The screams from the town square reached us even through the dense curtain of the woods. It wasn't the sound of a party anymore; it was the sound of a slaughterhouse. The sky, once a beautiful canvas for the comet's tail, now felt like a witness to an atrocity.
Silas and I stood at the edge of the limestone cave, the mist from the hidden waterfall cooling the sweat on my forehead. He was motionless, his head tilted as if he could track every individual cry for help.
"They're in the square," Silas whispered, his eyes dark with a grief that felt older than the trees. "The first wave hit the police line near the fountain. Jax isn't just letting them out; he's directing them."
"We have to go back," I said, my voice shaking but firm. I reached into my pocket and felt the cold, hard gold of the phoenix coin. "Jeremy is there. Aunt Jenna is there. We can't just hide here while they burn."
Silas turned to me, his face a jagged mask of conflict. "If you go back there, Lyra, I can't guarantee I can keep you safe. In the church, it was a skirmish. In the town, it will be a war. These ghouls haven't fed in a century. They don't have mercy. They don't even have names anymore."
"I'm not asking for a guarantee, Silas. I'm asking for a weapon."
Silas looked at me for a long beat, then reached into the inside pocket of his coat. He pulled out a small, silver flask and a stake carved from dark wood—mountain ash. "The flask contains vervain extract. It won't kill them, but if it touches their skin, it will burn like acid. And the stake... you know what to do with that."
I took the items, the weight of the wood feeling strange in my hand. "Let's go."
We ran back toward the town. As we broke through the tree line, the scene was even worse than I had imagined. The white candles that had been lit for the comet were scattered, their flames igniting the tablecloths and the fallen banners. The "Night of the Comet" had turned into a night of fire.
I saw Sheriff Forbes near an overturned patrol car, firing her service weapon into the shadows. A grey figure leaped from the top of a shop, moving with a jerky, unnatural speed. Silas didn't wait. He launched himself into the air, intercepting the creature mid-flight and slamming it into the brick wall of the pharmacy.
"Lyra! Over here!"
I heard Matt's voice. He was huddled near the fountain, protecting Caroline, who was slumped on the ground, her eyes glazed and distant. A ghoul with half its face missing was crawling toward them, its claws screeching against the cobblestones.
"Get away from them!" I screamed.
I ran forward and threw a handful of the vervain-soaked liquid from the flask. The moment the mist hit the creature, it let out a high-pitched, sizzling shriek. Steam rose from its grey flesh. It recoiled, hissing, and I didn't give it a second chance. I drove the wooden stake into its chest with every ounce of strength I had.
The creature didn't bleed. It simply turned into grey ash, the wind catching the remains and scattering them across the square.
"Lyra?" Matt gasped, looking at me like I was a stranger. "What... what was that thing?"
"It doesn't matter, Matt. Get Caroline to the school! The gym has reinforced doors. Go!"
"But Vicki—"
"I'll find Vicki! Just go!"
As Matt dragged a semiconscious Caroline away, I turned to look for my family. The crowd was panicking, people trampling over one another to reach their cars.
"Jeremy! Jenna!" I yelled, my voice lost in the chaos.
"They're safe for now, little bird."
Jax appeared from behind the burning remains of the historical society booth. He looked pristine, his blue eyes dancing with the reflection of the fires. He was holding a glass of wine, as if he were watching a private performance.
"You really are a fast learner," Jax said, nodding toward the pile of ash at my feet. "But you're fighting a flood with a teaspoon. Don't you see the beauty in it? The masks are off. The town is finally showing its true face—fear."
"Where is my brother, Jax?" I hissed, the steak knife in my other hand glinting in the firelight.
"The boy with the drawings? He's at the library. He seemed very interested in the section on 'Local Tragedies.' I think he's looking for a way to finish his masterpiece."
"If you touched him—"
"I didn't have to," Jax smirked. "The ghouls are drawn to the scent of fear, and your brother is a walking lighthouse. But don't worry. I have a feeling Silas will get there first. He always was the one to play the hero, even when the script called for a villain."
He stepped closer, his presence a cold pressure that made my lungs ache. "But you and I... we have a different story to finish. Do you know why you look like Kora, Lyra? It wasn't just a coincidence. Fate is a circle, not a line. And tonight, the circle closes."
