A Local Habitation

I’d almost forgotten that Tybalt was in the room. “Hush,” I said again, beginning to drip blood onto Alex’s forehead and lips before pressing my hand flat over his heart, leaving a crimson handprint. The magic was catching hold, the pattern so clear I could almost see it . . . and it wasn’t enough. The pieces of the spell were there, but the picture wasn’t coming clear.

Fine. If the universe wanted to play rough, I’d play rough. Raising my wrist, I chanted, “Oak and ash and willow and thorn are mine; blood and ice and flowers and flame are mine.” I pressed my lips to the cut, taking a mouthful of blood and swallowing. It burned all the way down. “Mine in turn are those who hold me, hurt me, bend me to their ends; I have bled and burned here, and I demand the return of what is mine.” The scent of cut grass and copper was overpowering. I took a second mouthful of blood and bent over Alex, pressing my lips to his and forcing the blood into his mouth.

The spell shattered in a mist that sent me staggering. My feet slipped on the bloody floor and I nearly fell before Tybalt caught me, holding me upright.

And Alex opened his eyes.

That was the final piece to end the feeling of absolute serenity that had come when the spell caught hold; suddenly, I realized that I was bleeding, dizzy, and my head was pounding. What’s more, the taste of blood was coating my throat, making me want to gag. “Damn,” I muttered, stepping away from Tybalt to grab the sheet off Yui’s cot and start wrapping it around my arm. I’d just raised the dead—technically—and I didn’t need to bleed to death as a consequence. I’m not that fond of irony.

“Oberon’s balls . . .” whispered Tybalt, in a small, awed voice. I glanced toward him, and he looked away, not meeting my eyes. That hurt.

There would be time to worry about Tybalt later. I wrenched my attention back to Alex, who was sitting up now, eyes unfocused. He didn’t look like he was quite all there, and I couldn’t blame him. Being dead couldn’t have been easy.

“Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty.” All that blood was a little distracting. I didn’t know whether I wanted to throw up or faint.

“I . . .” Alex raised his hands, staring at the bloody fingerprints running down his arms. “I’m alive?”

“Good guess.”

“How . . .”

“You weren’t really dead. You just thought you were.”

“What?” He looked at me blankly. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Tybalt doing the same.

I sighed. “You weren’t dead.” I felt surprisingly lucid, despite the pain and blood loss. I should really learn to recognize when I’m in shock. I can spot it in everyone else, but it somehow always takes me by surprise. “Whatever attacked you tried to drain the memories from your blood. I think that’s what actually kills people. They lose themselves.” I paused, wobbling. “It got Terrie, but it couldn’t get to you. Not at night. So here you are.”

Alex’s eyes went wide. “Terrie’s dead,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry.” And then everything hit me at once.

Dying probably takes a lot out of you. I wouldn’t know—I’ve never died—but I know how hard blood magic can be on the body. I managed to take a shaky step toward the cot before I fell. Tybalt didn’t catch me this time. Alex was shouting, far away, and I angrily thought that I’d told them not to go anywhere alone. What was he doing all the way over there? I tried to tell him to go find the others, but there were no words, just the taste of blood and ashes . . .

And there was darkness.





TWENTY-EIGHT



I WOKE SLOWLY, fighting every inch of the way. The more awake I was, the more I hurt . . . but I was alive. That would have to do. I’ve always run myself hard—it’s one of my worst flaws—but I’d never tried two major acts of blood magic that close together before, and I was starting to think I’d blown some sort of internal fuse. My headache was worse than ever. I groaned, raising my right hand to my temple, and the last of the comfortable darkness dissolved, leaving me inarguably awake.

Damn.