Snakeroot

by Andrea Cremer

  “We all did good work today.” Logan gestured to the second champagne bottle. “Keep celebrating. I’ll catch up when I get back.”

  Audrey paled slightly. “You weren’t serious, were you? About summoning Bosque Mar? I thought you were just winding up the wolf.”

  “I was serious.” Logan maintained his easy manner, though the prospect of facing the Harbinger was hardly appealing. But it had to be done.

  “I’ll come with you.” Chase jumped up, wobbled, and then fell back into the chair. “Be your wingman.”

  “I . . . I suppose I should come too?” Audrey said, though she made no move to get up off the chaise longue.

  “I don’t think speaking with Bosque requires a wingman, Chase,” Logan said. He didn’t need to make a poor impression by bringing a half-in-the-bag Keeper and his partly terrified, mostly annoying sister along. “If things go well, we’ll move on to introductions. The first time, though, I’m going to say requires a solo act.”

  “You sure?” Chase asked, but he was already reaching for the champagne bottle.

  Audrey just looked relieved.

  “Back in a bit.” Logan went through the French doors onto the veranda and descended the steps to the path that would take him to the beach.

  For a midwinter night, the shore was strangely windless. Waves languidly reached for the shore only to draw slowly back again. Even without the wind, cold air bit into Logan’s skin, and his breath crystallized in front of his face.

  The notion of summoning Bosque had been playing out in Logan’s mind for some time. He couldn’t believe that contact between Conatus and the Harbinger had exclusively been through an intercessor. The more Logan learned about the origins of the Keepers, the more convinced he became of that. If Eira’s relationship with Bosque had been only about opening the Rift so that her followers could access the Nether’s magic, Logan might have been persuaded otherwise. But knowing that Eira and Bosque were Logan’s own great-grandparents made it seem impossible that there had been any real distance between them.

  Logan took his shoes and socks off and walked to the edge of the water. The touch of the waves on his bare skin was like cold fire, but that was part of Logan’s plan. Spellwork relied so much on intention. Logan knew he couldn’t hesitate, couldn’t doubt his ability to summon Bosque. Even Logan’s fear had a purpose in this magic. While he couldn’t succumb to it, Logan could channel his dread into the spell—making it part of his intent; acknowledging and moving beyond that fear signified Logan’s determination and reflected the strength of his will.

  At least he hoped so.

  Drawing a knife from his coat pocket, Logan used the blade to reopen the wound on his palm. He watched crimson droplets fall into the sea foam at his feet.

  Logan closed his eyes, willing Bosque to appear. He supposed some incantation or another existed, but he’d decided against hunting for one in the books he’d retrieved from Rowan Estate. Logan had learned how to invoke dark spirits that way, and all he’d earned himself was a surly Guardian spirit guide.

  No. This time it’s about pure intent. My will and my will alone.

  “I must confess, Logan.” The low voice was so close that Logan lurched sideways. “I didn’t believe you had it in you.”

  Bosque stood, or rather hovered, a foot away from Logan. He appeared to be walking on the water, but Logan knew that while Bosque was here, he was also not here—whether to call him an apparition or a projection, Logan wasn’t sure.

  He also didn’t know how to respond to Bosque’s comment.

  No hesitation.

  “I thought it best if I spoke with you.” Logan forced himself to speak with confidence, though he felt little. “I have no doubt you already know why I’ve summoned you here.”

  With a shrug, Bosque said, “You regret the loss of your power.”

  “I do . . . ,” Logan replied. “But it’s more than that.”

  “How so?” Bosque’s casual tone was more chilling than the waves that numbed Logan’s bare feet.

  Logan drew himself upright, looking directly into Bosque’s eyes. “We are kin.”

  A smile graced Bosque’s lips. “Ah. You’ve delved into your past.”

  “I have.” Logan nodded. “And I’m taking steps to make amends for my great folly.”

  “I’m aware of that,” Bosque said. “You’ve made good use of the wolf. Another unexpected success on your part.”

  Logan bowed his head. “I know I’ve been a great disappointment to you in the past.”

