Talon catches it, cracks the cap, and downs half in one go. “Yeah, yeah.”
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then glances over at me, expression unreadable.
“No offense, Grim. I’m not judging. Get your power however you want.”
Wow.
I cross my arms, spine straightening, mouth flattening into a hard line.
“Thanks. I will,” I say, flat.
And for once, just once, Talon doesn’t make it worse. He just nods and drops onto the arm of a nearby chair, his usual swagger dimmed to a quiet simmer.
“Come here, Skye,” Nathaniel says at last, like he’s trying to guide the room back from the edge. He extends a hand to me.
I hesitate, then walk over and place my palm in his. He holds it for a second then lets go and presses something else into my hand.
It’s a bowl. The one filled with the ritual mix: my blood, Laura’s remains, the locket.
It’s revolting. Thick, dark, and metallic. A swirling soup of death and disgust.
But I guess these are the things you do to keep Death happy. This is one of them.
“We’re going to drop the wards,” Nathaniel says. “Once we give the signal, pour it into the circle.”
“Got it.”
“Be ready to blink out if this goes sideways,” Cassian calls from behind me. I glance over my shoulder.
“This whole thing has a high chance of being a scam, remember?”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “I remember.”
“Alright, let’s do this,” Nathaniel says.
Did I say I onlysort ofmissed Pain earlier?
I take it back.
There’s nothing; nothing worse than being without my raven. I feel bare. Exposed. Like I’m walking into battle naked. Not even cool fantasy naked. I’m talking nightmare naked. Middle school presentation and someone stole your clothes off the gym bench naked.
If this sketchy soup triggers anything, I’ll need my scythe like I need air.
And guess what?
I won’t get it.
Nathaniel moves to the corridor’s edge, where a makeshift wall of cartons holds the salt line in place.
He looks back at me.
“Here we go,” he murmurs, and breaks the line. “Now.”
I hear the others breaking theirs.
It’s my turn.
I step forward, and pour.
