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I’m too distracted by another lightning flash, this one so close the smell of burning stings my nose. It’s followed immediately by a boom that leaves my bones trembling and my ears ringing and useless.
But my eyes are still open wide, and in the few seconds the ocean is illuminated like a carpet of black diamonds, I see them—two tiny, feathered shadows, struggling to stay airborne as the wind tosses them up and down, flapping so desperately it’s obvious they’re excited by something other than the probability of imminent death.
Her birds.
She’s right. There they are, just like she thought they’d be.
“I see ‘em.” I smile despite the fear and chill making my teeth chatter. “Sit down. We’ll fetch them. We’re not far now.”
“Thank you, Declan. Oh, thank you so much.” Squeezing my shoulder, Clara settles on the edge of her seat while I grab the oars, drop my head, and pull hard for the wards.
We’re only ten feet or so from where the birds are whirling. It wouldn’t be right to leave the poor things to suffer the storm when a few extra minutes in danger might save their lives. And Clara will be so happy to have them. They’ll brighten up the house, and maybe she’ll finally start to feel at home with us.
I’m feeling hopeful, I admit it.
Too hopeful.
When she screams, the sound of it shocks me, making me flinch as hard as a crash of thunder. My chin snaps up to see what’s wrong, what’s hurt her, to find the wards pulsing bright and blue.
Clara’s back arches and her fingers lift to the sky. Her hands are clawed and her head thrown so far back that the next burst of lightning falls full on her face, making her pale skin glow, burning the sight of her pain so deep into my mind I’ll never forget it.
I’ve never seen anyone hurt like that, not even Paulie when he drank all the sacrament wine, tumbled over a cliff on our way back to the dorms, and broke his leg in three places. He was as pale as a fish belly and trembling something fierce, but his scream didn’t cut me half like Clara’s.
She must have been struck by lightning. But if the boat had been hit, I would have felt it, and there would be fire or—
“Clara!” I shout as she staggers backward.
I drop the oars and reach for her, but then agony hits me like a tidal wave crashing into shore. Fireworks race up my spine and explode in my brain. My stomach revolts, but my throat clenches too tight to let the sick out as I jerk and flail.
I’m vaguely aware of Clara falling to the floor of the boat before I collapse beside her—knocking her poor head with my knee in the process—but I can’t stop myself from writhing and kicking and scrabbling at the floorboards.
I’m a bug under a shoe, a match on fire, bones with all the meat ripped away by teeth sharp as razors, cruel as nature.
I lift my hands to the sky, praying with every gnarled finger as my nerves sizzle and burst and the world goes black.
Chapter Seven
Foxglove
I don’t know how long we’re tossed by the storm, but eventually the night grows black and quiet.
Thick clouds still smother most of the light from the sky, but the rain stops, and the boat ceases its heaving and rocks me like a lullaby. I wake to see Wig and Poke sheltering together under Declan’s seat and Declan lying on the planks beside me, his chest rhythmically rising and falling.
I’m so tired I can barely focus my eyes, so weary the few stars in the gloom overhead wink on and off like lighthouses on a distant shore. Declan’s familiar face suddenly seems that of a stranger. There’s something troubling about the boy lying next to me, but I can’t pinpoint it or be bothered enough to come fully awake.
I am wrung out.
My magic has returned—it simmers beneath my skin, but I’m too exhausted to make use of it. Going through the wards the second time was even more painful than the first. I imagine a third time would kill me.
Witch’s daughters aren’t meant to pass through that kind of magic and come out whole on the other side.
But a human should be fine. A human should be…
So…why…
I grasp at the thought, but any conclusions slip through my fingers, I sink back into inexorable sleep.
By the time my heavy lids drag open again, the sun is directly overhead, beating down on the boat.
I wince and lift an arm to block the glare, moaning as I wrinkle my nose and the tight, hot skin covering it stings in protest.
“You’re awake! Thank the stars and the moon and every last one of the planets.” I look to see Poke hopping up and down on my hip. His bird claws tickle through the nearly dry fabric of my skirt, and the feathers on his head stand on end with excitement.