  “More than a disappointment, Logan.” At Bosque’s sudden anger the water beneath his feet became turbulent. “You violated the blood oath, the sacred vow taken by your great-grandmother that gave me passage into this world. Your legacy is sullied.”

  Logan was silent for several minutes.

  He had to be brave or all of this meant nothing.

  “And yet you’re here,” Logan said, raising his eyes to meet Bosque’s.

  Bosque gazed at Logan and then began to laugh. “You do have some of her mettle after all.”

  Logan could only assume Bosque meant Eira. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “And you’ve navigated the obstacles I put in your way with competence,” Bosque added.

  “That you put in my way . . .” Logan frowned. “I see. I take it the wolf was a test?”

  “Renier proved a serviceable messenger, but I knew he’d resist the task, presenting you with an obstacle.” Bosque smiled. “I admire persistence, and I needed to know if you were serious . . . or just playing at power, as the boy I knew would have.”

  Logan cringed at the reproach. He wondered if Bosque would ever regard him as worthy of forgiveness. “I was arrogant and foolish, but I’ve changed.”

  “It’s not that easy, Logan,” Bosque said. “You betrayed me. I haven’t forgotten. I’m not inclined to ally myself with one so treacherous.”

  Logan dropped to his knees. Icy water soaked through his jeans, making him so cold, he didn’t know how long he could bear it. “I beg your forgiveness. I didn’t understand who you truly are. What I did . . . it was the worst mistake I’ve ever made.”

  “Words,” Bosque said. “Words are not enough.”

  “Tell me what to do.” Logan bowed his head, hoping to appear obsequious but not wretched. “Whatever you require to prove my loyalty, it’s done.”

  “Make an offering,” Bosque told him. “If I deem it worthy, you will once again be in my favor.”

  “An offering?” Logan twitched, feeling uncertain. Bosque wouldn’t tell him what to offer, that was obvious, but Logan didn’t know how he was meant to determine what would be worthy.

  Glancing up and meeting disapproval in Bosque’s gaze, Logan quickly said, “I will make an offering worthy of you.”

  “We’ll see.” Bosque reached out as if to touch Logan’s face.

  Though Logan never felt the contact of Bosque’s hand on his skin, a sudden warmth surged through his body, driving away the terrible cold of the winter sea.

  Then Bosque was gone and Logan was standing beside his shoes. His feet and legs were completely dry, as if he’d been watching the waves at a distance and had never touched the water.

  Logan picked up his shoes and turned back toward the house. He decided he would make coffee so that Chase would sober up.

  They had work to do.

  ADNE DIDN’T WANT to resent the new Weaver, but she couldn’t help it. Mikaela had just begun to spin and twist when Shiloh sprang forward, tackling the girl.

  Mikaela yelped as she hit the floor. Her silver skeins rolled across the room, well out of reach.

  “Hold!” Tess was perched on the back of a chair, her feet resting in its seat. “Adne. Comments?”

  Put me back on active duty, Adne thought, but said to Mikaela, “The task of the Weaver requires awareness and sensibility on multiple fronts. You’re focused on creating the door, but you can’t be oblivious to where you are and what’s happening around you.”
r />   “Ethan? Connor?” Tess asked. The other two Strikers were watching with Adne from the side of the room. “Anything to add?”

  “To be fair,” Connor said as he watched Shiloh help Mikaela up, “in the field she’d have Strikers protecting her, not attacking her.”

  “That’s true. But the point of this session is that we don’t know what will happen in the field,” Tess corrected him. “Strikers always try to protect the Weavers, but Weavers must be able to defend themselves should the Strikers fall.”

  Mikaela nodded, though she looked shaken as she went to collect her skeins.

  Amateur, Adne thought, then chided herself for indulging such pettiness.

  “Again.” Tess nodded to Shiloh.

  Shiloh ducked behind one of several tall obstacles that had been placed around the room for this exercise. The lights were dimmed as well, allowing the Striker to move with stealth as Mikaela began to weave.

  This time, Shiloh waited until Mikaela’s portal was nearly complete. He didn’t tackle the Weaver, but crept up behind. When he grabbed Mikaela, she screamed.

  “Oh, please,” Adne muttered.

  “Hey!” Connor shot her a questioning look, surprised by Adne’s harsh tone. “Go easy.”

  Defensive, Adne whispered, “I don’t think she’s even trying.”

  “Not everyone can be a wunderkind like you.” Connor tried to smile, but Adne could see that he was disappointed by her lack of compassion for the younger Weaver.

  Mikaela faced Tess, looking crestfallen. “I’m sorry.”

  “No apologies,” Tess replied. “That’s why we’re training. Don’t be too hard on yourself, Mikaela. It’s like this for everyone.”

  Adne didn’t remember it being like this for her, but maybe she just wasn’t willing to admit that she’d been a novice once. She also couldn’t pin down why she felt such a visceral dislike for Mikaela. Adne could recognize the skill with which Mikaela wove portals despite her current inability to anticipate attacks. Though a slip of a girl, Mikaela moved with strength and purpose. Never hesitating, never losing the rhythm of her dance.

  Mikaela began to weave again while Shiloh disappeared into the room’s shadows. Adne could see the source of the problem, and it was directly related to the grace of Mikaela’s weaving. Mikaela utterly closed herself off to the world as she pulled threads to create a door. Adne understood the allure of that technique. Opening a door to another part of the world was giving oneself over to the pulse of the earth itself. A Weaver touched something so much greater than the experience of an individual. Amid the dance, the Weaver knew infinite paths and innumerable places. All that existed was possibility. Adne knew nothing more beautiful. But if Mikaela wanted to sense an impending attack, she would have to stop giving in to that glorious abandon.

  It was obvious Mikaela hadn’t put up any such barriers when Shiloh dropped from the rafters onto the Weaver’s shoulders.

  “Take a breather, Mikaela,” Tess said. She turned to Adne. “Do you and Connor want to demonstrate? Maybe that would be helpful.”

  “I’m game.” Connor glanced at Adne, lifting his eyebrows.

  “Sure.” Adne drew her skeins, wondering if there was any chance that, should she perform well enough, Tess would just reinstate her as the Haldis Weaver.

  “Ethan,” Tess said to the other Striker, “since Adne’s an old hand at this, why don’t you join in as well.”

  When Adne looked at Tess with a frown, the Guide smiled at her. “You want a challenge, don’t you?”

  Adne laughed, and felt a bit smug when she noticed Mikaela’s wide eyes upon her.

  Ethan and Connor huddled up to plot Adne’s demise. She waited with her hands on her hips.

  “Any time now,” Tess called out to the Strikers.

  Connor gave Tess a thumbs-up, and he and Ethan dashed to their hiding places.

  Adne was nearly ecstatic with anticipation. She hadn’t realized how hobbled she felt, having been taken off the team. She could still weave, but only with another Searcher looking over her shoulder. Though it was just for training, this was the first time since the night in the garden that Adne felt like herself. She was in her element and she was about to show Tess why this was exactly where she belonged.

  “Go ahead, Adne,” Tess said.

  Closing her eyes, Adne began to move. Her limbs bent and curved as her body dipped and turned. Though she wasn’t watching, Adne could feel the threads of light spooling out from the ends of her skeins. Seeing the pattern unfold wasn’t important; sensing the connections between the here and the there was everything.

  Weaving was the means to an end, a way to travel in an instant from point A to point B, even if those two points were in opposite hemispheres. The magic of opening portals relied on pulling threads from many sites to create the path.

  Everything was connected, one infinite pattern that Weavers tapped into. The fabric of the universe. But Adne had discovered she could do more.

  Beyond weaving the door, Adne saw always the other potential paths she could create. The roads not taken. She caught glimpses of people and places she could reach. And she’d learned to hone her skill so that she knew how her immediate surroundings fed into those paths.

  And with her eyes closed, she could see Ethan and Connor moving through the room, because the Strikers, like every living being on the planet, were threads in the world’s pattern. As they closed in on her, Adne sheathed her skeins.

