Chapter 25

25

T he next day dawns full of frost, sparkling in the weak morning sunshine, and Delina throws on the magicked jacket once more and tromps outside, her chipped mug of coffee warming her hands.

Sure, they got frost in Prescott, but not like this. Not where every surface glitters with crystals, where every spruce needle catches the light, and the dead bird is…less.

She's not sure if it's because she's getting better or if more time has passed, more bugs crawling, and the hint of moss somewhere along the bones.

Even still, she finds herself wandering over to it and staring down at the small carcass anyways.

It's…just a bird. There's the puncture wound, with white bone exposed and shimmering with frost. The black feathers shine, and the eyes are beady and frosted over.

Some bug has been eating at the torn flesh around the wound.

Delina crouches next to it, not touching, but picks up a stick to prod it.

Cold still echoes through it, cold and the last remnant of terror, but less of the gut punch than it was before. There's something…there…though, and it itches at the back of Delina's mind, next to the certainty that she could make it fly again.

The ethics of being able to bring something back from the dead are mind boggling, and for a few moments it weighs against her, crouched there in the early morning frost. That somehow with her mother's letter, she became some sort of wretched arbitrator of life and death. That whoever around her could possibly be raised, based just on her whims.

She wanted to be powerful, but not quite like this.

Carefully setting the stick aside, Delina backs up, until she can sit on a wood stump and still stare at it.

Of course, bringing back this bird would be a bad idea. Would still signal to the demons in the area, and even though they couldn't get through the trap without Chloe, they could still wait.

But there's something in her own bones that tells her there is something else she could do with it.

"I wish I could fix this," she whispers to the dead bird in the still chilly air, but of course there's no response.

Someone to sort out what she's feeling, what she's sensing, and what she could actually do.

Of course, she could go and wake up Maison, but that too sounds like a bad idea. When he's been so uneasy sleeping, to disrupt feels a bit too cruel.

So instead she stands, breathes out, and tries to reach for the ribbon of magic that she knows flows through the area. It takes three tries of squinting through the frosted trees, before she glimpses it, knotted around some bushes. It's golden, still, and the entire world sheens with that same gold when she looks at it like that, but no matter how hard she tries, the magic won't fall into her hand like it did with Maison.

Sure, her fingers tingle each time she passes her hand through it, but it's still tantalizingly far away from her grip.

From the stories Gurlien has told, the other Necromancer is able to do all sorts of things. Use someone's death to bind a demon, control a demon, blast through their defenses.

And she's the peaceful one.

With the anger in her heart, right below the hurt and the indignantly of all of this being kept from her, Delina doesn't want to be peaceful.

Not when she can still feel the slump of Maison, the moment after the attack hit him, every time she closes her eyes.

A bird twitters in the branches above her, and when Delina glances up, there's the faintest outline of gold where it fluffs its feathers, its heart beating and its lungs still working.

It's cold, too, but there's a sort of joy inside of it, at the singing it's letting out, at the sharpness of the air inside. It doesn't hate the winter, not like she would have thought.

And despite that joy, despite the life above her, Delina's eyes fall back towards the dead bird.

It shines with the same gold as the ribbon winding through the property.

"Okay," Delina murmurs, raising an eyebrow at it.

If the other necromancer used something dead to stop someone, to bind someone, then there's nothing to stop Delina from at least attempting it.

At this point the smart thing to do would be to go get someone else to watch her, to stop her if she did something stupid. But Gurlien would lecture at her, Chloe would chatter, and Maison…

…Maison would probably tell her to stop before she tried, if the last week is any indication.

"Yeah no," she mumbles, then softly treads over to the dead bird.

It took a lot of conscious effort to raise Maison, a lot of thinking real hard about repairing the damage, about making sure everything is in place correctly, so this time she blanks all of that from her mind. Blanks the idea of stitching the frozen skin back together, of starting the lungs and heart, and just lets herself…think.

Slowly, she settles her hand on the dead bird, on the soft feathers, and instead of the injuries, instead of the clawing need to grasp and bring back, she concentrates on that shining gold inside of it, until it tangles within her fingers, more real and more solid than the strip of magic ever was.

Careful, she stands, and the coil of gold remains in the palm of her hand, leaving the dead bird.

And just like that, she can no longer feel the death in front of her. There's no more gut punch of awareness, no more itch under her skull, no more snapping of her attention.

"Oh," she murmurs, staring at the glistening gold.

The plastic door to the cabin slams open, and she doesn't need to turn to know it's Maison, clambering out onto the frost with just his socks over his feet.

"What did you just do?" His voice isn't accusatory, just very, very confused.

She glances over at him, and he's clearly in his pajamas, his hair sticking up in the back. "Go put shoes on if you're going to be out here."

He blinks at her, then down at the gold in her hand, then back up at her, uncomprehending.

His toes are already cold, obviously.

Delina sighs, then, cradling the gold, she walks back towards the cabin.

He doesn't move, his face bewildered. "What did you do?"

"I don't know," Delina says, then shoos him back into the cabin with her free hand. "Did I send up a demon flare?"

Slowly, he shakes his head, and she follows him in, and the cabin is a cocoon of warmth after the sharp chill of outside.

The gold in her hand pulses.

At the stove, Chloe drops the spatula. "What is that?"

Gurlien idly looks up at them, at Maison's confused face and Chloe's shocked, before narrowing his eyes at Delina. "Did you do something?"

