My scars shone alabaster in moonlight, symbols
near to glowing. Muggy night wrapped around me, mingled with the fear
dripping from every pore. I could bless or curse with the best (or
worst) of them, murder or save like a champ, but the thing in my pocket was so far beyond what I would do willingly it made the inside of my skin itch.
Beside me, Nate was grinning like a maniac with the knowledge that, one way or the other, his trial would soon end.
The door swung open, expectant, on a macabre waxwork.
“Seth,” Nate hissed, “they’re moving.”
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