  Ethan came at her first. Side attack. He dove at Adne’s legs, hoping to knock her down. Adne propelled herself into the air, flipping over while Ethan sailed underneath her. Recovering from his miss, Ethan rolled onto the balls of his feet. The flicker of his gaze to a point just behind Adne gave Connor away.

  She whirled around as Connor rushed at her. Surprise registered on his face as Adne met his advance with a roundhouse that hit directly in the center of his chest. Connor went flying back.

  Adne pivoted just in time to meet Ethan’s next attack. As he grabbed for her, she lifted onto her toes and pirouetted past him, landing a hard blow to his back with her elbow as she turned. Ethan grunted in pain but swung around to strike at Adne once more.

  Blocking his first punch, Adne retaliated with a knee that only missed Ethan’s groin by an inch when he jumped back.

  “Hey!” Ethan yelled at her in surprise.

  Adne hit him in the jaw with enough force to send him reeling.

  “Adne!” Connor was behind her. She wheeled on him.

  He put his hands up, but Adne lunged and they both went tumbling along the floor. When they stopped rolling, Adne was on top of Connor. Her vision had become a sea of red. Her pulse was shrieking as blood sped through her veins, on fire. How dare they try to take away her power?

  Kill him.

  Adne didn’t remember drawing the silver spike, but her skein was suddenly in her hand and she was raising it up.

  Make him bleed.

  She brought the skein down.

  Mikaela screamed and Adne froze.

  The pointed tip of the skein stopped just short of Connor’s left eye.

  “Adne, what are you doing?” Tess was running over to them.

  Adne pushed herself up, backing away quickly.

  His voice. She’d heard his voice. Bosque had been in her head.

  Connor was propped up on his elbows. He was staring at Adne, his expression confused, wary, and a little angry.

  “You all right?” Ethan offered Connor his hand, but Connor didn’t take it. He kept his eyes on Adne.

  Tess reached them. She looked from Connor to Adne.

  “What was that?” Tess asked. “What were you thinking?”

  Adne couldn’t tell them. They’d take everything away from her. How could they not?

  Shiloh and Mikaela crept up to stand behind Tess. The two newest members of the Haldis team were both watching Adne as if she were a venomous snake about to strike.

  Drawing her second skein, Adne took both the spikes in o
ne hand and then violently cast them aside. The metal clattered along the floor, ringing bright and sharp with each impact.

  “I’m showing you how it’s done.”

  Adne turned her back on them and walked from the room. She kept her back straight and her pace measured, so they wouldn’t know she was running away.

  CONNOR COULDN’T help but glance over his shoulder as he walked with Ethan toward Haldis Tactical.

  “I should stay here.”

  “The hell you should.” Ethan cuffed Connor across the back of the head. “You need to get out and get your mind on something else. Seeing you glum is downright scary.”

  “But Adne—” Connor rubbed the base of his skull. Ethan didn’t cuff gently.

  “Adne is with Sabine,” Ethan cut him off. “You won’t do her any good by hovering over her every second.”

  Connor wanted to disagree, but he couldn’t. If anything, his vigilance seemed to make Adne feel worse. She wouldn’t talk about why or how she’d ended up in the gardens outside Rowan Estate. Not to Connor. Not to anyone.

  Tess tried to assure him that Adne was likely acting out after having repressed too much grief for too long, but Connor wasn’t convinced.

  “You’re thinking about it,” Ethan said. “Just stop. Stop thinking about it all the time. You’re turning yourself into an old man.”

  Connor grunted by way of answer. It was easy enough for Ethan to throw placations at him. Sabine, who by all accounts should be having the harder time adjusting—not that there was anything wrong with the girl, but she had been a wolf—had taken to life with the Searchers as if she’d been born into it.

  “Tell me this, my mopey friend,” Ethan said, hefting his crossbow. “Does it or does it not feel good to have your weapons strapped on again?”

  That drew a grin from Connor. “It does.”

  Going to the armory had been oddly comforting. At last there had been something familiar, something that had once been routine to distract him from the unpredictable and largely unpleasant shape of his life of late.

  “Then just focus on that.” Ethan nodded in approval. “We’re going to get the bad guys again ’cause that’s what we do.”