William looked at the body. “Why?”
“We’re going to invite a swamp spirit into his body. There are many spirits in the swamp. They used to be Gods, the Old Gods of the Old Tribes who fled into the swamp centuries ago. But the tribes are long gone, and now their Gods are just spirits. There is Gospo Adir, he’s the spirit of life and death. There is Vodar Adir, he’s the spirit of water. I’ll be calling Raste Adir, the spirit of plants.”
“To what end?”
She sighed. “We don’t know where the Hand took my parents or why. We need to find out where they are and what they want. Plants have a lot of vitality. Enough to revive a dead body. The things I’m looking for are locked in Lagar’s brain. He was a careful man. He would have to know what Spider planned to do with my parents, or he would’ve never made a deal with the Hand. Raste Adir will meld with the body and find that knowledge for me.”
“Fusion.” William spat the word as if it were rotten.
“Not exactly. Fusion melds a living human with the plant tissue, smothering the person’s will. Lagar is dead. There is no will left. We just need the information stored in his mind. Don’t look at me like that, William. I’m trying to save my family.”
The disgust slid off his face. “Is it dangerous?”
“Yes. The old magic is starving. If I’m not careful, it will devour me.”
He opened his mouth.
“I have to go now.” Cerise pushed off the ground and strode to Lagar’s body, where Ignata and Catherine waited. Look on, Lord Bill. You showed me your bad side. This is mine.
Ignata dumped a bucket of mud over herself. Catherine joined her, holding the bucket, awkward and uneasy. Cerise picked up the third one and emptied it over her head. The cool mud slid over her hair, smelling faintly of rot and water.
“I wish Grandmother was here,” Catherine murmured.
“She can’t,” Ignata said.
“I know, I know. I just … I wish it was over.”
“Me, too,” Cerise murmured.
Catherine stopped. “Why, do you think something will go wrong?”
Cerise almost cursed. “No,” she lied. “Nothing will go wrong. I’m just tired, bloody, and covered in mud. I’d like to get home and sleep, Cath.”
“I think we all would,” Ignata said.
Catherine sighed and poured the mud over herself.
“Let’s just get this over with.”
Cerise popped the lid off the plastic bin. Three bags filled with ash sat inside. She passed two of them to Ignata and Catherine, and kept the third. Fear cringed deep inside her.
Just get this over with. Just get it done.
Cerise pulled the bag apart and began pouring ash in an even line, drawing a circle around Lagar’s body.
It would’ve been so much easier if Grandma were here, but she wasn’t.
GRANDMOTHER Az took Emily’s face into her hands and held her gently, like she used to do when she was a tiny babe. A mere slip of a girl, Emily brimmed with magic. Az sighed. Of all her children, Michelle had the most magic. Little wonder Michelle’s only daughter would be the same.
Before them the ward stones shielding the Sheeriles’ territory dotted the swamp forest. That’s where Kaitlin hid, thinking herself safe and secure in her manor, behind her old wards. She thought them impenetrable. Well, not for long, you demented crone. Not for long. It would end today.
Mikita and Petunia watched them.
“Are you sure, chado?”
Emily nodded.
“Such a good girl you are.” Az smiled, noticing the tiny tremors troubling the girl’s hands. Scared child. Scared, scared. “Very well.”
“What do I do?”
“Just stand here next to me. Gaston, are you ready?”
Urow’s youngest son nodded his head—butchered his hair that wolf, yes, he did—and adjusted the backpack strapped to his back.
“Remember, the Fisherman’s track. That’s your way back. The wards keep things out, but they won’t keep you in. Don’t stay there. Don’t wait for it to happen, or you might not get out.”
He nodded again.
“Off we go, then.” Grandma rested her hand on Emily’s shoulder, feeling the hard knot of the muscle. “It’s all right,” she whispered. “Trust your grandmother, child.”
The girl relaxed under her fingers. Grandmother Az stood straighter and gathered her power. It came to her like a cloud of angry bees, pouring from the leaves and the ground in a flood centered on her. This was the old magic. Mire magic. It had once built an empire the likes of which the world had never seen before. All was gone now, but the magic remained.
Emily gasped. Hungry, Az pulled the power from her, more and more. Emily shuddered and went down to her knees. Her head drooped, her dark hair fanning her face, her magic streaming into Az’s fingers. In that magic, the magic from a living human body, that was where the real power lay.
Az could see it now, the storm of magic draping her like a dark mantle, billowing in the wind of the phantom currents. The witch’s cloak, they called it.
Az felt Emily’s heartbeat flutter in her, weaker and weaker. Enough. She could’ve taken more. Some part of her longed for it, longed for the power, but she shut that part of her soul off, slammed the door in its wailing hungry face. She let her go, although it took all of her will to do it, and her grandbaby fell facedown into the soft earth.
The witch’s cloak coalesced, shaped by her will. Here’s to you, Kaitlin. May you rot in hell with your spawn.
Az punched the air, throwing all of her weight into the strike. The magic burst along her arm, a dreadful needle aimed at the heart of the Sheerile land, where their manor lay. The stones shook in the earth and two of them went black.
A shadowy path opened in the wards, only four feet across and straight as a bolt.
“Now, Gaston! Go!”
Urow’s youngest dashed along the path and within two breaths vanished from their view.
“There he goes,” Az murmured. “So fast. Like the wind.”
Her legs crumbled under her, but Mikita’s hands caught her before she fell. The ward stones grew paler and paler, slowly returning to their normal gray color. The protective spells were flaring to life, reclaiming the path she had made.
“Getting too old for this,” Az murmured before sleep claimed her.
CERISE emptied the last of the ash, took a small embroidered satchel from the bin, and stepped into the circle, aware of her two cousins joining her. Catherine’s face was bloodless even under the mud. Ignata bit her lip.
They stood at the pole. Cerise took a small step forward. No turning back now. She had to do this and she had to do it right. The old magic was unruly and always hungry. Asking it for help was like playing with fire. Give a hair, and it would swallow you whole. Fear skittered down her spine. Cerise pushed it away.
Mom, Dad, hold on. I’m coming.
Ignata began to chant, gathering magic to her. A moment later Catherine’s low voice joined in.
Cerise tugged the silk strings of the satchel, dipped her hand inside, and brought out a handful of seeds. She had only done this twice before, both times with Grandma Az leading, and it terrified her so bad, she had nightmares for weeks afterward. Raste Adir drove people wild. If you slipped up, your body was no longer yours. It did things on its own, and all you could do was watch in panic. Raste Adir made you forget who you were, and if you weren’t careful, you would forget yourself forever.
Her fingers shook.
Cerise passed the satchel to Ignata, who closed it and took it out of the circle and came back, still chanting.
Cerise knelt before the mound of mud and peat under the pole, where Lagar’s blood dripped down, and gently dropped the seeds onto the mud.