ery passing second. Clara pressed her hands over her ears, but it didn't help-the sound seemed t

ver the noise, her voice tremb

ting toward the basement door. "We need to contain it," he sa

"You're the one who s

his hair. "But there has to be a way. Margot's jo

he library when they'd fled the basement. "It's ups

quickly. "It's n

" Clara shot back. "I'll be fine.

a shadow. The house seemed to shift around her, the walls closing in and the floor tilting

e pages, her hands shaking so badly she could barely read the words. Margot's handwriting was

It's awake.

key must never be turned. If it

t is to bind it. But the r

. "A sacrifice?" she whisper

e things: a lock of hair from a living descendant of the house, a drop of blood from the

old. "No," she whis

Tr

s. Elliot was still in the hallway, his back pressed against the

aid, her voice shakin

her, his expressi

the passage about the ritual. Elliot's fac

he said quiet

ara demanded. "Elliot, this is insa

oice hollow. "If we don't stop this thing, it's

d racing. "There has to be a

ed into his pocket and pulled out a sma

ing?" she asked,

olute. "I'm the one who opened the door. I'm the one

his arm. "You can't do this!

yes filled with regret. "The

d made a quick, shallow cut. Blood welled up, and he held his

ghter s

Bi

ecited the words from the journal, his voice steady despite the pain

," she begged.

y plucked a strand of hair from her head. Clara fli

to the drop of blood. Then he closed his eye

turned, but this time it was different-angry, desperate. The air grew

final, deafening

Afte

trembling too badly to stand. Elliot was slumped agai

a asked, her voice ba

nding won't last forever. Eventually, some

her heart breaking. "

"Don't be. It was my choic

Contin

uldn't last. The thing in the walls was still th