Page 53 of The Queen’s Witch

The tallest figure, Cecily, shouted something at Elizabeth, who ran toward the tower. Clang. Elizabeth stood almost directly under it, head tilted back as she stared, unmoving, at the sky.

Clang.

I was racing toward her. Cecily, much closer, tried to reach her first, but Beatrice grabbed the abbess and dragged her away from the falling stones. Elizabeth did not move.

Why did she not? