My stomach twisted at the thought. Seeing Daigh through that mirror, hearing him talk about the destruction of humankind as if it was nothing, was like stepping into a cold shower, it brought home just how precarious our situation truly was, just how little control we actually wielded. We were only seven days away from the full moon, and we still didn’t have a solid plan. If Daigh didn’t take the deal Maeve offered him, we’d have to fight. Even if we did manage to beat the Slaugh back with our belief magic, we wouldn’t escape unscathed. People would die.
You’re useless. What’s the point of collecting all those herbs? What’s cooking going to do to help fight the Slaugh? They’re all going to die. Everyone you love is going to die.
My skin itched and crawled, like it was about to slide off my bones. My muscles tightened, desperate to stop what I was doing and fulfil one of my counting rituals to relieve the tension and feel like I was doing something, anything, that might actuallyhelp.
No,I told myself, and the voice relented, just a little. Ever since the ritual in the early hours of this morning, I’d been feeling calmer, like I had more control over the rituals and thetics and the voice. I told it to go away and it did, for a few minutes at least.
In the kitchen, I set down the trug and ducked under the sink to pull out my drying racks and paper bags. When I stood back up, I wasn’t alone.
“Hey.” Corbin leaned against the doorframe. “What are you doing?”
“Replenishing some of my stores,” I said, as I set one of my drying racks down on the island and started laying out the herbs. They needed to be dried for a few days in the airing cupboard. I separated out seven sprigs of rosemary, tied them together with string, and looped the string around the top of a small paper bag. I punched five air holes in the bag (always five. It had to be five), and tied it to the rack.
“Good idea. We never know what scrapes Flynn might get into next,” Corbin grinned. He stood opposite me at the counter and rested his hands on the countertop. I stared at his fingers, at the mythological tattoos swirling down his forearms. “What’s the paper bag for?”
“It speeds up the drying time, and it also catches any seeds that fall, so I can use them, too.”
“Clever. But then I’m not surprised. You know exactly what to do with all this stuff.” Corbin shuffled on his feet. “Rowan, I want to ask you something.”
I picked up seven sprigs of thyme and wrapped the string around them. I couldn’t force myself to look up at him. Tension flared between my shoulders, beckoning me to count and dispel the nerves that shot through my body.
He regrets last night. He doesn’t want to be with me any more. It was the most amazing night ever but he thinks I’m disgusting?—
“I noticed that last night you didn’t come down to count the window panes. Is everything okay?”
I dropped the sprigs on the floor.
He’s right.
Ihadn’tcounted the window panes last night, or the night before, or any of the nights since the one Corbin and Maeve and I spent together in London. In the two years I’d been sober at Briarwood, I hadn’t gone a single night without counting the window panes in the Great Hall while drinking my tea. I had to do it, or something horrible would happen to Corbin.
But I hadn’t done it last night. I hadn’t evenwantedto do it after that ritual. It never even occurred to me.
What does thatmean?
“Everything’s fine,” I whispered. And it was.
That fact was terrifying.
The voice had never been silent for so long before. Usually, if I was even a half hour late for the window-pane counting ritual, the fear would twist in my gut. But I hadn’t evennoticed.
Panic shot through me, and I had to give in to the urge now.One…two…three…I counted out seven stalks of feverfew. I couldn’t look at Corbin.
“When you were talking to Aline, you got so anxious you fainted. You stopped breathing. Your pulse was so weak I could barely feel it. If I hadn’t known how to perform mouth-to-mouth, you’d be dead right now.”
“I know,” I whispered. “It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have asked about my parents. I should have counted the window-panes.”
“Rowan.” Corbin’s voice dropped half an octave. It sent a shiver down my spine. “I think you should see a doctor.”
“No doctors. I’m fine.”
“This isn’t going to be like rehab. They’ll?—”
“I don’t want to.” I knew what would happen when I went to a doctor – they’d give me all these horrible tests that would confirm what I already knew – that I was broken, messed up onthe inside. They’d put me on drugs that made me not myself, that made me forget about how much I loved Maeve, and Corbin. Or worse – they’d lock me away like Robert Smithers, and I’d never see them again.
Corbin sighed. “It’s your decision.”
“You’re not mad?”
