When I woke, Luke was coming back into the room, a cup full of something steaming in his hand. His hair was wet and slicked back.

"What time is it?" I asked, holding back a yawn.

"It's almost eleven. We should get ready to go."

I looked out the window and was surprised to see it was dark out. "Eleven at night?"

"You slept for twelve hours."

I'd actually slept soundly for the first time since this whole nightmare had begun. "Did you get any sleep?"

He took a sip from the cup. I noticed he looked tired. "Some," he answered. "Do you want to eat something before we go?"

I shook my head. I was too nervous. The very thought of the ritual made my stomach queasy.

"It's cold out, wear something warm. It'll take us about fifteen minutes to get to the cemetery."

I sat stunned at the word 'Cemetery'. We're doing the ritual in a cemetery.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

I forced myself to sit up and swung my legs over the bed. "Yeah, just great."

His eyes narrowed. "Colina, you don't have to do this."

I raised my chin and looked him in the eyes. "We both know I do."

He gave me a brief nod. "Don't take too long getting ready. We need to be out the door soon."

"The ritual begins at midnight?" I asked, trying to keep the fear I was feeling from my voice.

"Yes, but we have to get there and get things set up." He was watching me, his expression one I couldn't read.

I forced a smile onto my face. "I won't be long."

He nodded again and headed out the door, shutting it softly behind him.

Once he left, the tears started sliding down my face. I raised trembling hands to my temples and tried to force myself to calm down. I want to do this, I told myself. I'd gone to the magic shop to be trained as a death dealer, but it terrified me that I was actually about to go through with it.

I straightened my shoulders. Doing the ritual would keep me alive and hopefully help Luke save his sister. I took one deep breath and then forced myself to take another. I could do this. I had to be brave and face it head on.

He's going to kill you. The words seared across my brain.

But he'll bring me back.

I trusted him to bring me back.

I forced myself to my feet and started to get ready.

* * *

We were in the middle of the cemetery, standing at the edge of a very old, very creepy grave. No one was around but us and the dead. I looked at the tombstone standing beside me. Etched on its surface were the words MATHEW SMITH, 1805–1850.

It was hard to believe we'd trekked to a cemetery in the middle of nowhere in the deep of night. We'd crossed pastures and even splashed through a stream to get here.

Overhead, the moon cast long shadows over the rows of marble headstones. The cemetery looked like something right out of a horror movie. The gravesites themselves were a combination of patchy dirt and grass, and I could make out shapes above the headstones. A handful of life size angel statues were scattered around, appearing to move with the shadows. And beyond those were a few larger monuments, above ground tombs that were the resting places of the truly wealthy. Inside the wrought iron fence surrounding the cemetery were only a couple of planted trees. It was fall, and although the trees around the countryside had changed color and started to drop their leaves, these trees were bare, their limbs gnarled and twisted. I couldn't fight the feeling that Luke and I were being watched. I turned back to where Luke was working.

A dozen candles now lined both sides of Mathew Smith's grave. On the marble headstone was a box, and at the foot of the grave sat a bottle full of a red liquid that looked like blood.

"You need all this to do a spell?" I asked. The act of healing came from within. It was true that healers often used herbs, salves, and elixirs in combination with their magic, but for the most part healers stayed away from all the trappings that came with spell magic.

Luke started lighting candles. "I do. Spells are about focusing your abilities and calling on the forces of nature."

"Why this graveyard?" I asked.

"Because graveyards are a doorway to the other side. Think of them as a portal to the dead—a place where many spirits are closest to the earthly realms and easier to contact." Luke looked around and made a wide sweeping gesture with his arm. "We've buried the members of our family in this particular graveyard for generations." He pointed down at the grave. "We could do the spell on any grave, but one of the strongest mages in our family line is buried here."

I looked down at the grave and tried to quench the fear rising inside me. "What spell are you doing tonight?"

"It's the first part of the ritual. It's called the passage—the passage into the magics of the death dealers. Your spirit has to commune with the other side. You have to touch the hereafter and see death firsthand in order to wield its power."

I straightened my back and tried to feel brave. "So I do have to die."

