Phoenix Academy - Lucy Auburn Page 0,44

not what we do with our dead. It's a perversion of our practices. We've been burned, drowned, and buried for too long. Our bodies are meant to be given over to the land—to be laid on the ground and have our sisters and mothers and aunts call to the wilderness until every inch of our remains is covered with creeping vines and blooming roses. We become one with the earth, not rotted refuse beneath it.

I walk cautiously towards the wild acreage behind the church. If I'm lucky, he will have buried her in a shallow grave, and my ghostly fingers will be able to dig her up. Somehow I doubt that will happen, though. At least I'll be able to say prayers over her body. When I'm done, roses will bloom and water will run clear near her resting place.

Lizzy. Little Elizabeth Wolfe, who I teased and rolled my eyes at. Who rolled her eyes back at me and stuck her tongue out. My sister and my closest friend. Taken from me forever.

Taking a deep breath, I walk directly towards her presence.

And stop in shock when I see her.

Not buried beneath the ground, but standing on it. Not in spirit form, but body and soul—whole and very much alive. My mind whirls, and I have to stare for several moment to understand what I'm seeing.

Pale blonde hair. A skinny body, with long limbs stretched by growth. That birthmark on her right calf in the shape of a crescent moon. She's facing away from me, but I would know my sister anywhere.

Rushing towards her, I cry out, "Lizzy! Goddess, I can't believe it's really you—"

She turns to face me.

She hears my voice, even in spirit form.

But the face that looks at me isn't one that I recognize. I stop in horror, words of love and reunion strangled in my throat.

Her eyes are near-white and terrifying, the iris barely visible, her pupil a tiny speck in a circle of cloudy grey. The hair around her face is white and colorless, devoid of life and dried out.

What's really different is her expression. Gone are the laughing lips, the dancing eyes, the joy and life. My little sister's face is missing everything I ever saw on it. Her lips are twisted in a sneer, and a harsh, jagged scar runs across his eyebrow, lifting it like she's constantly judging those around her.

"You." Her voice is full of hate. I take a stumbling step back, hearing the Heretic in her tone and panicking. "You shouldn't be here!"

She screeches like a banshee and lunges for me.

I windmill back, terror filling me even in my spirit form.

Grey-white fire leaps from her fingers.

Then suddenly I'm yanked back—hard and fast. I fall down, down, but instead of hitting the ground I'm yanked through it. Blackness surrounds me. For a moment I feel as if I'm falling straight into nothingness, nowhere, to be forgotten forever.

Until I gasp and open my eyes.

My body—my true body—is numb all over. Sheets swathe me, and the smell of antiseptic greets my nose. Blinking, I force sleep from my eyes and focus on my surroundings: white ceiling, white walls, and... a familiar face.

"Auerbach." My voice is creaky. Coughing, I sit up—and flop back down as exhaustion hits me. "Where am I?"

"The infirmary." Mage Auerbach gently puts a small glass of water in my hands. "Here—drink. You're probably thirsty. Don't try to sit up. I've done my best to keep your body well and in shape, but your muscles will still be weak. Take small sips and try not to exert yourself."

I do what he says, mostly because I don't have the energy to try much. My mind is still racing. Lizzy—because that was my sister, I feel it in my bones—looked completely different.

Almost like she died and was brought back without a soul.

But no, I can't believe that of her. She had the Heretic voice on her lips and soulless eyes like him, but I felt her spirit. It was there, even if things weren't quite right with her. And flames leapt from her fingers—something no soulless Husk could ever do, as far as I know.

After I've cleared my dry throat, wet my tongue, and gotten my lungs to work consistently, I turn to Auerbach and ask him my most pressing question. "How long have I been out of it?"

He grimaces. His eyes are full of sympathy—and pity. "It's been a while. A lot has happened."

"How long?"

"Six months." My stomach drops. "We weren't even sure