“Mostly,” I admitted. Whitechurch had drawn up a water glass to find the location and make sure something was there before Blackwood and I left. Thankfully, Strangewayes had been famous enough that his house used to be a popular tourist destination. As such, its location was listed upon maps. In the scrying glass, we’d found an area shrouded completely in mist, so thick it was difficult to see through. But there’d been the outline of a building, enough to send us out here.
We headed along the rocky path, the sea at our backs. As we made our way deeper into the countryside, the mist sat heavily on my clothes, chilling me. It felt as though the mist were touching us, as though it were sentient. As though it wanted to keep us.
“I’m just glad the Spider didn’t turn up,” Magnus muttered.
“She doesn’t come up the cliffs, does she?” I asked.
“You never know.” His expression hardened.
“Are you all right?”
“Do you always talk this much when you’re on a quest, Howel?” I’d never heard him sound snappish before. He cleared his throat. “Forgive me. It’s just—”
“Quiet.” Blackwood stopped in his tracks and slowly took out his stave. On instinct, I grabbed Porridge from its sheath as well. “Do you hear that?” His green eyes narrowed as he surveyed the terrain.
“No,” I said, then instantly shut up. The world about us seemed to be holding its breath. No birdsong, no breeze. Only dead silence.
I could feel it, the movement of something in the mist. Something incredibly wrong. Blackwood warded a blade on his stave; I saw the dim yellow outline of it.
“Get down!” he shouted as a Familiar with eight horrid legs and gnashing fangs attacked.
I exploded in blue flame, throwing a fireball at the monster. It dodged far too nimbly and sprang into the air with its legs splayed wide. Magnus and I rolled out of its way as it landed, jaws clicking.
This was one of Nemneris’s lice. I’d seen them before, but only from the safety of a water glass in Agrippa’s library. Their bloated abdomens and eight legs were spiderlike, while their pale, grotesque torsos, bald heads, and arms were almost human. This monster had gnashing pincers where a mouth should have been. A long, gooey stream of venom dripped from its fangs.
The louse screeched as it leaped for Blackwood. He weaved and slashed with his blade. A plume of black blood gushed from the creature’s leg, and it retreated a few steps, clicking in pain.
Magnus slammed down his stave and sent a shock wave through the earth, throwing the beast off-balance while I fired again. This time my magic found its mark, and the Familiar shriveled as the flames consumed it, the eight legs curling into its body. There was a grotesque popping noise as its black eyes exploded, gushing viscous ooze. The acrid smell of its death burned my throat.
“Howel, look out!” Magnus barreled into me, shoving me roughly to the ground. Another louse leaped out of the mist, landing on top of Magnus. My movements were too slow, too sluggish.
“Hold on!” Blackwood shot warded force at the thing and got it in the chest. It tumbled off Magnus, who lurched to his feet, clutching a bleeding arm. But he was alive. Thank God.
I twirled a spell I’d designed before, a blend of my sorcerer and magician powers. The earth formed a great hand to drag the monster down, but the Familiar scrambled out of its grip too fast. Damn it all.
Magnus lifted his stave…and collapsed onto his back. His head lolled to the side, his body limp. The Familiar raced forward, pincers clicking with glee. I screamed, trying desperately to think of another spell.
Something sliced out of the fog, slamming directly into the Familiar’s head. The louse jerked backward as black ichor sprayed over the ground. The beast twitched once and became still, its hideous face cleaved neatly in two by an ax. I hurried to Magnus and knelt by his side.
“Who’s there?” Blackwood called, whirling around. A small boy, no older than twelve or thirteen, approached out of the mist. He was clad in worn trousers and a threadbare vest, a cap atop his head. The boy looked to Magnus, who was groaning in pain.
Magnus. His arm sported two swollen puncture wounds, hot and already throbbing with infection. The Familiar had poisoned him.
“No,” I whispered, thinking fast. Were there healing spells or medicines I’d brought with me? What had I learned from Fenswick about slowing poison? There was no bloody time to lose.
“If we don’t treat it, he’ll die.” The boy echoed my frantic thoughts. He yanked his ax out of the monster’s skull. It came away with a wet sound, like pulling a knife from a pumpkin. “We’d best leave. They hunt in packs.” The boy wiped the ax blade on the grass. “Follow me.” He motioned to us to follow, and Blackwood and I each took one of Magnus’s arms. We hoisted him to his feet and pulled him along between us.
The boy led us back to the ruins of the castle, dodging over the piles of rubble and moss-covered stones. Entering what had been the castle’s outer wall, he uncovered a cellar door that led belowground. The boy pulled the door open with a loud creak and waved us ahead.
We were following an ax-wielding stranger underground, where the air smelled stale and damp, but all I cared about was Magnus’s racing pulse as I helped lower him inside, my cheek pressed against his neck. Carefully, Blackwood and I laid him onto the muddy ground.
Lit candles had been wedged into the rocky walls. Once the boy closed the door, the only natural light came from a crack in the rock ceiling. Blackwood had to duck to avoid hitting his head as I knelt beside Magnus to watch the boy at work.
The boy stripped Magnus’s coat off and ripped his shirt open, exposing his chest. I nearly turned away from the immodesty of it but checked myself. Magnus was dying, for God’s sake. I remained focused on his face.
“Who are you? How do you know what to do?” Blackwood’s voice echoed in the cavern.
The boy didn’t answer. Instead, he took a knife and cut into the wounds on Magnus’s arm. Clear liquid welled out of the bites. The boy took a deep breath, then sucked at the marks, spitting the poison onto the wall.
“Can you do that?” I asked, stricken with horror.
The boy pulled his cap off his head. Wild bright red curls tumbled down. With the addition of the hair, the boy’s entire appearance changed. His lips seemed fuller, the tilt of his eyes more feminine. This was a young woman, not a little boy. She looked at me; there was a hard knowledge in her gaze. “Aye. If you’d like, pass me that bag.” She nodded at a leather pouch by my side. “Then go above and keep watch. There’s precious little else you can do.”
The lilt of her voice sounded northern, Scottish perhaps. I passed her the bag while Magnus began to wail and claw at the air.
“No, get away. He might still be alive!” He spoke to invisible phantoms. Foam flecked the corners of his mouth. His whole body went rigid, and he began to seize violently.
“Magnus!” I tried to touch him, but the girl struck my hand.
“Go now!” she cried. Blackwood threw the door open, pulling me after him. I could only listen to Magnus’s delirious screams and sobs.
Blackwood and I sat at the edge of the cavern, our staves in hand. My knees would not stop shaking, and I looked to the sky above. The light had purpled, and the sun had reached the lip of the horizon. My teeth began chattering, which had nothing to do with the night’s oncoming chill.
“He’ll be fine.” Blackwood sat on the balls of his feet, ready to spring into action. “Magnus has far too much absurd luck for it all to run out now.” But he sounded unsure. Blackwood stood and walked forward, cautiously checking the open area around us. I could feel it, though. The Familiars had moved on. The air didn’t seem so very still and awful now.
Slowly, Magnus’s screams began to die down. Please, God. Let that be a good sign.
“The Familiar should have bit me, not him.” I rolled Porridge in my hands, tracing my fingers along the carved ivy leaves that decorated the stave’s length. The faintest trace of blue light shimmered in one of the tendrils.
“Don’t start thinking like that.” Blackwood sat beside me again.
We listened to the roar of the waves far below us. I dug the toe of my boot into the soft earth, drawing arrows and circles. There was no hell quite like waiting.