We pulled up to a cottage set back in the woods. The whole place was painted purple. There were twinkly white lights—the kind people usually put up for Christmas—wrapped around the porch, blinking on and off. A pink neon sign flashed open from one of the windows. Over the front door hung a wooden sign with a blue swallow painted on the front.

"I think I'll wait in the car, if that's alright." The blue swallow told me that the healer who owned this place was one of my kind. I didn't know if I could stomach coming face to face with a healer, not when I was just hours away from committing the last ritual and sealing my treason.

Luke didn't look surprised by my request. "I won't be long."

Murderer. The word whispered in the corners of my mind. I would be taking a life. The antithesis of everything my family had taught me. But I have no choice. I wondered if I would start believing that if I repeated it enough.

"Murderer." This time the word came on the wind. A breeze moved across my hands. I looked around, waiting for a face to pop out or a voice to speak up.

There was nothing but silence.

Deep down, I doubted I could go through with the last ritual. If I refuse to do it, if I turn my back and walk away... what will the consequences be? Luke would be left alone against a slew of men. The odds wouldn't matter—I knew he'd take any risk, pay any price to see Darla returned unharmed.

When Luke finally came out of the store, he had a small, brown paper bag in his hands. He slid into the driver's seat, put the bag between us, and started the car.

I looked down at the bag, afraid to touch it. "You got what you needed?"

He nodded.

"So where to now?" I looked out the window and wished as hard as I could that his answer would be something trivial. Hey, want to see a movie, want to run away and forget all this madness? A part of me wished we were back in that haystack in the barn, huddled together, making love. Would we ever have a chance of being together again, of finding happiness in each other's arms?

Each ritual held a possibility of something going wrong. And after each one, more darkness filled me. Even as we sat here, killers were looking for us.

Instead of hearing my thoughts and coming up with something not related to dark magics, he answered, "The hospital."

My heart sank. The hospital. A place full of sick and dying people. I should have realized earlier that the errand to the hospital had to do with the person I was going to kill.

It's not killing, Colina. It's mercy... I remembered the people I saw as I walked down the hospital hallways—patients lying in beds, hooked up to machines. Weak, sick, and full of pain, but striving to survive, desperate to stay alive. It's how I always viewed illness as a healer. The fight against death. Death was the enemy of my kind.

A single tear ran down my cheek, the start of a breakdown I struggled to control. I turned my head before Luke could see me crying. I can't do it. I can't take a life. No matter how much I tried to rationalize what needed to be done, deep down I was still a healer. I wanted to keep people alive. I didn't want to be the one ending their lives.

We drove on for a long while until finally the car came to a stop, and Luke glanced at me. "We're here."

My heart thumped hard in my chest. "But it's not even close to midnight."

"This ritual doesn't have to be done during the witching hour. We're not worried about making the veil between the living and dead as thin as possible so you can have an easier time contacting spirits." His hand came down and rested on the bag. "This time we have the ointment, and you're closer to the spirit world now."

"I don't know if I can do this," I whispered. My hands trembled as I wiped away the tears.

Luke reached out and grasped my fingers in his. "What you do tonight has to be done of your own free will."

"And if I decide not to go through with it? If I've changed my mind?"

His fingers tightened. "I won't lie and say I don't need your help. I do. But if you've changed your mind, Colina, you can walk away. I'll find another way to save Darla without you."

He looked so earnest, I almost believed him. Almost. I could see a muscle in his cheek twitch ever so slightly and feel the tension radiating off him. If I left him on his own, his chances of surviving—and of Darla surviving—was slim.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'll try."

He wiped a tear from my cheek. "If at any time you want to stop, we will. I can take over. I can finish what needs to be done."

Even if I didn't do it, Luke would. No matter what, this person's life would soon be over.

Luke reached into his pocket and handed me the traveler's pouch. I tied it around my neck.

Murderer. There was the word again, blazing across my mind. I slowly opened the door and got out of the car.

Luke followed, pulling two duffel bags out behind him. "Ready?" he asked, swinging the wide straps of both bags over his shoulders.

I nodded.

We went into the hospital, and like before, a myriad of sensations rushed in on me. They knocked the breath right out of me. Static electricity slammed against me, frantic whispers buzzed around my head, and a cold breeze crawled across my neck.

Remember to breathe, Luke had told me the first time I came here. I forced the claustrophobic feeling away and concentrated on controlling my breathing. I tried to focus on the living—the people mingling around the hallway in front of us. I desperately tried to ignore the dark shadows that kept creeping into the edge of my vision.

We headed down the hospital hallways, but this time people didn't ignore us—they stared openly. I could hear people whispering as we passed by, and out of the corner of my eye I saw people pointing in our direction.

"Do we have death dealer tattooed on our foreheads? How do they know who we are and why we're here?" I whispered.

"Word spreads quickly in places like this," Luke said quietly as he picked up the pace. "It's better if we don't engage anyone. If we keep to ourselves, no one will bother us."

I squared my shoulders and followed him.

We took the same path we'd taken the day before. As we came through a pair of double doors, a fifty something brunette walked out of a room close by. She was dressed like a visitor, not a doctor or nurse. She saw us and gasped out loud, her hand going to her chest.

"Death dealers." She said the words as if she were cursing. Her face twisted into a look of deep hatred. "You're not wanted here."

Luke pointed down the hallway, where a small group of people were gathered outside a room. "They called and asked for our help."

"What you do is sacrilegious." She stepped into our path.

Is she going to physically try and stop us?

Luke grabbed my hand. "We mean you no harm, but we will pass." His voice was low and threatening.

The woman's eyes widened, and after a moment, she stepped aside. As we went by, a string of curse words flew from her mouth.

Death dealer. I was almost one of them now, despised and feared by many. Someone in the family must have talked. These people knew what we were going to do, the hate and fear that followed the death dealers everywhere they went had bloomed into the threat of open violence.

Down the hall we went. The small crowd parted as we came close. An older man with a brown beard stepped forward and extended his hand. "Thanks for coming." He gestured toward the room. "We've all said our goodbyes. Are you sure I can't be there when it happens?"

"I'm sorry, but this is something that must be done by us alone," Luke said.

The man sighed. "I understand."

Luke walked into the room, and I followed.

There was someone in the bed, hooked up to half a dozen machines. The only sounds I could hear were the steady beeping and my heart pounding wildly in my chest.

"Close the door," Luke said without turning around. He walked up to the bed and dropped the bags to the floor. His whole attention was now focused on the person in the bed.

My hands trembled as I grasped the door handle. I looked out into the sea of sad, worried faces and slowly closed the door.

Luke looked my way. "Colina, lower the blinds."

I nodded and followed his orders. Close the door, lower the blinds and when he says to kill, will I just blindly follow along? Blinds closed, I took another deep breath and forced myself to move to the bed.

The slight form resting on the sheets barely resembled a body at all—she was more like skin and bones. I looked closer before recoiling in horror.

"It's a—a—child." I could barely get the words out.

Luke walked over to the edge of the bed, gently reached out, and touched the child's forehead. "Her name is Anna. She's ten years old, and she has cancer." His eyes met mine. "There's nothing they can do for her."

***