“There, there. Stay calm,” the old woman said as if I were a spooked farm animal. “Here is the fat. Finish the work and then tie it off. Let it live, but apart from you.” She scooped a pile of animal fat into the bowl.
I kept mixing, kept both holding and not holding all the things in my mind. I thought of the reverence in her hands and tried to somehow hold my mind the same way. I didn’t know how to break away from it except to simply stop, but I was afraid to do that and have it all crash down and shatter.
“Carefully,” the old woman said. “Ease away.”
I tried. But I tore myself away, and it felt rather abrupt and savage, a swinging and cutting off of my own arm. But then it was done. The poultice was made. Made and pretty well, I thought, staring down at its contents. But it had not been an easy end. “I didn’t do it right.”
“You’ll need to take extra care of yourself. Ending it so abruptly will drain you. Magic always costs, but there are ways to make it easier.”
“I don’t feel drained.”
“You will tomorrow morning.” She scooped the contents from the bowl, slathering them expertly into a small tin. “Take this. And keep trying to hold your own shape. Otherwise …” She trailed off and turned to the fire, adding logs and muttering to herself about food as she brought out her kettle.
I kept waiting and waiting for the old woman to finish her thought, but it seemed she had forgotten I even stood there. “Otherwise?” I prompted.
“Otherwise,” the old woman said to the fire, flames reflecting in her dark eyes, “you will have no shape to hold.”
XIII.
The End Is the Beginning
It was only a little tin, but tucked into my cloak, it felt like one real thing I could trust. I left the forest hut, somewhat reluctantly, with the old woman’s directions to find my way back to the château.
“Beware of bandits and thieves!” she said as I stepped off her threshold. “And return here if you find yourself in need. Come to this grove and light the hearth, I will arrive shortly after.”
“I will!” I promised, though at that moment, I felt sure I would never see her again. I had the feel of my magic safe in my pocket, and I was eager to show Lord Death my progress. The thought of a meal and the soft bed that awaited me made my feet light and eager, even as I crossed the border of the grove. It was near sunset, and I hurried back through the stones and thick spruces, racing shadows that were nearly as purple as my bruise.
The old woman had told me to walk straight, straight as an arrow, and not to question or doubt the path. The trees were thick, crowding in tight until it felt that I could barely breathe, but between them I could sometimes catch a glimpse of mountains whose roots were in night and peaks that still held on to the last of a brilliant orange day.
The sight of the larger world brought back my awareness, and with it my doubts. The old woman had just appeared out of the forest. She’d never told me her name. I had no idea who she was or why she’d found me. A shiver crawled over me. Why had I gone to her hut so willingly?
This was my mistake, this wandering in my thoughts. I kept my feet straight, but my mind turned circles, and as the shadows grew, the soft sound of something following me in the snow jolted me out of my thoughts.
Maybe it was just a squirrel. Or a rabbit. I stopped, listening with my blood pumping in my ears. Perhaps it had only been my imagination.
These cursed woods.Walk straight and sure, I repeated to myself and turned my face again in the direction of the château. I clenched my fists and quickened my pace.
A blur of motion caught my eye, and I cast back over my shoulder, forgetting everything I’d been told. A long, scruffy creature loped through the trees.
Awolf.
“Saints,” I muttered, panic engulfing any lingering pain and exhaustion.
Focus on the path ahead and it would bring me to the château. I kept repeating these things to myself, struggling not to turn my head or strain my ears for the wolf. But in my heart, I began to doubt them both. Maybe the old woman had sent me into the woods to be eaten by wolves.
The shadows grew longer, the wolf closer. A shaggy brown rangy creature. A flash of teeth. A tail. My throat tightened.
And then, between the trees ahead of me, a strange light appeared, bright as a small sun. For a moment, it distracted both me and the wolf. I picked up my pace, hoping it was a signal for the château. It disappeared in and out of the trees, always ahead of me.
When I finally managed to close the distance, I blinked in surprise.
It was the hellcat, embers lifting off its back and blinking out in the wind as it waited, as if to make sure I was following. I stumbled forward, focused on following the trail of softly drifting embers as the beastie led me through the trees.
The imposing black stone of the château loomed into view throughthe boughs of fir and spruce, and I could have sobbed with relief. In the dense twilight and last remnants of sun, the blackened stones glowed nearly blue.The House of Blue Sleep.
Well, I was no fool. I gave the forest my back and ran as fast as my ribs would allow. Only when I rushed through the spindly hawthorn trees in the courtyard and my foot crossed the stone of the château’s threshold did I look back.
A silent forest sat, empty and cold, night collecting under its trees. No wolves. No spirits. No creatures of any kind, save myself. Stars pricked in the velvet blue spreading from midheaven, and one brightest and glowing hung over the rough edges of the mountain ridges. It was only moments before the last light faded. I took a deep breath of the sharp air, trying to grip on to a world that seemed always to be opening out from under me. My ribs caught painfully, and I remembered the poultice in my cloak. I needed to hurry to my room before the house turned dangerous.
