Strange.
She felt around for a trace of foreign magic and found none. The shield of wards stretching from her house remained intact. Besides, none would dare to enter her domain. Nobody would be that stupid.
Kaitlin strode onto the porch, tiny sparks of power breaking over her skin. She passed her hand over the shawl. Nothing. Not spelled in any way, the pattern as intricate as ever. She must’ve forgotten it here on the porch.
Kaitlin lifted the shawl, wrapped it around her shoulders, and stood for a moment, breathing in the Mire smells. The afternoon was winding down. Soon the night would fall. The dark time. The Rats would be in their Rathole, celebrating, bloated with wine and success. She had a few things to show them.
A faint prickling in her hand made her glance at her fingers. Thin gray residue sheathed her fingertips. She stared at it, puzzled, rubbed her fingers with her thumb, and gasped as the skin and muscle peeled off.
Shocked, she whirled, searching for traces of offensive spells, chanting to raise her defenses. Power surged and formed a reassuring, solid wall of magic to guard her from the world. She could chant herself out of it. Again and again she whispered, but the skin on her fingers refused to heal.
The shawl. She tore it from her body and screamed as the skin on her neck came off with it. Numbness crept into her fingers and seeped into her arms.
This couldn’t be. She was iron! She was strong.
Her legs failed, and Kaitlin crumpled onto the porch. Numbness clutched at her chest. Her heart skipped a beat … The numbness burst into pain. It surged through her body, ripping into her insides with savage teeth.
She tried to call out to the workers in the stable, but pain had locked her throat in a fiery collar and her voice refused to obey.
I’m dying …
She wouldn’t let the Rats have the land. Not her land, not her house, not the wreck of a body that once had been her husband. With an enormous effort of will, Kaitlin poured the remnants of her life into one last magic.
GASTON dashed along the twisted Fisherman’s track. He had tossed the sack and iron tongs he had used to handle the shawl into some bushes to reduce the weight, but it didn’t make much difference. His legs were beginning to tire. Gaston leaped over a fallen tree. The weeds flanking the overgrown path slapped his shoulders as he ran, dusting his skin with yellow spring pollen.
Behind him a roar rose, a dull muted sound like the voice of a distant waterfall. He glanced over his shoulder and saw weeds snap upright in the distance as if pulled straight by an invisible hand. Pines groaned in protest.
He ran. He ran like he had never run before in his life, squeezing every drop of speed from his muscles until he thought they would tear from his bones. The roar grew louder. Tiny rocks pelted him. The air in his lungs turned to fire.
Gaston saw a glimpse of the river ahead and launched himself toward it.
Not going to make it.
He hit the water and dove deep into the gloom. A tiny ervaurg shot past him, spooked by his presence.
Above him the sky turned yellow.
TWENTY-THREE
CERISE stretched her legs and drank more juice. Her whole body ached like she’d been beaten with a sack of rocks.
“How are we doing?” Ignata asked from the other end of the room.
“We’re fine.” Cerise glanced at her. The skin on Ignata’s face seemed stretched too tight. Dark bags clutched at her eyes. Catherine had hid in her room the moment they entered the house. Cerise sighed. If she had any sense, she would’ve hidden also. She tried, but the anxiety made her stir-crazy, and once she took a shower, she came down to the library, where Ignata ambushed her with ickberry juice to “replace electrolytes,” whatever that meant.
“What a day,” Ignata murmured.
Erian shouldered his way into the room and sank into a soft chair, his eyes closed, his arm in a sling. “What a week.”
Ignata turned to him. “Why are you still awake? Didn’t I give you some valerian half an hour ago?”
He opened his pale eyes and looked at her. “I didn’t drink it.”
“Why not?”
“Because your valerian has enough sleeping tincture in it to put an elephant to sleep.”
Ignata covered her face with her hands. “You know, if you had to hire a doctor, I bet you’d listen to her.”
“No, we wouldn’t,” Cerise murmured.
