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“You’re a little late, kid.” He dropped the limp body. “I’d kil you, too, but you don’t matter.”
Link heard the sound of the rip. Hunting was gone before Link could make it across the room.
The old man—a good twenty years older than The old man—a good twenty years older than Macon, judging by his white beard—was lying in the
center of the room, where Hunting had dropped him.
The moon shone through the window, casting a pale and eerie light on his features. His white shirt was streaked with blood.
Boo barked, and the man stirred, tilting his head to the side. His eyes were gold. Obidias was a Dark Caster.
Link slid to his knees at the injured man’s side and realized why Boo was barking. Obidias’ hand was lying across his chest, but it wasn’t a hand at
al .
When Link got close, the heads of five black snakes the length of human fingers hissed and struck the air.
The snakes were attached to the old man’s wrist, where his hand should’ve been.
“Holy crap!” Link jumped back.
“Don’t worry,” the man said, his voice strained.
“They only like to hurt me.”
Link pul ed himself together. He could deal with a few snakes. But this guy was in bad shape. “Mr.
Trueblood? What happened?”
The man coughed. “Abraham Ravenwood sent me a visitor.”
Link’s skin crawled at the sound of Abraham’s name. “But why? You’re a Dark—I mean, you’re one of them.”
Obidias coughed, trying to catch his breath. “I am not one of them.”
“I don’t understand—”
“There’s no time to explain. Macon needs to know what Abraham was trying to confirm…” Obidias could barely breathe. He wasn’t going to make
it.
Link took off his black AC/DC sweatshirt and pushed it under the old man’s head.
With his good hand, Obidias grabbed Link’s arm and pul ed him closer. “I know what’s coming—the consequences. The Order is broken.” Obidias
closed his eyes and opened them again slowly. He was talking about the Order of Things, broken on the night of Lena’s Seventeenth Moon.
“What’s gonna happen, sir?” Whatever it was, maybe they could stop it if they knew what they were up against.
“The apocalypse. The end of the Mortal world as we know it—” Obidias was fading.
“What do you mean by apocalypse? Like in the Bible?” Was there another kind? Link didn’t even know.
Obidias’ eyes were glassy. “Unimaginable plagues wil rain down on the Mortal world until there is nothing left, and the Casters wil be powerless to
stop the destruction.”
“What should we do?”
“There are some things too broken to be fixed,” he said, struggling to breathe. “Some that are inevitable. Tel Macon I’m sorry. For a lot of things…”
The old man’s head rol ed to the side, his eyes stil and unfocused. The snakes stopped hissing and fel against his chest.
He was dead.
Link grabbed his shoulders and shook him gently.
“Mr. Trueblood!” But he was gone.
The end of the Mortal world.
The words kept replaying themselves over and over in Link’s head.
He walked over to the ashtray, where a pipe was stil smoking, and knocked the embers out of it.
Obidias Trueblood wouldn’t need it anymore. Link pul ed the heavy cream envelope out of his pocket.
Something else the dead Caster wouldn’t need.