flashed across my brain. This time I fought through it and focused on the shimmer again. The air blurred, and the tiny spot began to grow.

I turned my attention back to Weatherton, trying to push him toward the tear. He didn't budge. And then suddenly ghostly fingers caressed my cheek. I heard a whisper in my ear. "You aren't alone. We are here." Shapes flickered in and out of focus around me.

Morgana?

Weatherton drew his strength from the spirits he'd bound to him. My spirit pack had destroyed many of them in the fight. If I could cross over the remaining spirits, if I could free them from his grasp and weaken him. But I'd never crossed over more than one spirit at a time, let alone a banshee.

I had no idea if I could do it, but I had to try.

I glanced around at Morgana and the spirits surrounding her and pulled them closer to me. Then, with all my might, I pushed them toward the tear within the veil. Golden rays shot out from within the rip. Voices shouted words of welcome and love. A light blazed, surrounding the spirits. It bathed them within it, and then slowly they faded, sucked into the hole as it closed.

I had maybe seconds left to live. I ripped open the veil again. This time dark flames shot out. I focused on Weatherton, trying to shove him toward it. He barely moved. I pushed harder. Then the tentacles around my neck eased off just a bit. I pushed again, and Weatherton's face contorted in rage.

Deep inside me, a spark of righteous anger came to life. I felt the darkness race through me, coursing through my blood. For the first time in my life, I completely surrendered to the death dealer rage inside me.

With more strength than I'd ever had before, I ripped the veil wider. Dark flames flared as the hole grew. I had no more time, no more air in my lungs. I started to slip away.

With one last mental scream, I forced the killer into the veil. Flames encircled Weatherton's spirit, and the darkness pulled him down just as the portal closed.

As it did, my heartstopped beating.

*****