Chapter 17

When preparing a meal, it's wise to leave a fistful of dough for the goddess Fate, for she is a jealous god. After the bread is baked, leave a pinch of it out to honor the goddess Time. Allow it to age and mold as order demands. For her sister Luck, toss a piece of bread into the fire. Allow the chaos to consume it. For Death, do nothing with your food. He is a lonely god. Death would rather we didn't eat at all so that we might come and visit with him sooner.

-A Witch's Guide to the Arcane

Rorick

Ifollowed Anita as she scurried down the hall, confident the tiny assistant would lead me back to her witch. Gilbert circled us overhead. The paintings of my ancestors had been replaced by images of a clown specter. The eerie dark eyes deep-set in the painted faces followed me down the corridor and around the bend. The little hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

I could hear Quiet's voice in the distance, coming from the sitting room that led to the west wing. She was talking to her sisters.

"Hecate is on the move," the one called Goose said, her voice jarringly young.

Quiet made an unhappy noise in her throat.

"I know she's not your favorite," Prim said in her sing-song tone, "but she's powerful and wise, and she's back in our world again. She's left her symbol of the reaping hook on the doors of several coven buildings. I think it's worth it to at least try to summon her here for help."

Quiet sighed. "I'm not against the idea. I just don't want anyone getting their hopes up. How many times have witches attempted to summon her in desperation, only for Hecate to never show?"

"Point taken," Prim said as I rounded the columned entrance and stepped over the river of inky rot on the floor.

The witches fell silent. Quiet's shoulders stiffened, but she didn't acknowledge me. Through the small opening, I spotted her sisters in a tight huddle out on the balcony, covered in matching woolen cloaks, hats over their brows.

Anita navigated from floor to wall, to floor again, deftly avoiding the darkness. Then she climbed Quiet's skirts and slid inside her pocket. I expected Gilbert to do the same, but he seemed determined to stick by me, landing once more near the collar of my shirt.

Prim held the parchment lizard between her sable arms. The fae creature flicked its barbed tongue at me. "I think he's ready for you now," she told Quiet, handing the lizard carefully through the hole made of scales, teeth, and old wooden doors.

Quiet took the creature, grasping him awkwardly around his middle so his legs flopped. Immediately the creature sprayed her in ink. Her clothing was protected by spells, of course, so gobs of black rolled down her cloak and onto the floor.

"Oy!" she groaned, holding him out at arm's length.

"Cradle him!" Prim scolded. It was the fiercest I'd ever heard the gentle woman speak. "Goodness me, even Astor did better than all that!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Astor rumbled, narrowing her ocean-colored eyes.

Quiet fixed her arms, supporting the creature's back and head with the crook of her elbow.

"Much better," Prim said soothingly. "There you are, my little friend. Nothing to be afraid of. Auntie Quiet will feed your hungry belly."

"Feed it what?" Quiet asked, rocking the creature disjointedly like she would a babe in need of soothing, only it was clear my partner didn't have a lot of experience holding infants.

"Feed him paper. I'm sure there's a library in there somewhere. Feed him until he's full, then ask him politely to show you the map of the castle. And that should do it. It was nice spending time with you, little one. Thank you for letting me study you," Prim cooed, waving her fingers at the parchment lizard.

"We'll feed him," Quiet said. Without meeting my eyes, she passed the lizard over to me.

I cradled the creature as best I could. I had about as much experience with babes as my partner did.

Quiet removed her hat and buried her arm inside, moving about heavy items, before she pulled out one of the leather-bound journals with the reaping hook symbol on the spine—a symbol I now knew represented the first witch, Hecate.

"I think you should read this," she told her sisters solemnly. "Penance wrote it. It was a lot to digest, but in the end, I think you should hear it all from her."

Prim looked stricken. When Quiet handed the small book through the opening, careful not to touch the blackened edges, it was Astor who finally accepted it.

"It's that bad?" Astor said, staring numbly at the small journal.

"It really is," Quiet confirmed, "but you deserve to know as much as I do. Have at it, but please do it no harm. It's evidence, and I still need it."

* * *

Seated before me on the settee in the library, Quiet held the lizard-like creature in her arms while I fed it pages from a book, a biography written by some astronomer. Gilbert sat on my shoulder, antenna twitching with interest.

"Our new friend seems less enthusiastic about those pages," Quiet noted. She still wasn't meeting my eyes, but at least she was talking to me. "He liked the novels better."