“Where is the blueblood?” Erian asked.
“With Kaldar.”
“I noticed something.” Erian turned in his chair. “He’s got a memory like a gator trap. There are over fifty of us, and he hasn’t confused a single name yet.”
Cerise scooted deeper into the chair. That was all she needed, a family discussion about Lord Bill.
“I like him,” Ignata said. “He saved Lark.” A smile stretched her lips. “And Cerise likes him, too.”
“Don’t start,” Cerise murmured.
“It’s about time, too. It’s been, what, two years since Tobias ran off?”
“Three,” Erian said.
Kaldar walked into the room, followed by William. Their stares connected and Cerise’s heart skipped a beat.
Kaldar dropped into a chair, stretching long legs. “What are we talking about?”
“We’re trying to decide when you’re going to marry Cerise off,” Erian said.
Kaldar leaned back, a little light playing in his eyes. “Well …”
Cerise set her glass down with a clink. “Enough. Have you figured out which house my mother is in?”
Kaldar grimaced. “Not yet. In case you forgot, Blue-rock is in the middle of a pretty big lake. It takes time to find the right house. We’ll know tomorrow. I’ve got guys on it.”
“What guys?”
Kaldar waved his hand. “If I tell you who I sent to spy on the house, you’ll bust my balls about how dangerous it is and how I shouldn’t put children in peril. It’s being handled, that’s all you get.”
“Now, wait a minute—”
Something thumped against the window.
Cerise grasped her knife. Kaldar was on his feet and moving to the window along the wall, dagger in hand.
Another thump. His back to the wall, Kaldar leaned to glance outside, sighed, and slid the glass panel up.
A small animal scrambled onto the windowsill. Fuzzy with mouse fur, it sat on its haunches, looking at them with enormous pale green eyes.
Oh no.
The beast waddled to the edge of the windowsill. Its bat wings fluttered once, twice, it took the plunge and glided to the table. Tiny claws slid on the polished surface, and the creature flopped on its butt, skidded, and crawled back to sit before her, whiskers moving on the shrewlike nose.
No escape now. “Emel, you almost gave me a seizure.”
“Sorry about that,” Emel’s voice came not from the beast but from about three inches above its head. “I don’t have full control of this little fellow yet. I just made him a couple of weeks ago, but I was sure that under the present circumstances anything larger than him would get shot down.”
The beast scratched its side with a tiny black foot.
“I’m so sorry about Anya,” Emel said.
“Me, too.” A pang of guilt stabbed her. Anya had volunteered to run the stinker to the house. If it wasn’t for Lagar’s gator traps, she would still be alive.
The bat shivered. “Someone summoned Raste Adir to the clearing in front of Sene. Was it you or Grandmother Azan?”
“Me. Grandmother is sleeping.”
The beast sneezed and curled into a tiny ball. “Very well done,” said Emel’s disembodied voice. “You held it a touch too long, but other than that, very well done.”
His praise filled her with absurd pride. At least she had done something right. “Thank you.”
Richard slipped through the door, followed by Murid and Aunt Pete, her missing left eye hidden by a black leather patch.
The beast fell asleep, its tiny ribcage rising and falling
with smooth regularity.
“Did you know that most of the Sheerile estate has been blighted?” Emel continued. “The house is crumbling into dust, and the entire place is raining yellow pine needles. Grandmother didn’t have anything to do with that, did she?”
Smart bastard. “Emel, you know perfectly well that blight magic takes a life. All of us care too much about Grandmother to let her throw herself away like that. She’s just sleeping. We lost a lot of people today, and it took a toll. Kaitlin was probably so mad that she lost the feud, she sacrificed herself to blight the place.”
“I thought as much. Of course, you do remember that aiding a casting of the blight is punishable by death, according to Mire law.”
And he would be heartbroken if the Mire militia dragged her off. Unless he got the money first, of course. “Yes, I remember.”
