Chapter 10
TEN
You shall become my flesh.
Ah, said the silver spirit as it dripped from the frame. You call me forth again so soon? Have you changed your mind? Have you come to beg and to plead? It is no use. I have no heart, little witch.
“I have the items,” I said firmly, clutching the incense. My frantic breaths turned to mist in the frigid air. “I want to trade them for the secret.”
It stilled for a beat, as if surprised. A hiss sliced the air. Is it true? Its eagerness made me shudder. You have the items? You have all of them?
“I do,” I said cautiously. A dark whisper stirred at the back of my mind, urging me to proceed with care. To be sharp and clever. “What are you going to do with these items?”
Ah, but I trade the secrets of others, little witch, not my own. I told you I am lonely beyond that mirror. Your gifts will ease me.
I hesitated another moment before I revealed the feather, the flask, the belladonna flower. I kept my fingers firmly closed around the moonstone. The silver spirit cackled with glee, but it faded swiftly into crisp silence.
The moonstone. Where is it? You lied to me, little witch.
“I have it here,” I said, opening my palm just enough to reveal an iridescent glint.
It wanted these items. It wanted them, for whatever reason, just as desperately as I wanted the secret.
It had, in its excitement, revealed a weakness to me.
“I will give it to you once you have told me the secret.”
Its hiss was sharp as a knife. Ah, little witch. What to do with you, what to do with you? Fine. I will take the moonstone last. You shall have your secret. Place the items on the sill.
I did so with trembling fingers. My bones creaked with alarm. A bell chimed in the back of my mind. I heard it, loud and shrill, but I could not read its warning.
The spirit laughed as it slithered to the sill. You shall have your secret, little witch. Ah, what a good one it is. He’d protect it with his life, I know it.
It brushed the feather and the flower with liquid fingers.
A shadow stirred deep within its silver core.
Up to my knees, that shadow rose, then to my hips, taller and taller.
With a spindly finger, it reached for the flask, uncorked it.
It was no longer a silver spirit, nor a blurred shadow.
It was a woman without a face, without color. A flat silhouette, as dark as ink.
Ah, it sighed as it poured the water over itself. Ah, flesh. Almost.
The silhouette creaked—
From its depths emerged a skeleton.
“Ah,” it said gleefully as I shrank with a voiceless screech into the corner.
“I am feeling generous. You shall have two secrets rather than one.” It lifted one bony finger.
“This is the secret I owe you for the gifts. The secret the tidekissed warrior would protect with his life: The wind never lies.” I reeled as it lurched at me, bruising my ribs against the hearth.
“Now, for the second secret, little witch.” It slid a bony finger under my chin and tilted my face. “You shall become my flesh.”
I threw my weight against the skeleton, bringing it to a rattling stagger.
It was still weak. It was not whole, the spirit of the evil dead, so long as I kept the moonstone.
I remembered its tale. I remembered it, and I’d failed to understand the warning before I committed this folly.
I clutched the stone tightly as I leaped to the door.
Bony fingers clasped my wrist, prying my fist open.
I fumbled with the lock, palms slick, hands shaking.
We made no sound as we struggled, the spirit and I, afraid to alert Lorell or Adrik.
I yanked my hand from its grasp, sharp fingerbones slicing my skin, and let the moonstone fly across the room. It landed amid tangled blankets on the bed, buying me just a second. Just a second to unlock the door. Just a second to slip past the parlor and the kitchen and—
The skeleton caught up by the door to the bath, burying its fingers into my arm.
Fingers that were bone no longer. The moonstone had adorned it with scraps of muscle and flesh.
No skin. It desired mine. I hauled it along with me into the thick, pine-scented steam.
It was much stronger now than I, infused with the power of the moonstone.
If it tasted just a drop of my blood, I was dead.
It would wear my skin like a gown and torment the town into unleashing its fleshless kin.
But it was uncautious in its excitement, and it did not know what I knew. That there lurked another mirror behind the steam. That I remembered now the tale of the evil dead who became flesh and who was never allowed to look at itself, lest it became trapped in its reflection once more.
My fingers found the cool edge of the wash basin. From the steam emerged the horrid face of flesh and sinew, cackling.
“Ah,” said the spirit who was barely still a spirit. “You will make a fine dress, little witch.”
I scraped my hands raw on the stone basin.
The pine twig. Where was it? I bit back a sob, fingers sliding over the slick piece of left-behind soap, succulent needles biting my skin.
I clutched the offerings and cast them to the floor.
A hollowness fell over the room, stealing the air from the bath and the breath from my chest. The steam vanished, as quickly as lifting a silkspun veil.
The spirit glared at me with its hollow sockets, baring its teeth as it readied to skin me, and right behind me…
Right behind me lurked its demise.
I leaped aside, sweeping the sleeve of my blouse over the mirror to clear a thin sliver of mist from the glass.
Just a thin slice of silver.
It was enough.
The spirit wrenched its mouth open to shriek. No sound came from it. It began to blur, to twist, to writhe. I’d barely blinked before it pooled like liquid silver in the basin and slithered—slowly, as if it were still fighting its fate—back into the mirror.
The wind never lies.
The words chimed through me while I leaned over the basin, retching as bile burned the back of my throat.
The wind never lies. What was I supposed to do with this?
Useless spirit. Foolish madness, driving me to such unwise deeds as freeing the spirit of the evil dead. For nothing. It had been for nothing.
I returned to the chamber and I wept.