I grabbed one at random off the tall stack on the table beside me. I ripped free a page, balled it up the way the creature seemed to prefer, and held it out to him on my palm, like I was feeding a house cat.

The parchment lizard flicked its barbed tongue and ignored the offering.

I glanced at the title. It was a book of erotic illustrations.

"Not good enough for you? What a prude," I teased.

Quiet's lips quirked. The fae creature belched up at me, and its parchment throat wobbled.

"Perhaps he's full," she suggested. "Mr. Fae, sir, would you kindly show us your map now?"

"Please do," I added in case it was somehow helpful. The little I knew about the fae, they insisted upon great politeness, were easily offended, and never forgave an insult.

All three of the lizard's eyes slow-blinked as though he were growing tired. Quiet sat him down on the cushion beside her. He flattened onto his stomach. His body expanded, and his tail unfurled. Soon he was the map again, covered in ink and blue lines, looking innocently like an inanimate object.

She ran her finger gently over the blueprint, indicating markings on the first floor, inked squiggles and circles, inside the ballroom near the west wall. They matched the markings around the original master bedroom Quiet had noted before.

"Penance warded these two places. She used this map to plot her efforts." Quiet exhaled deeply. "I'd give anything to have her wand just now. One of these spots has to contain the entrance to the aqueducts. Vengeful spirits or not, I think that's our best chance out of here. With Penance gone, her wand is our only shot at getting through those wards. It can open any lock."

I wanted to be more helpful, but this castle was huge, and we still hadn't found Alex's Last Breath. Now we had to find a wand? "Do any of your sisters have a knack for wards and locks?"

"Not like Penance, but Prim was a close second. They spent a lot of time together. She might be able to help."

"And Prim knew about their courtship, too," I said nonchalantly.

Quiet glared. "What's that have to do with anything?"

"The Chief Inspector has been on my mind. He's determined to blame witches and rid the city of your coven. I worry he'll continue to attempt this even if we solve the murder. I want to help, so I'm trying to think like he would." I scratched at my forearm, wishing I hadn't spoken the words out loud. But I was stuck now. "You know I prefer to leave no stone unturned, no possibility unexplored. Chief Warren is the same way, and he has a bias against the preternatural. That bias is aimed at your coven. Prim is nothing more than a tiny probability in the back of my brain. I'm attempting to look at her the way he would. That's all."

"Prim," she said acidly, "is the sweetest person alive. She's hurt no one ever. The very suggestion would bring her to tears. She's not some monster like, like—"

"Me?" I guessed, matching her glower with one of my own.

Quiet didn't correct me, and my heart fell. I hated that she still thought of me that way, as some blood-hungry beast worth accusing of murder. She studied the map and ignored me. When she looked up next, she met my eyes and her expression softened. Whatever she'd been about to say, she abandoned it.

"Oh?" Quiet's brow smoothed. "Hold on now . . . Did I just hurt your feelings?"

"Yes," I breathed.

"Well then . . ." She wrung her hands together in her lap. "Stop that."

Her words surprised a laugh out of me. "That's it? That's all you have to say to me?"

"Oh dear," she added, floundering, fingers making knots in her dress. "I didn't mean to imply you were a monster. Of course you're not. Not that sort of monster, anyway. That's a monster," she said, pointing up at the corner of the room where inky rot veined outward across the walls like the roots of a great tree. "Alex and Penance were monsters. You're . . . not that."

"How eloquent," I said dryly.

Quiet sighed. "Hang it all, Rorick, you know I'm no good at this. I won't ever be able to say all those lovely things as well as you did before. I've no practice at flowery talk. So . . . please stop having hurt feelings. Right now!"

Her clumsy effort made me smile. "Are you trying to boss me out of feeling poorly?"

"Maybe." She bit her lip. "Is it working?"

I shook my head, sucking in my cheeks to hide my growing smirk. "Try harder."

Quiet rose to her feet, smoothing down her skirts over her thighs, biding her time. She took a step closer and reached for me, resting her warm hands on the lapel of my waistcoat. Her pulse beat double-time in her throat. I wanted to run my tongue over it.

She played absently with one of my buttons. "Please stop having hurt feelings. You're not a monster."

"I'm not?" I prodded, unwilling to let her off that easy.

"No. You're my vampire," she said quietly.

Warmth speared my chest, and my dead heart heated. I wanted to kiss her, but a matter lingered unsettled between us. The detective in me refused to leave it unsolved.

