A feeling of dread settled over Prospero. Something in Bernice’s expression was ominous, though Prospero wasn’t certain what it was yet.
“Scylla shouldn’t be in the woods at this hour.” Prospero took a too-deep breath. There were few people she counted as friends. Scylla was one. “Take Ellie home.”
“No! I can help you. Whatever it is, I’ll help,” Ellie said, moving away from the interrupted reparations around the rift.
Prospero glanced at Bernice, and then looked at Ellie. She was the person who mattered most to Prospero, the person who was integral to saving Crenshaw. “I need to know you are safe. Take her to the castle, Bernice.”
Before Ellie could reply, Bernice took Ellie’s arm and transported her away.
Away from repairing the rift.
Away from any possible threat lurking in the wood.
Away from whatever had kept Scylla in the forest this late.
9Prospero
In a wobblier than usual lurch, Prospero tried to teleport to the barrier, but…nothinghappened—which made no sense. She’d popped there on more occasions than she could dare count. The barrier was one of the markers that she used when she went between Crenshaw and the Barbarian World. It was her landmark.
Why can’t I teleport to the barrier?
She tried again, feeling for the unique magic that rippled over the edge of their world.Nothing.The well of magic she usually could call upon did nothing at all. Prospero was standing exactly where she had been a moment prior.
Although there was a magical repulsion on the barrier, causing nonmagical people to turn away, Prospero, of course, was not affected by it. She should have been able to transport herself to it. She’d done so literally hundreds of times. She couldn’t transport to a person in this world, but she could transfer her presence between landmarks. It was a magic that she was especially adept at. She had only to visualize the space around her focal point and will herself to it.
And the barrier was a spot as clear as her own home.
Today, though, she could not move herself to the barrier. Prospero’s alarm built closer toward panic as she stayed exactly where she was. It made no sense.
Visions of the dead witches who had been found in the woods and in the fields over the prior weeks crept into Prospero’s memory, accompanied by snippets of Mae’s panicked words over the way the poison from the rift had stolen their lives.Had Scylla fallen ill?She was the head of her house, the strongest illusionist in Crenshaw. Surely the illness couldn’t strike her.
If it could fell her, they were all looking at imminent death.
Prospero tore toward the barrier, unmindful of the trees lashing her face and arms as she pushed saplings and new branches aside. She stumbled over large, fern-hidden rocks, and she slammed to the ground at least twice. She continued forward, though. Somehow, the forest undergrowth seemed thicker today, although logic said it was simply impatience because Prospero had to run rather than transport herself there. Thorned branches snatched at her cloak; leaves crunched underfoot as she moved faster and faster.
“What good is teleporting when I can’t get to where she is?” Prospero muttered, scanning for her missing friend as she got closer to the barrier.
Wisely, Prospero slowed her pace in case of alerting anyone or anything with her crashing noise.Could there have been a predator? A bear?That made more sense than a sudden sickness. Prospero kept her mouth closed as she approached where the barrier—and the witch who maintained it—ought to be.
And of all the possibilities, what she saw had not even been the possibility of a thought. The barrier was simply not there. The space where the illusion of rock and bramble had been for over a century of Prospero’s life was wide open, as if the door of a house had been torn away.
Now, instead of the illusion that hid Crenshaw from nonmagical gazes, there was nothing but air. Beyond their home, the road they tookto the town was plainly visible—which meant that anyone standing there could walk right into their hidden home.
I need to tell Walter!
Before she could leave, a sound drew Prospero’s gaze away from the vast nothingness. Someone or something was cloaked by the tangle of shrub and fallen leaves to her left. She followed the noise. There, Scylla was motionless on the blood-soaked ground. Her eyes were closed, and her chest did not appear to be moving. Her hands were clutched on her belly where a mound of bloody moss was.
“Scylla!” Prospero dropped to her knees, feeling for a pulse in Scylla’s throat.Nothing.“No, no, no. Witches aren’t to die this young. Come on, Scylla. Please…”
Prospero scooped her into an awkward embrace and transported them directly into the infirmary. She’d done so for plenty of new witches, including this one once upon a time. It had never been quite as terrifying.
“Mae! I can’t find a pulse.” Prospero stumbled toward a bed, but she didn’t know how to lower Scylla to the bed without falling on her. “Mae! Help me!”
Dr. Mae Jemison appeared almost at the same instant as Prospero called for her. She was well used to remedial witches arriving in sorry states.
“Are we expecting a—” Her words died abruptly. “Scylla?Bring her here.”
“Trying,” Prospero bit out.
