The crypt should have been silent.
But Ivy's voice, twisted and unrecognizable, filled the chamber like smoke that choked the air before the fire.
Beckett moved first.
He stepped in front of Magnolia, blade drawn, shielding her with his body even though his hands trembled at his sides. Ivy or whatever had taken root inside her tilted her head and smiled.
Her eyes were still Ivy's shape, still Ivy's color blue-gray, almond-shaped but beneath the surface, something else flickered. Black veins pulsed from the corners of her eyes like spiderwebs, branching into her cheekbones and temple.
"Ivy," Magnolia said, keeping her voice low, "if you're still in there fight it."
"There is no Ivy," the voice said. Not hers. Not even human.
It was layered, like two voices overlapping: Ivy's familiar tone, and beneath it, something cold and masculine and ancient.
Beckett raised his blade. "Step back or I won't hesitate."
