Christmas In Hell
The chill spread, a deep-seated cold that had nothing to do with the infernal climate of Hell. My own personal winter had begun, a frost that seeped from the wound in my shoulder, coating my veins, frosting the edges of my thoughts. The world flickered. I clutched the arm of the throne, the polished obsidian biting into my palm, grounding me, if only for a moment.
Ava's phone buzzed, then vibrated violently. A startled gasp, a flurry of hurried whispers, then Justin's voice, now a strained, breathless rush from the speaker.
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