I stand slowly, examining the circle. Just salt. White and fine. I swipe my finger through the herbs scattered on the floor.
“Rosemary?” I frown. Memory and protection. Classic.
I test the barrier carefully. It pushes back. Just a fraction. Just a bit. Like pressing against a tube of water. Resistant but not solid.
I could walk through it.Probably.
But I’m not sure what it would cost me.
And their voices rise. Louder. Louder.
The whispers have become a chant. The chant has become something that vibrates in my chest cavity like a second heartbeat.
“Morrigan?” I try again.
No answer.
This is not looking good for me.
I’m not afraid. Not really. Morrigan will only do to me what she thinks is best.
Right?
There’s a strange part of me that doubts my faith in her. Sure, she raised me as a babe. Wove glamour so deep into my essence that I forgot I was ever anything but human.
But would she hurt me?
“Dagda needs to make BBQ sauce,” I announce to no one, glancing toward the dark kitchen. No large father god there. Just shadows and silence and the growing sense that I’m about to be very, very sorry I didn’t wake up screaming.
They’re still ignoring me.
That’s when I feel it.
A tingle that starts in my toes. Working up slowly. Calves, knees, thighs. And with it, a smoky haze that bubbles up inside the salt circle. Not coming from outside. Coming from me.
True panic tries to weasel its way inside. My heart rate spikes. My palms go slick.
I blow out a breath and swallow it down. Panic is a luxury. Panic gets you killed.
The goddesses are worthless right now. Can’t rely on them. So maybe magic. I reach for that wild thing inside me, the thorns, the power, the green-gold light that’s been growing stronger every day.
And find...nothing.
“What the fuck?” I snap my hands out, fully expecting thorns to spiral from my skin.
Nothing.
I try again. Reach for the wild thing inside me, the green-gold light, the power that’s been growing stronger every day.
Nothing. Like reaching for a limb that’s been amputated.
The salt circle. Oh, these bitches are going to pay for this.
“Morrigan!” I yell now, stepping toward her. “Morrigan!”
Her eyes are turning. Not black like her sisters. Something far creepier. Whitish-grey. Corpse white.
I punch the barrier.