"Are you going to tell me why you shouted at me in our bedroom?" I demanded. "Or explain why you sprayed around that foul liquid in the first place?"

She twisted one of my buttons between her fingers, then released it to brush her hand along the paisley silk. "I'm figuring something out. That's all. I think I've almost solved it."

"Why not explain it to me so you don't have to feel angry anymore?"

"That's unnecessary. Anger is an emotion I'm accustomed to in your presence, Rorick."

"We figure things out better together. Have you noticed?" I challenged.

Her sigh was long-suffering. She bit her lip, her gaze dropping to the moth on my shoulder. "I know what I want. Gilbert keeps declaring it. He won't stay off you. I just haven't figured out yet what you want. If my assistant listened to your wishes, where would he take us? Where would he keep landing?"

My smile stretched so broadly it strained my cheeks. "He would land on you, of course."

"I suspected." She worked her throat, and her golden cheeks colored. "But do you want me for my blood or—"

"I want you for you," I said sternly, shifting in closer, crowding her space. "The sound of your voice, the turn of your mouth, the fall of your hair, the storm in your eyes—my good witch, there isn't a single thing about you that I don't find superior in every way, and it confounds me that a woman of your caliber, your intelligence, your aptitude, hasn't figured that out already on her own. It is because of those things that I find your blood appealing. Didn't the way we ended last night tell you this already? Your kiss was all I needed. It was never my intent to create another mystery for you."

Her mouth fell open. She closed it quickly and swallowed. "I need words like that from you, Rorick," she said. "Don't assume I'll be able to interpret your actions, and I'll try harder to do the same . . . and in a less bossy fashion."

I frowned at her. "Less bossy? Don't do that." Lowering my head, I whispered in her ear, "I like it when you boss me."

"Then it's settled," she said, and her voice cracked. She slipped her palm inside mine, tugging me along behind her, and my dead heart squeezed. "Come on. I need to have a look at the wards Penance built. Let's start in the ballroom since it's closer."

"Are we just going to leave the fae creature behind?" I asked. The map had returned to his lizard form and was sniffing around the end table for more pages to eat.

Quiet shrugged. "I don't see why not. He's lived here in the castle all this time, hasn't he?"

We made it as far as the banister, where the oil paintings of the eerie clowns came into view. The letters in reverse order were larger now, shouting at us: Save the children.

Quiet pulled up short, planting her hands on either side of her hips. "If you truly want us to save anyone," she scolded, her voice rising until it echoed, "then you'll have to help us first! Can't you see the predicament we're in? How are we in any position to save children stuck as we are! Save us, the lot of you clowns! Do you hear me? Put that magic of yours to good fucking use!"

"Feel better now?" I asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Not really, no," she huffed.

She led me down the stairs, bootsteps plodding. The walls on the first floor crawled like they were covered in leeches. The eerie sight made my skin pebble, and Gilbert tucked in closer to my collar like he didn't want to look at it either. Quiet quickened her pace. I was as eager to get out of the foyer as she was.

Rot seeped through cracks in the walls of the ballroom. The spacious chamber stunk like a sewer, but the oil-cloth-covered furniture remained untouched.

As we drew closer to the west wall, Quiet studied the ground beneath her feet, shifting her weight across the wood, testing each floorboard. The wood was heavily varnished. I spotted the gilded knot that reminded me of the charm I carried in my boot.

"There," I said, pointing to the circular ward in the floor. I rushed to it, holding air in my lungs so I didn't have to breathe in any more of the stench.

Quiet pulled her cloak up over her nose and mouth. "That's it." Her words were muffled by the wool. She felt the ward with the toe of her boot. "It's embedded in the floor, but see the cracks here?"

I did, and I was surprised she could see them. The lines were faint and blended in well with the natural grain of the wood. "Trap door," I said.

She smiled at me. "We found it. The way to the aqueducts. Our way out!"

"A path full of vengeful spirits," I reminded her.

Scratching and squirming echoed from behind the walls, punctuating my concerns.

"The eternal consequences locked away down there aren't for us, at least." She waved my words away. "It'll be no different than what we're already dealing with now. I'd like to tell Prim about this knot here to see if she has any insights on how I might untangle such a complex ward."

She dug out her journal and took a few moments to sketch the magical lock on a fresh page. Then she led the way out of the ballroom. We left the heavy doors open wide at our backs. In the foyer, I avoided looking at the entrance this time, where the squirming black scales writhed like a living organ. Gilbert tremored beside my neck. The steps creaked under our weight, echoed by the sounds of slithering creatures in the walls and under the floors all around us.

