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It took absurdly little time for the fire to build up. It was as if the branches sucked the heat right out of the
air and turned it into flame. Well, it was like that except the air certainly didn t get any cooler, and the
fire s dry crackle didn t seem to wipe any of the mugginess from the air. I felt like somebody d wrapped
my head in a wet wool blanket and put me down to roast.
Faye was still functioning with her eyes rolled back in her head, bright blackness tracking like she could
see. I was the only one who seemed disturbed by it, which struck me as wrong. How did people get used
to weirdness being an ordinary part of their everyday lives?
By accepting. I puffed out my cheeks until air squeaked through my lips, and sat down on a log to wait
out the preparations.
Five of the coven members, including Garth, had finished drawing a tremendously large circle around the
fire. Where trees intersected the circle, they d stopped and spoken with the tree before doing what looked
like drawing a thread through a needle, where the tree was the needle and the circle, the thread. It was
extremely polite. I had the peculiar feeling I could feel the trees pleasure at being asked to take part in
the ritual. I wondered if anybody d asked the branches in the fire if they d like to be burned. Probably.
They stood at five points. It didn t take a genius to figure out they were the points of a pentagram. I
worried my bottom lip, thought of heeding my teacher and accepting and honoring, and tried to see.
Rather: to See.
I wasn t very good at it. I didn t know if it was my own reluctance, or if it was that they practiced a
different kind of magic, or if it was something else entirely. If I stared at the fire and unfocused my eyes,
I could almost see the lines of power misting up like gray fog between the five points of the pentagram.
They came up one at a time, from Garth to Roxie, behind my left shoulder, then to Sam the underwear
model off in front of my right shoulder. Five lines, all of them nearly touching the fire, making it the
pentagram s heart. The five creators murmured a binding spell I assumed it was a binding spell, and
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tried not to wonder where that particular bit of knowledge had swum up from and then stepped away
from their points in the circle, the pentagram completed.
The circle itself shimmered very faintly, just like the air had been doing all day with heat. It had a sense
of purpose to it: the intent to disguise, although not to hide entirely. To an outsider, it would look like
more trees and grass, as if the circle were reflecting the natural state around it. I knew if I left the circle
now, I d be able to see them, because I knew they were there, but random passersby wouldn t see any
more than I had last night. No wonder the coven preferred to meet outdoors. The illusion wouldn t work
nearly as well inside.
We re ready.
I startled out of my contemplation of the circle and got to my feet. The rest of the six stood together, Faye
pointed in slightly the wrong direction, her rolled-back eyes wide. I fought off a shudder and shoved my
hands in my pockets. Okay, so what do we do?
Marcia frowned at me. She was good at that. Very imposing. I hunched my shoulders and felt a little
smaller. Do you agree to partake in this ritual willingly, Joanne? Beside her, the Elder asked Duane the
same question. He said yes. I squinted.
There s no sex, right?
Everyone but Faye looked exasperated at me. Faye looked exasperated at something over my left
shoulder. I stuck my jaw out, stubborn. I wanted a guarantee on this one before I went through with it.
Marcia sighed rather dramatically.
There is no sex.
Okay. I agree, then. But no sex.
Give me your hand.
I eyed Duane, who put his own hand out to the Elder without a fuss. I shrugged and put my hand out, too.
Okay.
Marcia sliced her fingernails against my palm and laid the flesh open to the bone.
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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Previous Contents Next
I stared at the blood welling up with an astounded sense of deja vu. It would hurt. Pretty soon it was
going to hurt a lot. The bone was already gone, hidden by pooling blood. Yep. Any second now, it was
going to hurt a whole lot. But right now, pure astonishment was keeping the pain at bay. It was very
interesting. I blinked up at Marcia, wondering if she would suddenly reveal herself to actually be my
teacher.
She didn t. She looked just like herself. Blood binds us to this earth, she said sonorously. Put your
hand together with Duane s.
That seems like a bad idea. One of the things I got to learn at police academy was how diseases like
hepatitis were spread. Smearing bloody hands with somebody else wasn t the best way to avoid that sort
of thing.
For pity s sake, Joanne! Must everything be difficult with you? Get a bowl, Marcia snapped to
someone else. I cupped my left hand beneath my right, catching blood that was now flowing over and
between my fingers. It still didn t hurt. For the moment, I was grateful.
I m not trying to be difficult. I really wasn t. If I was trying, I d have gone tearing off to an emergency
room, at the very least. Just, you know. AIDS, hepatitis, all that sort of thing. We didn t exactly
exchange blood tests, you know? I thought I was being very reasonable, for somebody who was
dripping her own blood all over the place. It probably helped that it didn t hurt yet. Neither, I
remembered, had the cut on my face that had left the thin scar on my cheek. I nearly lifted my hand to
touch the scar, but Marcia grabbed my wrist with a painful grip. Ow!
Then my palm started to hurt. It was worse, shockingly, than having a sword stuffed into my lung. That
had just been going to kill me. This was crippling. I could conceivably be unable to use my left hand
again. The line of pain burned up my arm and all the way down into my stomach, making me heave. If
Marcia hadn t had an iron grip on my wrist I d have fallen. I wasn t particularly grateful for the
prevention. I wanted to scream, but my teeth were clenched together and my throat was locked up, so I
just stood there staring at my bleeding hand. The edges of the wound pulsed with my heartbeat, blood
popping up in little bursts with each thud. My stomach rolled again, cold sweat sticking my tank top
along my spine.
Someone pushed an earthenware bowl beneath my hand and Marcia turned it palm down. My fingers
curled over my palm all on their own, which gave me hope that the tendons were all right. Blood
splooshed into the bowl, then began dripping down my hand like macabre finger-paint. After a moment
Duane s hand joined mine above the bowl, his blood pooling down into it as well. I could feel it when it
mingled with mine, tiny electric shocks snapping back up into my hand like drops of blood reversing
their fall. It stung all the way up into the nerve in my elbow, and made my stomach twist again. I felt
cooler for the first time in days, like all the sunburned heat was running out of my body through the cut in
my palm.
I looked up to see Duane s face as white as mine felt, his nose pinched and strong lines standing out
around his mouth. Well, crap, I whispered. My voice sounded like it came from far away, possibly
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