"I am not a circle, Jax. And I'm definitely not your Kora."
I lunged at him, but he caught my wrist with a laugh. "Such spirit. It's almost a shame I have to break it."
Suddenly, a blur of motion hit Jax from the side. It was Silas. The two brothers went through the window of the hardware store in a shower of glass.
"Go to the library, Lyra!" Silas yelled from inside the wreckage. "Save Jeremy! I'll handle him!"
I didn't look back. I ran toward the library, my boots pounding against the pavement. The streets were littered with debris—broken lanterns, abandoned shoes, and more of that grey ash.
The library was silent, a stark contrast to the screaming square. The doors were ajar. I pushed inside, the smell of old paper and dust greeting me like a memory of a safer time.
"Jeremy?"
I found him in the archives, exactly where Jax had said. He was sitting on the floor, surrounded by hundreds of sketches. But these weren't drawings of Silas or the comet. They were maps. Maps of the town, with red lines drawn between the church, the manor, and the bridge.
"Jer, we have to go. The town is... it's not safe."
Jeremy looked up at me. His eyes were wide, but he wasn't crying. He looked like he was in a trance. "The lines, Lyra. They all meet at the bridge. Everything starts and ends at the bridge."
"What are you talking about?"
"The fire in 1864... it wasn't an accident. And the accident we had... it wasn't an accident either." He grabbed a paper and showed it to me. It was a drawing of a man standing on the railing of Wickery Bridge, watching our car sink.
The man in the drawing had blue eyes and a leather jacket.
Jax.
My breath hitched. He was there. He watched us die. He let it happen.
"We have to go, Jer. Now."
I pulled him to his feet, but as we reached the exit, a figure blocked our path. It wasn't Jax. It was the woman from the church—the one in the tattered blue dress. She looked stronger now, her skin less grey, her eyes burning with a low, amber light. She had fed.
"Stay back," I warned, raising the stake.
The woman hissed, her gaze moving from me to Jeremy. She didn't move like the others; she moved with a grace that suggested she remembered who she had once been.
"Lyra..." she whispered. The sound was like two stones rubbing together.
I froze. "How do you know my name?"
The woman reached up and pulled back her matted hair, revealing a small, silver locket hanging from a cord around her neck. It was identical to the one Aunt Jenna wore.
"The blood..." the woman rasped. "The blood of the line."
Before she could move, a shadow descended from the ceiling. Silas landed between us, his face splattered with blood. He didn't hesitate. He grabbed the woman and threw her out the glass doors.
"Is he dead?" I asked, referring to Jax.
"No. He disappeared in the smoke," Silas said, his breathing heavy. "But we have to move. The ghouls are retreating to the manor. They're regrouping."
"Silas, she knew my name," I said, pointing to where the woman had been. "She had the locket."
Silas looked at the door, then back at me. A look of deep, ancient dread crossed his face. "The founding families didn't just hunt us, Lyra. Some of them... some of them made deals. They traded their humanity for the chance to live forever. That woman... she wasn't a victim of 1864. She was a traitor."
"A Vance?" I whispered.
"The secrets of this town go deeper than you can imagine," Silas said. He looked out at the burning square. The comet was now a mere spark in the distance, the first light of dawn beginning to touch the horizon.
The ghouls were gone. The fire was dying down. But the silence that followed was heavier than the noise.
We stood on the steps of the library—Lyra, Jeremy, and the monster who had become our only shield. The town of Mystic Ridge was changed forever. The "Night of the Comet" was over, but the war for its soul had only just begun.
I looked at the drawing in Jeremy's hand—the man on the bridge. I looked at the blood on Silas's hands. And then I looked at my own reflection in the broken glass of the door.
We didn't win, I thought. We just survived the first act.
As the sun finally broke over the mountains, casting a cold, grey light over the ruins of the square, I saw a single black crow land on the fountain. It let out a sharp, mocking cry and flew toward the Thorne Manor.
I gripped Jeremy's hand and looked at Silas.
"What's the next episode?" I asked.
Silas didn't look away from the manor. "The next episode is called 'The Bloodlines.' And I'm afraid it's going to be much bloodier than this one."