I knew before I saw the paintings on the second floor that something had changed. I felt it in the air, which had grown colder. The clowns still filled the frames, but their faces were gone, and beside each picture, a black hole not much bigger than a fist was centered in the paneling. Above each one, a colorful red and black arrow pointed down at the openings.

Like a carnival game.

Gilbert took flight, swooping toward the Trial of Arising, landing on the corner of a golden frame above the first picture of the faceless clown.

"I think the specters heard your demands," I said.

"I know this game." Her nose wrinkled. "I hate this game."

"What are we supposed to do?"

She sighed. "You select a hole, reach inside, and hope you get a prize. Most of the time, it's not a prize. Other times, it's really not a prize."

Side by side, we padded in closer to the trial, studying the black abyss. The holes were narrow and went down so steeply, there was no way to see what lay in wait at the bottom.

Quiet wrapped her arm in her cloak. "I'm protected. I'll reach inside first."

"My skin is hardier than yours," I protested. "I'll reach inside."

"How about we both do it?" Quiet reasoned. "You pick a hole, and I'll pick one. We'll get this silly game over with faster that way."

There were three pictures and six deep holes. I moved to the farthest hole and turned to face my partner.

She positioned herself at the first, nearest the banister. "Ready?"

We reached our hands inside at the same time. The hole kept going, growing colder and colder until it was up to my elbow. And then I touched something wet and slimy, and I winced.

"Ew," Quiet said, her face scrunching.

I pulled my hand out and found it covered in chocolate pudding. "Not a prize," I said, showing her my fingers. "What was yours?"

Quiet's face scrunched. "Through my cloak, it felt a bit like human hair."

"Repulsive."

"I think I'd like to trade sides. I'd rather have the pudding," she teased, moving to the next hole.

"Not a chance," I told her with a grin, sliding my hand into the next. "Ack. More pudding."

Quiet kept reaching, her forearm disappearing into the dark and then her elbow. "I'm not sure what this one is supposed to be . . ."

I jumped to the next hole. Almost immediately, my fingers connected with cool metal. I pulled it free and found a gilded locket shaped like a clam shell.

"Penance's wand!" Quiet shouted. "Oh, damn. My cloak is caught on something."

For safekeeping, I fastened the locket around my neck. "I'll help you get free," I said, sliding over to her side.

"Oy!" she gasped, her voice pitching high and her arm plunged in past her elbow. "Something's moving in here!"

"Take your cloak off!" I pulled at the clasp, loosening it. "Let it have it!"

"No, no! It's got my arm now. Oh fuck!" Quiet was jerked against the wall, arm buried up to the shoulder. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Fangs bared, I clawed at the wall, ripping paneling free and tossing it aside. Between the studs, thick black tentacles circled her cloaked wrist and elbow, working farther up her arm. More tentacles slithered out around the opening I'd made, grabbing for her waist.

"Quiet!"

"Take my hat!" She threw it at me and pulled the hood of her cloak up over her hair, concealing herself in her enchanted clothing.

I let the hat fall to the floor, grabbing for those inky black limbs, desperate to pry them off my witch, but they were stronger than steel bands and the harder I pulled, the tighter they flexed around her. I tore through one of them, only for two more to replace the first.

Quiet screamed out in pain. Panicked, I released the tentacles.

"Rorick," she panted, "listen to me! Don't follow the butterflies or the ants. Fear makes them freeze. The spiders, they're the cleverest. They'll help you."

More and more tentacles wrapped around my partner, covering her hips and shoulder in inky darkness. I wanted to tear them apart, but I was terrified that if I touched them again, they'd squeeze the life out of her.

Startled ants and trembling butterflies were the first to pour out of her hat.

"Just in case, Rorick," Quiet said, and she'd pulled her hood so far down her face, all I could see now were her lips moving, "I just want you to know—"

"Don't you say that to me," I choked. "Not like this, when you think you're dying! You're not dying! You say it later! When we've gotten you out of this! You hear me?"

Her smile was small and sweet. Wood splintered, and the walls turned black. Two portraits fell with a crash of breaking glass.

The wall, now covered in inky rot and scaly black skin, swallowed Quiet whole.

And for one heart-wrenching beat, I stood there frozen. The dead organ in my chest burned, and I snapped up Quiet's hat.

