But the One Beneath had seen the true potential within. He had raised Elizabeth up, given her the ability to reach beyond any mortal law.

The immortality spell had been the greatest act of love she had ever attempted. Had it succeeded entirely, Elizabeth could have continued in His service for all the ages of man, growing ever stronger, working His will, until the Day of Judgment—when she would stand with Him and find only joy in the hell made for her.

But the spell had behaved in a way she had not predicted.

Instead of ensuring that she would live forever as a witch in full possession of her talents—as the Sorceress the One Beneath needed her to be—the spell had made her slowly, so slowly, turn younger. At first this had satisfied her vanity, but it had not taken Elizabeth long to see where that path would lead.

It led … here. To her own adolescence. To the point where, when she became any younger, her abilities would no longer be manifest. She would possess some little magic, but she would be a Sorceress no more.

What lay beyond that was horrible to contemplate. How pitiful to be a child, bereft of the magic that would allow her to manipulate others into allowing her solitude and giving her what she needed to survive. To spend endless decades being patronized, put in homes, questioned and studied, eternally frustrated by the memory of what she had been and never would be again. Ultimately it would end with her as an infant, forever a curiosity to those around her, and her incapable of standing, eating, or saying a single word.

No. That she could not endure.

So long ago Elizabeth had made this pact with the One Beneath. When the dreams of the Cabots ceased to show Elizabeth in their future, it meant that the death of her magic was but a year or two away. Mateo no longer saw her in his dreams. What that meant for the One Beneath—well, that would only be revealed in time. It was not Elizabeth’s to know. If she could weaken or injure Nadia before Halloween night, or better yet ensure her death in the coming conflagration, she would; He was owed no less. She could be certain that in the end He would deal with Nadia accordingly.

All that remained for her to do was to free herself from the One Beneath’s service, so that she could again die—and, in her death, do Him the greatest service in all the history of time.

The immortality spell would end—only slightly diminished, because the original magic was so strong that it wanted to endure through all eternity. But that tiny fraction of vulnerability would be enough for her to die, if she met a cataclysm great enough. Or caused one.

Together they would destroy the lines that separated her world from His. Her death would be His freedom.

“Shatter me,” she whispered. “Hallow me.”

The broken glass spun closer and closer. She bit her lip against the first slash—her skin tearing open, blood beading upon her hip—but then the cuts came faster and faster, and the pain was too overwhelming and too glorious to resist. Elizabeth screamed, as long and loud as she could, and it was the most joyful sound she would ever make.