I cork my vial. Return it to my holster.
The Shade stretches into a wisp of shadow, then reaches into the container—
I lunge for the edge of the circle. My shadows retreat just as I press my thumb to Bastien’s glyph, painting it with the drop of Calvin’s blood. The hum of my soul intensifies as the offering I gave to the circle resonates with the one that still lingers on my tongue.
Bastien’s solar magic imbues the circle, creating a dome of light four feet wide and six feet tall. Exactly to the specifications in my diagram. It’s so bright, it’s almost blinding. Only my half-Sinless nature enables me to look at it head-on.
An unearthly squeal comes from inside the dome, the Shade trapped with nowhere else to go but inside the vial.
I wait one second. Two.
Then I reach inside the dome, slam down the cork, and wipe my hand across the circle. The dome of light goes out at once, as does the pleasurable hum in my soul. My hand trembles in the aftermath of such powerful astrotheurgy. The vial within is full, the Shade captured. I tuck it into my holster, catch my breath, and use my boot to wipe away all remaining evidence of the diagram. Then I round the wagon toward the campfire.
Not a single Shade remains, all having fled at the burst of light.
Four sets of eyes stare at me. Calvin wears a grimace, while the rest emanate trepidation. Bard’s hands have gone still over his strings. Harlow’s quill has frozen on her paper. And Inana burns me with a glare, chest heaving. She speaks through her teeth. “What the fuck was that?”
Chapter Eleven
Inana
Dominic holds my gaze, jaw tense, before facing the wagon. “We need to go. Now. Calvin, hitch the horses. We’re leaving.”
Calvin obeys, striding across the clearing to where the horses were tethered to graze. The rest of us exchange looks. None of us are keen to argue with his decision to leave after having been surrounded by Shades, but I don’t fully understand his haste. Until I saw that flash of light, I wasn’t afraid. Just like Dominic had said, our art calmed the monsters. Their postures slackened. Some had begun to drift away. What we were doing was working.
He’s the one who interrupted us with that…that light. It wasn’t a burst of flame or anything natural. It was solar astrotheurgy. The same kind of light used to ignite the Holy Braziers. The kind of magic that requires a heart sacrifice.
I narrow my eyes at him as he approaches us with a cloth sack, but what he extracts steals all my attention.
“Keep these with you from now on,” he says, handing Bard the same bronze mask he wore at the Wretched Lair, its shape reminiscent of a wolf’s face. Then he gives Harlow hers, an elegant oval decorated in roses and twining snakes. Finally he hands me mine. I stare wide-eyed at the floral filigree, the sunbeam spikes at the top, the trailing beads.
“Where did you get these?” I ask.
“Rockefeller. Before we left Nalheim. It’s essential that Summoners work masked. Keep yours hidden beneath your cloaks unless you’re doing anything that could draw Shades. So next time you engage in story time, make sure you protect your fucking faces.”
“Why didn’t you give these to us from the start?” I say as I tuck my mask into one of the padded pockets on the inside of my cloak.
“I didn’t think you were going to do something so reckless before we’d even begun to train.”
I scoff. “We were conversing during daylight. I already told you I wasn’t lying. Furthermore, why didn’t you give us these instead of telling us to raise our hoods?”
“You had your cloaks on your person.”
“When you gave us our things,” Bard says, accusation lacing his normally empty tone, “you could have handed them over.”
Dominic rubs a hand along the sharp line of his bearded jaw, brow furrowed as if he’s debating telling us something. He seems to think better of it and stalks toward his sword and whatever other belongings he left by the stream.
I shadow his steps. “Could it be you were hoping we wouldn’t see your little display if we had our heads lowered?”
“Whatever do you mean.” His voice is flat, devoid of question. He straps on his sword, gathers the cloak he used as a pillow during his nap, then strolls back toward the wagon, where Calvin is still hitching the horses.
I match my pace to Dominic’s. “What were you doing with that Shade? The one under the wagon?”
“Shadowbane business.” He climbs into the driver’s seat, and Calvin hands him the reins.
He’s delusional if he thinks that’s the end of this conversation. Grinding my teeth, I hitch up my skirts and climb right up beside him.
His eyes widen as I plant myself on the seat, our arms pressed together. He fumbles the reins, and once he reclaims his hold on them, he pins me with a hard look. “What are you doing?”