"Anita!" I screamed.

The familiar spider came rushing out of the dark opening that seemed to never end. An army of magical insects swarmed out of the hat so suddenly it slipped from my hands. Spiders and moths and butterflies and ants and beetles and blood bees. They heeded me, filling the walls on either side.

Quiet's last words echoed in my brain. I followed Anita and Gilbert. At the bottom of the stairs, a muffled gasp reverberated up through the floor and the wood groaned. I ripped up the boards and found Quiet, wrapped in tentacles.

"Rorick!" she begged.

I grabbed for her, but the inky limbs jerked her away from me, out of my reach, below the darkening floors in the direction of the ballroom. The other scar-weaver spiders glided down to the foyer. I trailed the blackening wood. Quiet's muffled screams guided me back to the ward and the trap door. I ripped up more floorboards, but there was nothing but writhing tentacles and inky death I couldn't touch, and the closer I got to the ward, the heavier the wood became, until I couldn't tear up the floor anymore. The magic was heavy and impenetrable there.

"Use the necklace string." The low voice came from the archway at my back.

I snapped to attention and found the hulking werewolf staring back at me with yellow eyes narrowed.

"That's what the other witch did," the wolf said. "Tie the string to match the knot."

"You told my partner you didn't know anything about the witch assisting Alex!"

The wolf shrugged. "I lied."

I pulled the locket off over my head. The chain came free in my hand when I tugged on it, and more golden links slid out of the locket to replace what I took. I tossed what remained back around my neck. Then I dropped to my knees and did as he instructed, bees buzzing in my ears. Gilbert blinked his blue light in my eyes. There were so many spiders scurrying across the ballroom floors, I could hear the pitter-patter of their tiny legs striking the wood.

I tied the knot to match the charm fused in the floor, then I rubbed it over the trap door warding the way I'd seen Quiet unlock the journal. The ward let off a dark mist and rose up out of the wood. The trap door cracked open, and a hiss of foul air streamed inside.

Gilbert flew at my face, glowing blindingly bright: a warning.

I leapt back just as three troll rats came hurtling out of the trap door. They looked like hairless ferrets, but with beady black eyes they stared in horror at me, a hunter and a predator in the ballroom. They began to change.

"Hurry!" the wolf barked.

In seconds the rats had grown twice the size of the average man with bulky, veined musculature and a rat-like face. I knew little of the creatures, but I soon got a taste of their strength. One batted at me with its great clawed hands and sent me flying across the room.

I landed on my side and turned it into a roll, rising to my feet and racing for the threshold. Blood bees swarmed one troll rat. Spiders shot thick webs at the others. Out in the foyer, the wolf and I slammed the doors shut and barricaded them with our bodies.

"We can't hold them," the wolf said.

"The castle has my partner!" I shouted, my vision tunneling, magic pumping ice cold dread through my veins. How long did she have? Was she already gone?

No, she hadn't left this world. We were so connected, she and I, I was certain I'd feel that somehow, either in my heart or my soul. I would know if we'd been separated completely in such a fashion.

"Go behind the stairs," the wolf said. "I'll open the door and lead the shifters away!"

"Why are you helping me?"

"To make the screaming stop," he whispered.

I would have believed just about any excuse over altruism, but what choice did I have? I followed his instructions, sprinting behind the stairs, listening for my cue.

I heard the doors part. The wolf whistled and hollered, and the massive steps of troll rats charging shook the ground. I waited until they continued their pursuit into the drawing room, and then I dashed back through the archway.

The trap door was open. Gilbert followed me into the deep, lighting the dark narrow tunnel and the steep stone stairs that spiraled downward. Spiders and bees joined me, their droning and scurrying a comfort to me now.

The stone tunnel opened into a cistern made of wet, dripping flagstones. Two large rusty mirrors hung on a columned wall. Darkness oozed from both mirrors to spread across the walls. Two massive tentacles as thick as tree trunks hung out from each reflective glass, disappearing beneath the water. The blue lights of the lightning beetles glittered inside the mirrors, but of course I was nowhere to be seen as I passed by. I had no reflection. I lowered into water that came up to my knees and heard the rush of more in the distance. Moldy damp filled my nose.

"Rorick!" Quiet screamed.

My heart leapt into my throat. I sprinted through the darkness toward her voice under a shroud of glowing bugs, moths carrying spiders, and a swarm of blood-red striped bees.

