you.” My expression hardened. “I need to get ready. Lock the doors when you go.” I didn’t need to add that what they found when they came back in might not be pretty. We all knew that part.
“I won’t forgive you if you die,” said Connor sternly, walking over and hugging me.
“Understood.” I returned the hug, enjoying the familiar solidity of him almost as much as I enjoyed knowing that my pleasure in the gesture was real; no magic required. What I felt for Connor was genuine in ways that Alex could never understand. “I’ll be fine.”
“Don’t lie. Just don’t die on me, either.”
“I promise it’s not a goal.”
He released me, turning to follow Elliot out of the room. Quentin lingered, looking at me anxiously before ducking out, pulling the door shut behind him. The bolt clicked a moment later. If I survived, I could shout for my freedom.
It was going to be a long night.
I drank my coffee slowly, savoring it, but decided against another cup. When I tired of pacing and worrying about what was going to happen I stepped into the circle, settling carefully into a cross- legged position. Breaking the protective seals wouldn’t be the dumbest thing I’d ever done, but it might be the last. Time to wait.
If dawn is human-time, sunset belongs to us. I can’t always feel it coming—it’s subtler than sunrise—but sitting in the middle of a half-started ritual, I couldn’t miss it. It didn’t feel like enough time had passed when the air started to tingle around me, signaling the sun’s descent. It was time to start. Oak and ash preserve me.
I removed the bandages from my left hand, grimacing at the state it was in—the broken glass had already done a number on it, and I was about to make it worse. Drawing Dare’s knife, I placed it across the midpoint of my palm. I hate the sight of my own blood, but the Luidaeg was specific: it had to be the blood of the summoner, or it wouldn’t work. I couldn’t even choose a less essential extremity. My choices were hand and heart, and of the two, I knew which was more likely to be fatal. I just had to hope I wouldn’t need any fine dexterity in the next few days.
Holding my breath, I jerked the knife across my hand.
The blade was sharper than I thought. I dropped it, swearing. It didn’t matter; my part of the bargain was fulfilled. Blood was already welling up, running in hot ribbons down my arm. I unwrapped the mandrake shakily with my right hand, letting it roll onto the floor before cupping my hands together, letting my blood pour over it. The root writhed, soaking up the blood as fast as it fell. Drinking it in.
“My name is October Christine Daye, daughter of Amandine, and I am here to petition for your attentions,” I said, concentrating. The air hummed with the copper and cut grass scent of my magic as the flowers piled around my ritual circle burst into blue-green flame. The candles lit themselves, and the overhead lights crackled, sending out sprays of sparks before going dark. A stabbing pain hit me behind the eyes. Magic- burn. I was going to pay for this night’s work. I just hoped it would be worth it.
The room began to fill with thick, sweet smoke as the flowers burned. I kept letting my blood fall across the mandrake, trying to ignore the way the temperature was dropping, despite the fires. “I’ve brought you blood and flowers and salt from the sea. All our Courts together here support my plea.” The mandrake whimpered. I raised my hand, bringing my bloody fingers to my lips and kissing them. “I bring you life.” Reaching down, I pressed my fingers to the mandrake’s “head.”
The root stopped writhing, opening eyes like chips of summer ice. Before it could dodge or squirm away, I grabbed Dare’s knife and drove it through the mandrake’s body. The mandrake screamed, outer layers peeling away until a tiny, perfect duplicate of myself was writhing naked on the point of the knife. I slammed my hands flat against the floor, gritting my teeth as I said, “If I could speak with you for a moment . . .”
The room went silent. The mandrake stopped screaming, staring past me in terror, and even the crackle of the flames faded and died. A low buzz crept into the silence: the beating of the night-haunts’ wings. I