"Yes, yes, she did," Chloe responds, her eyebrows raised, leaving whatever it is on the stove and crossing over to peer at Delina's hand cradling the magic. "I don't want to touch that."

"It's from the bird outside," Delina says, and Maison flinches, his face pale. "I didn't bring it back, I think I…took away the potential from it."

Chloe backs away from her, but Gurlien springs up from the couch.

"You took the life energy from a dead creature and are now able to hold it?" Gurlien asks, sharp. "Just by instinct, without coaching."

Delina nods, and the magic shifts ever so slightly in her hands.

"Shit," Maison mumbles, and he clearly is without coffee. "What the shit."

She throws him a look, and he's just staring at her hand. "Should I not have done this?" She asks.

This gets Maison's attention back up at her. "I…"

Delina sighs, crosses to the kitchen and swipes her free thumb on the coffee machine, then flops on the couch. Chance takes one glance at her before springing away and skittering under the bed in the other room. "Get some coffee," she says, as the espresso machine kicks to life. "I don't think this will go away."

Her instincts say it won't.

After everyone else has eaten breakfast and she's still on the couch, Maison sits back next to her, still staring at her hand, but his eyes are aware this time.

"Yeah?" Delina asks, raising an eyebrow at him.

"This is new to me, too," he says, and underneath his voice is a trace of panic, one that has her sitting upright. "Gurlien, any idea why this feels like a threat to me?"

"It's not a threat to me, it's just really weird," Chloe says, and she's still at the kitchen table, also watching her like a hawk. "Like looking at magic through a funhouse mirror?"

"I'm not threatening you," Delina informs him, but he shakes his head, like it's not what he means. "I was trying to hold the strip of magic to practice and this was…way easier to hold."

Gurlien sits on the armchair across from the couch, attentive, his face pinched, but puzzles over it. "Threat how?"

"I don't know," Maison replies, bewildered, and it's been a while since she's seen him this confused, even accounting for the drama she's put on recently. "I'm just…it's like staring at a sleeping snake."

"A snake?" Chloe says, skeptical. "I mean, I guess, it's a normal rope…"

Maison's already shaking his head again even before she's finished. "No. Like the…" he gestures to his head. "Like the hind brain fear of looking at a sleeping snake. You know it's dangerous, you want to react, but you freeze."

"I can take it back outside," Delina offers.

"No," Gurlien says, but he's a bit delighted, his eyes alight, which is weird. "It is a threat to you. To the demon side of you. Don't you get it?"

Maison only briefly glances at him, then back at Delina's hand, where the magic shifts again.

"The other Necromancer, she used a death to defeat the demon Terese, yes?" Gurlien starts, almost bouncing with excitement. "She controlled one demon and killed the other. Of course it feels like a threat to you. It's instinctual."

Delina and Maison eye each other.

"It's like reacting in fear to someone holding a weapon you don't understand," Gurlien continues. "Of course it matters who's holding it, of course it matters what they do with it, but it's absolutely still something you will just instinctively pay attention to. This is great."

Maison leans back, before rubbing his face. "Great."

Delina pokes the shifting magic in her hand, and it flexes as if it's a sentient thing. A thing that had abilities and wants and interests.

"Once I took this, I couldn't sense the bird anymore," she says, slowly piecing her words together. "So once I take this, I don't think I could bring it back."

"Grim," Chloe chimes in, but she drifts back to the stove for another serving. "So this is how Terese was conquered."

"I think," Gurlien replies, but his eyes are delighted still. "You just stumbled into one of the Necromancers natural defense mechanisms. I think."

Maison looks halfway caught between the eagerness and sheer discomfort of sitting next to her at this time. "And this means we can practice on some offense as well."

Delina pokes the magic again, it twines against her finger, kind. Like it recognizes her.

"Because if you snapped that in my face, I'm not sure what would happen."

"I'm more thinking she could tie it on your wrist and compel you. Or, you know, any actual demon. The theory is there, we have one possible occurrence, we can draw some conclusions, this is great."

For a few moments, Delina wishes that she could just sit here and enjoy the knowledge that she actually did something, to marvel at the sensation cupped in the palm of her hand, before she has to deliberate on what it's used for.

Instead, she lets it unfurl, keeping her grip on one part of it, so it drops like a length of rope, shimmering and glistening, and Maison flinches again.

"I'm not going to do anything to you," Delina tells him.

"I know, I know, it's just…so weird. So very weird." Maison shifts, and she's not sure if it's so he has a better look at the entire thing or if it's to get further away.

"Want me to take it back outside?"

For a few moments, she's sure he's going to say yes, and she regrets even asking. That she might've wasted the potential of the bird, that she might've removed any possibility, however remote, that she could've brought it back.

It must've shown on her face, for Maison's expression gentles.

"Or should I practice?" she asks, and it's better than letting it waste, and the rope thrums in her hand as if agreeing.

"Practice," Gurlien replies quickly, and Chloe's nodding at the table.

"It'd be smart," Maison says, and his voice is definitely not the strongest, and he swallows. "You could try some minor offensive on me, and I can tell you if it'd be something to pursue, at the very least."

"I don't want to make you…compelled…to do anything," Delina says, echoes of their conversation at the brewery pinging through her mind.

By the look of him, he's thinking the same thing.