Under the water, the ground rumbled beneath my feet. Gilbert glowed brightly and swooped in front of me, another warning. A warning I luckily heeded, leaping back just as tentacles rose out of the murky depths. A wall of serpentine arms blocked my path to Quiet. I couldn't break through. I clawed and beat at them, but more slid into place to stop me. Winded and desperate, I fought harder, ripping through flesh that was thicker than leather.

I was getting nowhere.

Gilbert glowed brightly, swooping low, antagonizing the tentacles. The wall broke, grabbing for him. One long limb snapped out, striking my moth friend.

Gilbert's light went out with a sparkle of blue and gold. He flew no more.

"No!" Tentacles beat at me as rippling water carried Gilbert's body away.

There was no time to mourn the helpful creature, but I wouldn't leave him there to float in the rotten darkness where he didn't belong. Spiders came to aid me, building complicated nets with their webs. I fought my way to Gilbert, dragging the tentacle that wound around my waist, and I scooped him up out of the water, into the pocket of my waistcoat. When he was secure, I clawed at the tentacle, ripping the thick leathery hide until it released me, then charged forward like a soldier to battle. Fury fed my strides.

Black against black, my keen eyes slowly made out the lines of the horror before me.

Fed by the two thick trunks that poured from the mirrors was the biggest coffin-dweller I'd ever seen—quite possibly the biggest that ever existed—with limitless winding limbs jutting out from a giant eel-like body as long as a tower was tall. Like some ancient sea creature, it dragged Quiet into its circular maw with snapping tentacles and a writhing tongue. She hung out over its mouth, clinging to its scaly lips. Its wretched tongue was covered in sharp teeth, and it ground over the top of her protective clothing, trying to knock her loose. The sound was like metal scraping against metal.

Its midnight limbs attacked me. Blood bees struck tentacles down with dripping stingers. The ends of the limbs dropped off, the coffin-dweller sacrificing parts of its body to protect itself from their toxins.

But there was no shortage of reaching arms, no matter how many we battled. They grabbed at my legs, my hands. They shoved at me, trying to drag me under, but I could see my partner, and I tore at the tentacles that came too close with my fingers curled like claws and my fangs bared. The magic pooling in my mouth made my gums ache.

Spiders shot thick strands of webbing, creating complex nets to trap more reaching limbs. They built a protective barrier around my back.

The water deepened up to my waist, and finally I made it to her. I caught hold of Quiet's arms and pulled.

Quiet choked. One of the tentacles slipped around her throat. I jerked it off her neck and found more winding around her waist and legs.

"Put my hood back over my head!" she said.

I obeyed before that wretched tongue could tear her to shreds with its razor-sharp teeth. Hooking my hands under her arms, I pulled, groaning from the effort.

Quiet cried out. "Oh, fuck! Please, please stop! Rorick, you're going to rip me in two!"

I stopped and held her instead, panting in her ear, letting her warm breath puff against my cheek in turn. "Use magic!" I begged her, hoping she'd turn the monster into a gnat or an ant or—

"Ten witches wouldn't have enough magic to curse this massive thing!"

"What do I do? Tell me what to do!" I demanded. She always bossed me around. When my mind was stuck, I could count on hers to push us through.

"You-you . . ." She cast a glance behind her into the abyss. "I think you have to let me go." Her arms trembled against mine.

"Tell me something else to do!" I snapped. Thrashing tentacles sent up great splashes of water behind me. Spiders spun thicker and thicker webs.

"Do you still have that silver penknife? The one that belonged to Alex," she said weakly.

It was in my pocket, but it was such a tiny insignificant thing, and she was in my arms now. She needed me now. "I'm not letting you go!"

"It's going to rip my legs off or worse if you both keep pulling at me!" she sobbed. "Their hides are tough, but their bellies are softer." She let go of the edge of the shifter's mouth, burying her hands inside her cloak, tucking it tight around her body. "I'm ready. Let me go, and then come and get me out!"

I couldn't do it. I couldn't just . . .

"You have to do this!" she begged. "We can do this!"

The water was icy around me, and yet I felt hot all over. My ears burned with it. The phantom beat of my dead heart pulsed in my chest.

"That thing," she panted, "that I'm not allowed to say to you right now—"

"I know," I said, voice breaking. My arms tightened around her. "Me too. I'm getting you out, Quiet," I hissed in her ear, then I pressed a quick brutal kiss to her lips. "For luck!"

And I let her go.