A sound of a throat being cleared issued from above the creature. “There is the matter of the eel,” Emel said. “I wasn’t confident my message would get through to you.”
“What are you implying?” Kaldar stopped cleaning his fingernails with the tip of his dagger.
“Nothing offensive. Simply put, all of you had a very difficult day, and I’m sure the eel was the last thing on your mind. However, the problem remains unsolved. The law clearly says that if you purposefully destroy property belonging to another, you must pay restitution. As you know, since we are related by blood, the eel would not have attacked you unprovoked. So, either you provoked it or you did nothing to avoid it. I understand that another person was involved in the altercation, but the fact remains: you are allowed passage through Sect-held property, but he was not. The eel was simply doing its duty. Since you were present at the scene and can’t claim ignorance of our traditions, the Sect holds you responsible for not taking care of—”
“How much?” Cerise asked.
“Five thousand.”
She reeled back. Kaldar’s jaw hung down. Erian’s eyes snapped open. Ignata nearly dropped her glass.
Cerise leaned forward. “Five thousand dollars? That’s outrageous!”
“It was a fifty-year-old animal.”
“Which attacked me in the middle of the swamp in an unmarked stream!”
“There was a marker there. We’re just not sure what happened to it.”
“This is unfair!”
Emel sighed. “Cerise, you and I both know that you are perfectly capable of avoiding mud eels, especially one of this size. It was hard not to notice the thing—it was fourteen feet long. However, your points are valid and you’re my dear cousin, that’s why it’s only five thousand and not seven as it would’ve been for anyone else.”
“We can’t do five thousand,” she said flatly.
“I’ll go as low as four thousand eight hundred, Cerise. I’m sorry but anything less would be an insult to the Sect. And even so, the missing two hundred will have to come from my own funds.”
Gods, where would she get the money? They had to pay the Sect. It was too powerful. Making an enemy of it would mean that their livestock would start dropping dead. First the cows and rolpies, then dogs, then relatives.
“If you do not have the lump sum, we can set up a payment schedule,” Emel suggested. “Of course, there would be interest involved …”
“Three payments,” she said. “No interest.”
“Within three months, the first good-faith payment due by the end of this week.”
“You’re forcing me to choose between clothes for the winter and being forever in debt to the Sect. I don’t appreciate that.”
“I’m sorry, Cerise. I truly am.”
The creature awoke. “I very much care about all of you,” Emel said. “The Sect does not wish me involved in this affair with the Hand. But I’ll try to help the best I can. I will find a way.”
The beast took to the air and vanished into the darkness outside.
Kaldar slammed the window closed.
“Where are we going to get the money?” Ignata murmured.
“My grandmother’s jewelry,” Cerise said. She thought of the elegant emeralds set in the pale white gold, thin like silk. Her link to her mother, the last link to the life that could’ve been. It felt like ripping a chunk of herself out, but the money had to come from somewhere and that was the last reserve they had. “We’ll sell the emeralds.”
Ignata gaped. “They are heirloom pieces. She meant them for your wedding. You can’t sell them.”
Oh, she could. She could. She just had to have a good long cry before she did it, so she didn’t break into tears during the sale. “Watch me.”
“Cerise!”
“They are just rocks. Rocks and metal. You can’t eat them, they won’t make you warm. We have to pay the debt and the kids need new clothes. We need new ammunition and food.”
“Why can’t he pay?” Erian nodded toward William. “He killed it.”
“He has no money,” Cerise said. “And even if he did, I wouldn’t take it.”
William opened his mouth, but she stood up. “That’s it, the debate is over. I’ll see y’all later.”
She headed outside onto the verandah before she broke to pieces.
OUTSIDE the cold night air wrapped around Cerise. She took a deep breath and started down around the balcony, to the door leading to her favorite hiding spot.
A dark shape dropped onto the balcony in front of her. Wild eyes glared at her. William.
How in the world did he get ahead of her? She crossed her arms on her chest.
He straightened.
