it dragged her down to Christian Oliver’s level. It was the dishonorable part of the Bishop legacy, and she loathed employing it.
Needs must, she reminded herself. This was not the time for doubt.
She held her left hand over the saucer and let the drops of her blood, black as coal in the weak light, drip over the herbs. She watched, swirling the saucer, until the mixture begin to steam, tiny tendrils of moisture that flickered and evaporated in the predawn air. “Now hand me the brush again.”
She dipped the brush into the sticky stuff in the saucer and painted the manikin with it. She daubed the poorly shaped head and then the chest. She spread what was left on the hands and feet. When she was done, she took a step back, gazing down at the ungainly little creation.
“It’s hideous,” she muttered.
“Does that matter?”
“It does not. It’s just not the way I want my practice to be.”
31
Annis
Annis agreed with Harriet that the manikin was ugly, a distortion of a human being. It looked nothing like Frances, and yet it seemed to reflect what her inner self had become, twisted and stretched and corrupted, a woman she didn’t recognize. Was that because of the maleficia?
As the light beyond the folly rose, the sounds of the sea grew more intense, and the breeze died away. Harriet, striking in her dark skirt and heavy jacket, stood with her head bent, gazing at the manikin in her hand. Candlelight picked out threads of silver in her hair, and shadows hollowed her cheeks and darkened her eyes.
She looked magnificent, every inch a witch, an embodiment of wisdom and courage and authority. Her voice echoed from the stone floor to the domed top of the folly, each word clear and commanding.
By my witch’s blood I say
You will yield to me this day.
Release the victim of your spell.
This I swear I will compel.
Her cantrip’s results were so quick and so dramatic that Annis cried out. The ametrine awoke, glittering and glowing, and the manikin jerked to life. Its head pulled back, and its misshapen hands flailed so violently Annis feared it would rip itself from Harriet’s hand.
She shivered, not with cold but with awe. She whispered, “What’s happening?”
Harriet said in a low, tight voice, “Frances knows. This is Frances fighting me.”
“Will she release him?”
In Harriet’s grip the manikin writhed, a grotesque imitation of a struggling human being. Harriet said, “I fear not.” She held the manikin with both hands now, and Annis saw her knuckles whiten as she fought it. “She has lost control of herself. There was always darkness in her, but using the maleficia has made it worse.”
“What can we do?” Annis breathed.
“It’s going to take both of us.” She wrapped the fingers of her right hand around the manikin’s throat, and the left around its rudimentary legs. “We need your blood, Annis. The blood of two witches—and a lock of your hair, a tiny one, to add to the slurry. Can you do that?”
“Of course. Do you have more of the herbs you need?”
“There’s another packet in my basket. The needle is there, too. You’ll have to do it by yourself. I can’t let go of this damned thing. If it breaks free, she does, too.”
“Oh!”
“I’m sorry about this. It makes you part of the maleficia.”
“But I already am. If it were not for me, James would not have suffered so.”
“We’ll talk about that later. We must hurry—mustn’t give Frances a chance to work her own rite.”
Annis stepped around Harriet, who swayed with the effort of controlling the manikin. She delved into the basket for the packet of herbs and the silver sewing needle. The saucer had cooled but was stained with the remnants of Harriet’s slurry. Annis crumbled the herbs into it. She gritted her teeth and pricked her thumb as deeply as she dared with the needle.
Her blood flowed more swiftly than Harriet’s. Perhaps she had gone deeper with the needle, or perhaps it was her youth, but the blood, ruby red in the growing light, flowed in a steady trickle into the saucer. She watched, fascinated by the way it shone, by the way the herbs soaked it up, as if they thirsted for a witch’s blood.
“Hair,” Harriet said, between gritted teeth. Her hands jerked and shook with the antics of the manikin. “There are scissors.”
“Yes! Just a moment.” Annis’s thumb continued to bleed, staining her coat as she dug out a pair of tiny ivory-handled scissors. She pulled a strand