Into her bedroom, she gathered them all to her: The Risen, vials, decanters, and jars. Her hands trembled, and she nearly dropped them all.
Hovering over the lone clean space of the living room rug that remained, Lucena flung over page after page until she came to the Rise enchantment. She laid it upon the floor. She didn’t know if they’d been dead long, but she didn’t care. She’d enough for more than one try.
Their cold bodies were dragged to her, the mixture painted on, its ingredients measured precisely. She chanted the incantation—felt it take from her and give to them.
And she felt it fail in her very soul. Over and over, again and again.
Lucena’s voice was raw, her body spent. But she swallowed her fear. She closed her eyes.
“Saints above, devil below. Allow me to know.”
With the final remains, she let instinct guide her fingers. She sifted the wyvern claw. She stirred three times clockwise. She dipped the bat wings, sprinkled the moth powder, and stirred counterclockwise.
“Lucena, my love.”
“Darling, we’ve missed you.”
Lucena released a sob, hugging her parents tight. Their hands gripped her shoulders. Their fingertips dug into the fabric. Their nails punctured her skin.
She fell backward.
“Don’t be frightened, my dear. It is only us.”
Her parents rose. The walls rippled around them, their eyes murky and grey and clouded with shadow. This wasn’t how it should be.
Her father bent, retrieving the small knife she’d used to cut through blood-dried clothing. Her mother smiled, her dimple deepening just as it used to.
“Shh, Lucena. Don’t cry.”
“It won’t hurt.”
The point pierced her skin at the same moment the broken vial sliced into her father’s wrist. Blood spurted across her hand, and the knife clattered to the floor.
His teeth bared at her, Lucena didn’t recognize him any longer. Her father wasn’t here.
Her mother shoved her down, and the tacky moisture coating the floor seeped through her skirt.
“Close your eyes, Lucena.”
She did.
And pierced her mother’s heart.
“Pleasant dreams?”
Lux pushed onto her elbows in the now-familiar cottage, and the chain jangled. She felt for the lump that must be at the back of her head but found nothing.
“I applied a salve. And dropped a bit of tonic in your mouth as you slept. My apologies for the injury.” Riselda smoothed back sweat-soaked strands from Lux’s forehead, as gentle as a mother.
“Don’t touch me,” Lux growled.
“Youstabbedme, if you’ll kindly remember.”
“Yes, and you conveniently had lifeblood on your person.”
“I’m never without it, Lucena. Here, comb your hair. We must be magnificent for the festival tonight.” Riselda tossed a brush onto her lap.
Lux stared down at it, at the fabric beneath it. She’d been washed and dressed in the sage gown.
