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.
Magic shot through her in an electrifying pulse and spread, tingling, through her body, spilling from inside out. Beside her Ignata swayed. Catherine murmured the chant like the soft whisper of the wind through the leaves.
Grandmother Az’s words streamed through her mind. Don’t give in. Don’t forget who you are.
The magic swirled within her and rushed out, like the tide, sucked into the mound.
The seeds moved. Their outer shells cracked. Tiny green roots thrust through, pale and fragile.
The magic poured out of Cerise in a heady rush, feeding the plants.
The roots thickened, raising the seeds, burrowing deep into the bloody mud, turning brown. Green sprigs spiraled up, twisting about the pole, biting into Lagar’s body with green shoots, climbing higher and higher.
Sweat broke out on Cerise’s forehead, mixing with the mud.
Leaves burst on the shoots, bright, vivid, their tiny veins red like Lagar’s blood. Lagar’s corpse disappeared beneath the blanket of green.
A deep ache gnawed at her insides. The mound demanded more magic. More. More.
Buds sprung from the greenery and split open. Flowers unfurled, yellow and white and pale purple, sending dizzying perfume into the air. It swirled around Cerise, sweet like honey. A giddy happiness flooded her. So beautiful . . . Her body swayed, dancing. She tried to stop herself, but her limbs escaped her control.
Catherine crashed to her knees and laughed softly.
Mom . . . Dad . . . Focus. Focus, damn it. Cerise bent over the mound and spat onto the leaves. “Wake.”
The green mass shivered. A muted roar rolled through the clearing as if a dozen ervaurgs declared their territory all at once. Magic shot through the leaves, ancient, powerful, and hungry. So hungry.
Lagar’s face thrust through the rustling leaves, framed in the cascade of flowers, his skin dusted with golden pollen.
Raste Adir had answered the call.
Lagar’s eyes glowed with verdant wild green. Thin shoots snaked from his body, hidden beneath the moss and leaves, reaching out to her, ready to drain her dry, filling her mind with promises. Cerise saw herself caught in the branches, her body a dry husk, one with the green; saw the shoots surge further, saw kneeling Catherine become a spire of green; saw Ignata lifted off her feet by a vine, her face serene and lost among the blossoms . . .
Cerise jerked back, raising her defenses. No. You get back!
The old magic hovered just beyond reach. Its pull was so strong.
On the ground Catherine sobbed, happy tears spilling from her eyes. The vines reached for her.
Cerise stepped in front of them and gathered her magic. It rose behind her in a dark cloud, splaying forth. The shoots shrank back, shivering.
That’s right. Get back, stay in your place.
Cerise squared her shoulders. She was a swamp witch like her grandmother and her grandmother’s mother and her grandmother’s grandmother before her. She had skill and she had power, and the old magic wouldn’t wrestle her mind from her.
“Where is my mother?”
Lagar’s mouth opened. A cloud of pollen erupted from his throat, swirling in a glittering cascade like golden dust.
“Answer me.”
Ignata made a small mewing noise behind her.
A shimmer ran through the pollen. An image rose within the cloud: a vast field of water with a lonely gray rock rising out of it like the back of some beast, and beyond it, a hint of a large house . . . Bluestone Rock. Only a day away!
The branches reached for her. She snapped her witch’s cloak and they fell back.
“Where is my father?”
The pollen shifted. No image troubled the cloud—Lagar didn’t know.
“What does Spider want from our family?”
The branches swirled, winding tighter and tighter. Lagar’s eyes flared with dark green like two swamp fire stars. Something burned deep in that glow, something terrible and powerful, clawing its way to the surface.