blood from a spell I found on the body of a man I killed with my psychopomp? That’ll be no problem at all.”
He hunched his shoulders a little, rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “Were only giving the fuckin ask, yay, no needing to get all fuckin rumbly-sharp on it.”
She glanced at Terrible, whose features were arranged into the carefully blank look he always had when she bickered with Bump. He’d been wearing that look more and more lately, hadn’t he?
Something to worry about later. “It might be some sort of powdered herb in there, or … well, almost anything can be powdered. Bones, animal parts—I don’t know how to figure it out, really. But whatever it is, this is a fuck of a spell.”
“Know what the purpose is?”
“Yeah, I think so. The hair, the fingernail clippings—it’s a binding spell. A control spell. I don’t know for sure how it works or how magic got inside him like that, but I think the spell is the reason why he killed Yellow Pete and attacked us. The spell made him do it.”
Terrible considered that for a second. “Be why he ain’t died, too?”
She nodded, the realization taking shape in her mind as she spoke. “His soul—if the soul is under that muchcontrol, I mean, if it’s been so strongly ordered to carry out a particular task, it’ll force the body to keep going. Like, you know how under hypnosis, people can be injured without feeling it?”
“Aye.”
“That’s kind of like what this is. His soul isn’t his own, it’s powered by someone else, which means his body is powered by someone else. So it doesn’t matter what happens to his body. As long as it can move, it will.”
They were silent for a minute, absorbing that. With every passing second the implications grew worse; with every passing second the blood on her gloves looked darker, more threatening.
Terrible finally spoke. “So whoever made that spell got heself a killer ain’t can be killed, aye? Got heself a weapon can be used anyplace.”
She nodded.
Bump raised his eyebrows, tilted his head. “Damn, then, Ladybird. Lookin like you got some fuckin tough work coming, catchin em all.”
She’d just tucked her new psychopomp into her bag and headed through the vast dark-wood hallway when Elder Griffin stepped out of his office and smiled. “Ah, good morrow, Cesaria. I trust you are well?”
She gave him a quick curtsy. “Very well, sir.” Aside from the scrapes and the bump on her head and the fear a decent night’s sleep hadn’t chased away completely, of course, but that wasn’t something she could tell Elder Griffin about. Sure, she liked him a lot, and sure, he liked her, too, but some things were best kept to herself. “And you? Nervous?”
“I confess I am, a bit.” His face colored slightly, almost pinkish beneath his pale hair. “It seems to be coming up awfully fast. You are still— That reminds me. Come in, please?”
Elder Griffin’s office soothed her; it always did. The smell of herbs, the shelves stuffed with books and jars of spell ingredients and skulls and bones … Those shelves were empty today, of course, since he’d be moving to a new position after his wedding, and boxes sat everywhere on the carpet, but it was still his office. His heavy desk before the window, and his antique globe on astand near the small easy chair. Chess especially loved the globe. Seeing where the countries had divided in the days BT—Before Truth, when people still believed in gods and the dead hadn’t risen to kill so many people—fascinated her.
She sat down in the wooden chair before his desk. “Yes, sir? Is everything okay?”
He smiled, that peaceful smile that made him look so kind. He was kind. He was, in fact, one of the only—no, the only—truly, completely kind person she’d ever met in her life. “Perfectly well, my dear. I simply forgot to have you sign for your bonus yesterday. And I confess I am a bit at loose ends today. So much happening …”
“Of
He hunched his shoulders a little, rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “Were only giving the fuckin ask, yay, no needing to get all fuckin rumbly-sharp on it.”
She glanced at Terrible, whose features were arranged into the carefully blank look he always had when she bickered with Bump. He’d been wearing that look more and more lately, hadn’t he?
Something to worry about later. “It might be some sort of powdered herb in there, or … well, almost anything can be powdered. Bones, animal parts—I don’t know how to figure it out, really. But whatever it is, this is a fuck of a spell.”
“Know what the purpose is?”
“Yeah, I think so. The hair, the fingernail clippings—it’s a binding spell. A control spell. I don’t know for sure how it works or how magic got inside him like that, but I think the spell is the reason why he killed Yellow Pete and attacked us. The spell made him do it.”
Terrible considered that for a second. “Be why he ain’t died, too?”
She nodded, the realization taking shape in her mind as she spoke. “His soul—if the soul is under that muchcontrol, I mean, if it’s been so strongly ordered to carry out a particular task, it’ll force the body to keep going. Like, you know how under hypnosis, people can be injured without feeling it?”
“Aye.”
“That’s kind of like what this is. His soul isn’t his own, it’s powered by someone else, which means his body is powered by someone else. So it doesn’t matter what happens to his body. As long as it can move, it will.”
They were silent for a minute, absorbing that. With every passing second the implications grew worse; with every passing second the blood on her gloves looked darker, more threatening.
Terrible finally spoke. “So whoever made that spell got heself a killer ain’t can be killed, aye? Got heself a weapon can be used anyplace.”
She nodded.
Bump raised his eyebrows, tilted his head. “Damn, then, Ladybird. Lookin like you got some fuckin tough work coming, catchin em all.”
She’d just tucked her new psychopomp into her bag and headed through the vast dark-wood hallway when Elder Griffin stepped out of his office and smiled. “Ah, good morrow, Cesaria. I trust you are well?”
She gave him a quick curtsy. “Very well, sir.” Aside from the scrapes and the bump on her head and the fear a decent night’s sleep hadn’t chased away completely, of course, but that wasn’t something she could tell Elder Griffin about. Sure, she liked him a lot, and sure, he liked her, too, but some things were best kept to herself. “And you? Nervous?”
“I confess I am, a bit.” His face colored slightly, almost pinkish beneath his pale hair. “It seems to be coming up awfully fast. You are still— That reminds me. Come in, please?”
Elder Griffin’s office soothed her; it always did. The smell of herbs, the shelves stuffed with books and jars of spell ingredients and skulls and bones … Those shelves were empty today, of course, since he’d be moving to a new position after his wedding, and boxes sat everywhere on the carpet, but it was still his office. His heavy desk before the window, and his antique globe on astand near the small easy chair. Chess especially loved the globe. Seeing where the countries had divided in the days BT—Before Truth, when people still believed in gods and the dead hadn’t risen to kill so many people—fascinated her.
She sat down in the wooden chair before his desk. “Yes, sir? Is everything okay?”
He smiled, that peaceful smile that made him look so kind. He was kind. He was, in fact, one of the only—no, the only—truly, completely kind person she’d ever met in her life. “Perfectly well, my dear. I simply forgot to have you sign for your bonus yesterday. And I confess I am a bit at loose ends today. So much happening …”
“Of
Similar Books
