Stone Cold by Devon Monk Page A

you?”
    â€œShot me,” I said with every ounce of calm I could call upon. “You nearly killed me, Eli. You wanted to kill me.You did kill Victor. And Dessa and Joshua. And many others.”
    My heart was pumping too hard, pain riding each beat. Shame never told me he killed Brandy. He’d acted just as surprised and angry as any of us that she had died before we could use her as a bargaining chip to negotiate Davy’s release.
    He’d lied to me.
    Jesus, Shame. Why couldn’t you trust me? Why couldn’t you tell me?
    â€œOnly nearly?” Eli said, tipping his head so a bar of liquid light warped across his glasses, hiding his eyes behind the reflected fire of magic. “I
nearly
killed you. Well, I promise you I completely killed that filthy rat fucker, Shame.”
    â€œMr. Collins,” Krogher said. “We are on a schedule.”
    â€œEli.” I was breathing too hard. Trying to find the words of reason buried in my anger and hate. “I want you to listen to me very closely. Are you listening to me?”
    â€œMr. Collins,” Krogher said again. “You have work to do. Get it done.”
    Eli paced over to me, stood there a moment, then bent, the needle aimed at my arm.
    That was all I needed. He was finally close enough to hear me.
    â€œEli,” I said. He shifted his gaze away from the needle hovering over my vein and met my gaze. “Listen very closely. I’m going to strip the oxygen from every molecule in your body. Do you understand me? When I get out of here—and trust me, I will—you will be more than dead. You will be erased from the earth.”
    He blinked several times. Then, “Without your Soul Complement, you are nothing, Terric. Less than nothing. Trust me,” he said, shoving the needle in my vein and thumbing the plunger down. “I know.”
    The poison traveled faster than blood, pushed by the spells in the needle and the mix of magic and chemicals.
    It burned hot, crackling like fire over my skin, then under my skin. It numbed me completely as it passed through me.
    Eli turned away to his worktable again.
    â€œNow,” he said. “Let’s get this show on the road.” He was still holding the knife, but in his other hand was a glass bowl. “We’ll need some blood for this spell. Sorry to say, this is going to hurt. A lot.”
    I braced for it. I centered my thoughts, stared him straight in the eye, accepted the pain that was coming, accepted that it would last for hours, days. Accepted that there would be an end to it.
    â€œBetter make it your best shot,” I said. “Because when I get free, I’m going to tear you apart, put you back together, and tear you apart again until you beg me to kill you.”
    Eli’s top lip lifted away from his teeth. Then he shoved the knife into my chest.

Chapter 8
    SHAME
    Okay. Let me just make this one thing clear: death was awesome.
    To hear Allie speak of her one trip to death, it was a broken place that looked like a dark, twisted version of Portland. Zayvion, who had also spent some time caught on the other side, didn’t remember much of it except light and pain.
    They both got it wrong. I’d died, and now I was standing outside a bar. That made death officially awesome.
    â€œAre you just going to stare at the door all day,” Eleanor asked, “or are you going to buy me a drink?”
    I turned. She leaned against the side of the building not too far from me. She was wearing the same thing she’d been in when I killed her—dark slacks and shirt—but instead of looking sort of see-through, she was solid, real, and grinning from ear to ear.
    â€œEl? What are you doing here?”
    â€œYou crossed over and I hitched a ride,” she said. “Looks like that tie between us finally paid off. Also? You owe me a drink, Flynn. Hell, you owe me an entire liquor store.” She pushed away from the building and