The Switch

Silas stared at the makeshift weapon, and then he smiled. It was a wide, terrifying expression that showed too many teeth.

"Oh, this is wonderful," he purred. "Usually, they just cower in the corner. A chase will make the blood so much sweeter for Him."

He pulled a knife from his jacket pocket. It was a slender stiletto, sharp as a needle.

"Midnight is approaching, Elara. If you’re not dead when He arrives, He tears the soul out slowly. I was going to be merciful and slit your throat at 11:59. But now?" He flipped the knife in his hand. "Now, I think I'll bleed you a little first."

He lunged.

Silas was fast, unnaturally so. He covered the distance between them in a blur. Elara threw herself to the right, the stiletto slicing the air where her neck had been a fraction of a second before.

She rolled across the Persian rug and scrambled to her feet near the bed.

"You can't fight a curse with broken glass!" Silas shouted, slashing at her arm. The blade caught the silk of her sleeve, drawing a thin line of red on her skin.

Elara hissed in pain but didn't retreat. She backed him toward the vanity table.

"The curse doesn't care about me," Elara panted. "You said it yourself. It hunts the heartbeat. It hunts the ruby."

Silas paused, his eyes flickering to the necklace. "You can't take it off. It’s blood-locked. Once the clasp engages on the sacrifice, only death opens it."

"Is that so?" Elara gripped the glass shard tighter.

She feinted left, then drove her shoulder into his chest. Silas, expecting a retreat, was caught off guard. He stumbled back, hitting the edge of the vanity.

Elara didn't go for his chest. She swung the jagged glass down in a vicious arc, aiming for his right hand—the hand holding the knife.

* CRUNCH.*

The glass shore through tendons and muscle. Silas screamed, dropping the stiletto. Blood sprayed across the white vanity mirror.

Elara didn't hesitate. She kicked him in the knee, shattering the cap. Silas collapsed to the floor, howling.

"You bitch! You filth!"

Elara straddled him, pinning his good arm with her knees. She grabbed his hair and slammed his head against the floorboards to daze him.

Then, she reached for her own throat.

"Blood-locked," she muttered. "Let's test that."

She grabbed the ruby choker. She didn't try to unclasp it gently. She dug her fingers under the gold band and pulled. She pulled until her skin tore, until the gold bit into her flesh.

"It won't open!" Silas wheezed, laughing through teeth stained with his own blood. "You're going to die wearing it!"

Elara looked at the stiletto lying on the rug. She grabbed it.

"It requires a sacrifice," she whispered.

She sliced her own palm open with the blade, coating her hand in fresh, hot blood. She smeared it over the clasp.

* Blood magic.*

The clasp hissed. The metal grew hot. With a audible *click*, the lock disengaged.

Silas stopped laughing. His eyes went wide. "No. No, you can't."

Elara ripped the heavy necklace from her throat. She felt the weight of the curse lift from her skin, leaving a raw, red band of bruised flesh.

"Happy Anniversary, Silas," she snarled.

She slammed the collar around Silas’s neck.

He thrashed, trying to throw her off, but he was weakened by the severed tendons in his hand. Elara pressed the gold band tight against his throat.

* Click.*

The lock engaged. The ruby pulsed, glowing with a deep, malevolent inner light.

The grandfather clock in the corner began to chime.

* DONG.*

Midnight.