“You’re in my way,” she told him.
“Don’t sell them. I’ll give you the money.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“Is this because you’re still pissed off about Lagar?”
She threw her hands up. “You stupid man. Don’t you get it? Lagar was trapped like me. We were both born into this, we couldn’t leave, and we knew we would eventually kill each other. What we wanted made no difference. At least he could’ve run away, but I’m stuck here because of the family. I didn’t love him, William. There was nothing there except regret.”
“So take the damn money.”
“No!”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to be obligated to you.”
He growled.
Quick steps approached. They both turned.
Aunt Pete came running from around the corner. “Cerise?”
Dear Gods, couldn’t they leave her alone for just a moment? Cerise heaved a sigh. “Yes?”
“Kaldar’s boys came back. They found the house where the Hand is holed up and took pictures.” Aunt Pete wheezed. “Hold on, let me catch my breath.” She thrust the photographs out.
Cerise took the pictures and held them up to the weak light filtering outside through the window. Big house with a glass hothouse on the side. Kaldar’s guys got really close. She would have to speak to him about that—no need to take chances.
Aunt Pete pulled the pictures from her hand and slapped one on top of the stack. “Never mind all that. This one, look at this one!”
The photograph showed the close up of the hothouse, taken through a clear glass pane. A two-foot tall stump of a tree jutted sadly through dirt. The tree’s stem was blue and translucent, as if made of glass. Borrower’s Tree, one of the Weird’s magical plants.
Cerise glanced up.
Aunt Pete huffed. “You know what this tree is used for. Think, Cerise.”
Cerise frowned. In small quantities, Borrower’s tree was harvested to produce catalysts that bound human and plant. William had said the Hand was full of freaks; some of them probably had grafted plant parts and needed the catalysts. It did look like a fairly sizable tree, and it was cut down to a nub, so they must’ve needed a hell of a lot of catalyst.
The only reason to have that much catalyst would be to actually transform someone through the use of magic. But who would Spider transform? All his guys were already as transformed as they were going to ge
t. It had to be the captives. But it wouldn’t make sense to graft anything on them; no, he had to be doing very specific things to achieve mental control over them, in which case it would be …
The pictures fluttered from her hand. Cerise rocked back. “He’s fusing my mother!”
The world went white in a moment of rage and panic. Her head turned hot, her fingers ice-cold. She froze, like a child trapped in a moment of getting caught. Memories streamed past her: mother, with her blue eyes and halo of soft hair, standing by the stove, a spoon in hand, saying something, so tall … Going outside to the porch hand in hand; fixing her hair; reading together in a big chair, her head nestled against her mother’s shoulder; her mother’s smell, her voice, her …
Oh, my Gods. All gone. All gone forever. Mother was gone. Mother, who could fix anything, couldn’t fix this. Fusion was irreversible. She was gone, gone.
No. No, no, no.
A crushing heaviness swelled in Cerise’s chest and tried to drag her down to the floor. She clenched against the pain, her throat caught in a tight ring, and forced herself to walk away, half-blind from the tears. “I have to go now. So nobody will see.”
Hands swept her off her feet. William carried her off, away from Aunt Pete, away from the noises from the kitchen, to the door, and up the stairs, and then into her little room. Her face was wet and she stuck it into his shoulder. He gripped her, his warm arms cradling her, and sank to the floor.
“They’re fusing my mother.” Her voice came out strangled. “They’re turning her into a monster and she would know. She would know what they were doing. The whole time.”
“Easy,” he murmured. “Easy. I have you.”
Mother’s beautiful smile. Her warm hands, her eyes full of laughter. Her “I have the silliest children.” Her “sweet-heart, I love you.” “You look beautiful, darling.” All gone forever. There would be no good-bye and no rescue. All the deaths, all the scrambling, it was all for nothing. Mother wasn’t coming back to her and Lark.
Cerise buried her face in William’s neck and wept soundlessly, pain leaking out through her tears.
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