Page 38 of Night and Silence

I eyed May. “Don’t you?”

“I can’t make it past the bayberry bushes.” She pointed to a pair of ornamental shrubs halfway up the path. “I just stop and forget what I’m doing. Madden can’t even get that far.”

“Quentin?” I turned to my squire. “What do you see?”

“It’s a house,” he said. He sounded frustrated and unsettled. Taking a half-step back, he said, “I don’t like it. Is this where we’re supposed to be? I don’t like it.”

I focused more fully on the house. This wasn’t a normal illusion: there was no glitter in the air, no place where the normal became abnormal, or vice-versa. It was just . . . wrong, subtly so, with little flickers at the corner of my eye revealing the edges of the problem, but not the problem itself.

“Did the trail lead here?” I asked.

“It does,” said Madden.

“Does it go inside?”

“I think so.” He grimaced. “I can’t go inside. I try, and it doesn’t happen. So maybe it’s yes and maybe it’s no, but I think so.”

“Right,” I said, and started down the narrow pathway toward the house.

I had barely reached the bayberry bushes when an invisible force field started pushing me back. It was like I was walking into a wall of cling film somehow pulled tight across the universe itself, refusing to let me go any farther.

“I think not,” I hissed. Pulling the knife from my belt, I ran it across my opposing palm. Pain flared up, sharp and reassuring and familiar in a way that made me think maybe everything was going to be all right. I raised my hand and slapped it against the resistance in the air, forcing my way forward—and to my profound relief, the invisible force yielded, allowing me to take one step, two steps, three steps past the line of the bayberries.

The resistance shattered, and suddenly I could see the house for what it really was: a decrepit, fire-gutted husk. The picture window was more void than glass, leaving shards to glitter across the ash-blackened porch. The front door was still there, but it was standing ajar, held on by a single hinge. I took another step forward, testing to be sure nothing would stop me, and turned to look back at the others.

They were standing where I had left them. Quentin’s hand had gone to his hip, where I had no doubt he was carrying a concealed weapon of some kind. May looked mildly alarmed, and had her hand on Madden’s shoulder, keeping him where he was. Madden . . .

Madden was growling, canine-style, his lips drawn back from his teeth in what would probably have been a terrifying display if not for the human disguise he wore. As it stood, the sight was strange.

“Toby, if you’re there, we would really appreciate it if you would say something,” called May. Her voice was shaking.

“I’m here. Can you hear me?”

May relaxed. Quentin’s hand dropped away from his hip. Madden kept growling.

“We can hear you,” May said. “What the hell?”

“There’s some kind of repulsion charm mixed with an illusion covering this place up.” I took a step back toward the bayberry bushes and paused. “I had to bleed to get through, but maybe I’ve weakened it. Can you try to come here?”

“Yes,” said May and Quentin, in unison. They looked at each other.

“Yes,” May repeated, with more force. Quentin looked like he was going to protest. She raised a hand to stop him. “I’m functionally unkillable, remember? You, however, are not, and the last thing we need right now is to add your pissed-off parents to the mix. So I don’t actually care if you think it’s your duty as her squire to help her with whatever the hell is going on here. I’m going to take the hit. Got me?”

Quentin wilted. “Got you,” he said, sounding every inch the sullen teenager.

“Good,” said May, and started down the path toward me. She made it as far as the bayberry bushes before she stopped dead, her feet suddenly seeming rooted to the stone. “Okay. I can’t go any farther.”

“Stick out your hand.”

She did. I reached out and grabbed it, yanking her toward me as hard as I could. Her feet remained rooted in place. She cried out, high and pained. I let go before one of us fell.

May took a step back, rubbing her injured wrist with the opposing hand. “Unless you want to tear down the entire spell, we’re not getting me through.”

I looked at the burnt-out husk of the house behind me. “There’s no way,” I said. “This place has been on fire, the window’s broken—there’s just no way. It would attract way too much attention if I pulled the enchantment down.”

“So don’t,” said Quentin. “Just . . . please be careful. If we have to wait out here, we will, but I don’t want you getting hurt.”

The shell was sealed with blood magic. Of everyone now waiting on the path, Quentin was probably the only one with half a chance of getting through it if he really tried. He didn’t heal like I did. I didn’t want him cutting himself if there was any other option available. I’d been able to teach him so much about being a good knight and more importantly, about surviving. I couldn’t teach him how deep it was safe to drive the knife because, for me, there had never been a limit.