“Seems like poor planning on their parts,” I muttered. I really didn’t care about my mother’s social schedule – what I cared about was her leaving so I’d have the privacy to try this spell.
A knock sounded at the door. “That will be my carriage.” She picked up her thick velvet cloak. “I hope you enjoy your rest, darling. I will be late, if I’m home at all.” Bending down she kissed my forehead, then stroked my cheek. “There is no one more important to me than you, Cécile. I hope you know that.”
My traitorous heart warmed, then I squashed the feeling away, reminding myself that the last time she’d expressed herself this way, she’d been in the process of drugging me. “Good luck tonight, mother.”
I waited until I was certain she was gone, then I threw off the robe covering my dress and hurried to the back door. Chris was waiting, a roll of parchment in one hand and a caged chicken in the other. “She’s gone?” he asked.
I nodded. “Come in before the neighbors see you.”
Once he was inside, we set to hurrying about the house closing all the curtains. I was taking no chances that someone might see us – at best, I’d be exiled from the city. And at worst… the smoke coming from the fireplace took on an ominous feel.
“Where do you want to do this?” Chris asked, holding up the cage and eyeing the chicken. “It will be messy.”
I grimaced. “The kitchen would be the best, I suppose.”
Following my terse instructions, we set up all of my supplies on the kitchen floor, along with a bucket and rags to clean up what would be a large amount of blood. I took the map Chris had brought and laid it out flat, then carefully began committing it to memory as well as I could.
“What are you doing?” Chris whispered.
“The map needs to be reflected in my mind’s eye,” I said. “Otherwise this won’t work.”
Catherine had devised the spell I intended to use to find missing loved ones. It was a noble cause, unlike my own, but cause meant little when it came to the effectiveness of the spell. All I really needed was a possession belonging to the missing, in this case, Anushka’s grimoire, a map, and the raw power of a death. So little, and yet, so much.
When I was comfortable I could accurately visualize the map, I set a basin between it and me. Then I opened the chicken’s cage and pulled her out. She clucked quietly in my arms, used to being handled. Chris handed me a knife, and I swallowed a wave of nausea. “I’m not sure I can do this.”
“You’ve killed chickens before, Cécile. Lots of them.” Chris’s words were steady, but his face was ghostly pale.
“For eating,” I muttered. “Not for… this.” I petted the hen on her head and she clucked at me. No amount of farm living could prepare me for this.
“I could pluck her after and we could, umm, roast her up?”
I gagged and shook my head. The idea of eating my ritual sacrifice was too much.
“Or, or, I could pluck her, and give her to someone who needs the food.” He nodded encouragingly at me.
“Yes,” I said, swallowing down what had threatened to rise up. “We can do that.”
My grip on the knife was slick with sweat. The chicken started to struggle in my grip, as though sensing my tension. “I can’t hold her steady,” I muttered, the knife and the chicken sliding in my grasp.
“Just get it over with,” Chris said. “Do it now.”
“I can’t, I can’t,” I said, struggling to get the angle right. My hands knew what they were doing, but my mind was at war with itself. Walking down this path would change everything for me. It would change who I was.
Do it! The voice in my head was full of wicked glee. Was it me, or was it the King?
“I’m sorry.” The words came out in a rush as I sliced the knife across the chicken’s neck. Blood splattered everywhere, adding to the wetness of tears already dripping down my cheeks. I held the dying creature over the basin with shaking hands, letting the blood flow even as power flooded into me, then handed her to Chris.
Retrieving the candle, I held the flame to the crimson contents of the basin, part of me praying that it would go out and the spell would fail, even as I knew it wouldn’t. Fire leapt up in the bowl and we both jerked back. I could feel magic rising all around us, but it had a dark, malignant edge to it. What I was doing was a corruption of the earth’s power. What I was doing was evil.
“I can’t go back,” I whispered. And before I could lose my nerve, I plunged my hand into the flaming mixture. It was hot, but it didn’t burn. Slowly, I lifted my hand from the basin, flames licking out from my fingers. With the grimoire in my free hand, I held my bloody hand over the map and closed my eyes, visualizing the city.