She crossed her arms. “Do you think I stole them?”
“Like you stole everything else in here? Yes, I think it’s likely.”
“Well, I didn’t. They were our mother’s.”
“Do you know how to read them?”
Still glaring, Anaïs said, “Five galets if you want a reading.”
“Perhaps another time.” Fitcher studied Anaïs and Mallory. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about god-blessings, would you?”
Mallory stilled. The air around them crackled with a new infusion of energy, like lightning waiting to strike.
When Anaïs said nothing, Mallory stepped forward and held out her palm. “One hardly needs a god-gift to read fortunes.”
“Perhaps.” Fitcher gave the deck to her. “But these cards suggest a connection to Wyrdith. I only ask as anyone with a legitimate god-gift would be far more valuable to us than a mere fifty lourdes.”
“I did not realize blessings could be bought and sold like common commodities,” Mallory said. “Unfortunately for you—”
“It isn’t Wyrdith,” said Anaïs.
Slowly, Mallory turned to face her sister. “Anaïs.”
“What?” she snapped. “This wasyourbackup plan, remember? Bring in the monster hunters to solve the problem. You were going to trust them before, why not now?”
“You know this has nothing to do with trust.”
“With you, Mally, it never does.”
Exasperated, Mallory gestured at the two boys. “They are threatening to turn us in for reward money!”
“They are offering a chance to negotiate. If it’s true that god-gifts are valuable, we may have something they want.” Ignoring Mallory’s harrumph, Anaïs turned back to Fitcher. “It is not Wyrdith’s blessing, though. It is—”
“Death magic,” Mallory interrupted. “I am gifted by Velos.”
Anaïs’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t correct her. Mallory knew how her sister despised her gift, and would avoid using it at any cost. Seven years ago, Mallory had hoped that in summoning their ancestor—Gabrielle Savoy herself—they could have Anaïs’s curse transformed into the same petty magic that Mallory and her mother had.
But things hadn’t worked out that way.
“God-gifts do have value,” said Fitcher. “At least, they do to me.” He nodded at Constantino. “Show them.”
“Yes, my lord,” said Constantino, though he didn’t sound as annoyed as he might have at what was clearly a command. With much flourish, he unfastened the cuff of his diamond-patterned sleeve and rolled the fabric up to his elbow—revealing a tattoo of an arrow down the length of his forearm. It shimmered like molten gold etched across his tan skin.
“The mark of Tyrr,” Anaïs breathed.
Mallory swallowed as Constantino’s magic began to make sense.
According to legend, centuries ago, the Seven had erected a veil to separate the world of mortals from that of ghosts and demons and dark magic. The veil had fallen, when Anaïs was a baby and Mallory not yet born, and the magic that had sustained it was dispersed into the world. Some of that magic latched onto babes and children, forever marking them with god-blessings. Gifts that were more powerful than any amount of petty magic, though they were limited in that the power they bestowed was very specific. Such as being able to return a corpse to life for a brief five minutes. Or transforming magical beasts into tiny blown-glass baubles with the shot of an arrow.
“I have been searching for those with god-gifts,” said Fitcher. “The blessing of Velos would be an asset in our group. We can offer you transportation. Shelter. Food.”
“Payment?” Mallory asked, ignoring the disgruntled glare Anaïs gave her. Anaïs despised her god-gift. She had always seen it as unnatural, vulgar, and disrespectful to the deceased. She would never have used it to resurrect Julie if it had not been necessary. Mallory knew she would want nothing to do with helping Fitcher, not if she had to abase herself by bringing more corpses to life.
“The payment we receive for our work is divided equally among us.”
“How much does curse breaking and exorcism run these days?”
Fitcher’s mouth pressed into a thin smile. “Enough.”