He looked up at me and nodded his head. "It's the way my guild has guided students into the Death Arts for centuries."

"You plan on killing me. Then what? You'll bury me and bring me back up like a voodoo zombie?" I couldn't keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

"No. There's no voodoo involved and no zombies." He went back to lighting candles.

I watched him work for a few minutes in silence. He pulled something out of a black duffle bag he'd brought—a glass jar full of black powder. He started sprinkling some on the ground around the gravesite.

"Luke, I trust you," I said quietly.

His expression turned sullen.

I knew about death. I had watched Mama bring people on the brink of it back with her healing. But whether she could bring them back or not was never a certainty. Death had its own rules: when it decided to claim someone, its grip could be stronger than a riptide.

Luke walked forward until he stood in front of me. "I've been by my uncle's side when he's done this. I've assisted him in the ritual, but I've never done it myself. It's not something you're allowed to do until you're older, until you truly master your power."

"You can do it. I have faith in you."

His eyes filled with anger. "And if you're wrong? If you trust me and something goes wrong?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "Then game over. Look, everything in life is a risk—a gamble. I'm here, and I'm throwing the dice." I didn't want to ask the next question. It had been haunting me ever since he'd told me about the ritual, but now, standing here in the cemetery, I had to know. "How are you going to do it?" I whispered.

"Strangulation is easiest." His voice was suddenly void of emotion.

I looked at him in shock. I had assumed he'd give me a potion. I'd drink something, slowly fade out, and then be given an antidote to undo the spell.

"I'm going to put my hands around your neck and squeeze the life out of you. You have to experience the pain, experience your death at the hands of a death dealer. It's the only way the ritual works." Fear—there it was again in his eyes. "You don't have to do this. It's crazy we're doing this."

I took a deep breath and stepped toward him, even though my body screamed at me to run away from all this. "You know we don't have a choice. If you want to save your sister, you need my help. I can't help you as I am. I need power." It was true, I wanted to save his sister, but I also wanted to exact my revenge.

He stood looking at me for a long moment, then turned and walked over to the bag. He pulled out a handful of black feathers. "Raven feathers." He started scattering them about. "I'm about done with the preparations."

"What do you want me to do?" I asked my voice and hands trembling as I said the words.

He pointed toward the ground. "Lie down on the grave."

This isn't happening. I'm in some bizarre nightmare, and I have to wake myself up.

He didn't look at me when he spoke this time, "Make sure to lie on your back. I need to see your eyes."

I got down on my knees, then slowly turned over and lay down against the damp grass. I tried not to think about the skeleton lying a few feet beneath me.

Luke was suddenly straddling me. "There's still time to change your mind."

Yes, yes, get out of here! the voice in my head screamed.

"Do what you have to," I whispered.

I flinched when his hands circled my neck. They seemed somehow bigger, rougher, and the panic I felt rise from the pit of my stomach was almost more than I could stand.

"Last chance. You don't have to do this," he said. The fear was back in those gray eyes.

The images of my father's broken body flashed through my head. I had no choice; I had to keep going.

"Do it," I said between clenched teeth.

His hands tightened. The pressure on my throat slowly increased and my lungs began bursting with the need to breathe. I looked up into his eyes. The expression on his face was one of blank concentration.

He's killing me. And in that moment of sheer terror, I changed my mind. He needed to stop. I couldn't go through with this. My hands came up and clawed against his fingers, but he was too strong. I had to stop him from strangling me. I struggled, I twisted, but he was too big and too heavy. The pressure on my neck increased even more. There was a blinding pain as I felt my throat being crushed. My hands gave up on his, and I reached up to claw out his eyes. He anticipated my move and raised himself up until his face was out of reach.

You're killing me! I tried to plead with my eyes. He had to see the expression in them and know that I wanted him to stop. But he didn't.

The pressure increased.

There was a burning in my chest and my eyes clouded with tears—the desire to breathe, to live, was so strong I could feel it pulsating through my whole being. But there was no breath, no air. My lungs, my heart needed oxygen to survive, and without it, I began to die.