“He hasn’t eaten you, though, has he?” I crouch down beside him, careful not to get too close. “Which means you must be very strong or very clever. Perhaps both.”
The boy doesn’t respond, doesn’t even look my way. His fixation on the porcelain bowl sends a frisson of dread through my chest. It’s rough and chipped on the edges, stained black inside. I can only imagine what sort of dark rituals it was used for before he adopted it as his toy.
“He takes them,” he says again, this time with a simple shrug of the shoulder, as though he couldn’t care less whether I believe it or not.
“Whotakes them? Someone you know?”
“The Druid.”
Instinct pushes me to my feet, and I take a step backward, Stevie’s voice an ominous echo in my mind.
He knows. Judgment knows we’re here…
He gets into our minds… digs through our memories and uncovers the worst, most terrifying ones, twisting them… forcing us to relive our greatest pains and regrets…
Whatever happens, whatever remnants of the past he tries to dredge up—none of it is real. Nothing in this place is real…
This child isn’t real. His words, his ghoulish features, the blood on his hands… it can’t be…
“You’re going to take it, aren’t you?” The boy’s image flashes before my eyes, ghoulish for an instant, then back to a lost little child once again. “He said you’d take it from me.”
I fight to keep the tremor from my voice. The weakness. “Take what?”
He hangs his head low and thrusts his hands upward, presenting the porcelain bowl like an offering.
Leave,a voice warns inside me, distant and vague. Fading.
I can’t leave. Not until I find… what was it? I could’ve sworn I came here searching for someone. Something. Was it this?
I glance down at the bowl, the inside gleaming in the moonlight with a sheen of magick I hadn’t noticed before. I take the offering, my hands warming, power tingling across my palms. On closer inspection, I see that it’s not porcelain at all.
It’s bone.
Filed smooth in places, the outside carved with pentacles and elaborate Celtic spirals and alchemical symbols, many of which I don’t even recognize. That it’s old and powerful is obvious; its magick is so strong, it’s nearly nauseating, yet I can’t deny its magnetism. It calls to something ancient and powerful within me. Something dangerous.
I close my eyes, opening myself up fully to the call of its intense magick. Inside, my blood sings in response, my heart beating wildly, my mind reverberating with the sound of waves crashing and the deep, bone-chilling cry of a lone wolf…
“But it’s mine,” the boy says softly. Desperately. “Please don’t take it from me. It’s all I have left.”
The emptiness and hopelessness in his voice weighs heavy, instantly cooling the magick inside me.
I open my eyes, taking in the sight of him once again. He still hasn’t met my gaze, but beneath a layer of mud and grime, he looks to be about eight, with blond hair and dimples. He wears the clothing of a much healthier boy, his shirt hanging loose off his frame.
Where are his parents? How did he end up here? How did this sacred vessel come to rest in his possession?
“Where did you find it?” I ask.
“I don’t remember.”
“I have no desire to take this from you, but this bowl… It’s not a toy.”
“It’s not a bowl either.”
I glance down at the object in my hands, my thumbs running over the rough, scalloped edges. The feeling is so foreign, yet familiar, almost like…
Teeth.
My eyes widen, and I take another look.
