“Elle! Elle?” Rook’s voice comes into focus, frantic. “Elle, we’re running out of time.”
“Wha—wh—” My teeth chatter. “Wha—at…happened?”
“Credence,” Rook says. “Her soul reunited with her body. You have to do the spell. Now.”
“What?” I slur.
“Please, Elle, she’s stuck in the ground. She can’t be fully resurrected without the spell.”
I shake my head as another wave of nausea hits me. “Poppy…”
Poppy is the one who’s supposed to do the spell. She should be back by now…
But no. The backup plan. What was the backup plan? If Poppy couldn’t do it, then—
“CJ,” I mumble.
“There was a problem with Juliet,” Rook says, speaking so quickly he’s almost stumbling over his words. “You were the only one who came back. Tolliver’s working on it. But we can’t wait. We don’t know how long it’ll take to bring them back, and she’s stuck, Elle. Credence is stuck. You have to help her. Please.”
I blink. This was never even a possibility. I can’t do magic, not like they can. I’ll mess it up.
“I can’t…” I choke out.
“You have to,” Rook says. “It has to be you.”
I look up, finally having enough focus to fully see him. His eyes are red and wet. A fat tear runs down his face.
“Please,” he begs.
I shake my head, but I’m not saying no. “Do you have the—”
Relief washes over his face as he shoves the codex into my hands.
The night air is frigid. Tolliver must have put a coat on me, but I’m still trembling, pain shooting through my limbs. My senses are too dull from the sudden return, but I can vaguely hear the rustle of the wind through the trees and make out the shapes of tombstones.
Rook helps me to my feet, hands firm under my elbows. Every instinct tells me to find Tolliver and help him bring CJ and Ezra back, but Rook all but drags me over to Credence’s grave, and I can see now why he’s so worried. The grave dirt is wet with the potion of life. The scent of fresh tilled earth and new leaves and pomegranate waft up from the grave. But there’s something else as well. Something hitting a sense I didn’t even know I had.
It’s like wailing, but I don’t hear it. Like an itch, but I don’t feel it. It rattles my bones, squeezes my chest. It’s a desperation that fills me. A hunger that will only be sated by finishing the spell.
I take a deep breath, trying to feel the magic inside me. I know it’s there. I’ve been going to the Afterlife since I was six years old.More times than I can count, and I’ve barely done any magic. I must be filled to brimming with it. I can do this.
I can do this.
I think I can do this.
The grimoire automatically opens to the resurrection spell. I look at the page, trembling. Rook puts his hand over mine, holding me steady as I begin to read the incantation.
“Au…dite me…spiritus ultra…velum.” My voice is thin. I stumble over the unfamiliar words. “Rompe limen—”
“Rumpe,” Rook corrects me.
“Rumpe…limen reforma nexum.” I let out an unsteady breath before continuing. “Magicae fluit…per med…u…llam profundam…” I shake my head at the next word.
“Expergiscere,” Rook says, voice starting to lose its gentle edge.
“Ex-per-gi-sce-re,” I pronounce the words carefully. “Nunc e…somno…aeternum.”
“Good,” Rook says. “Two more times.”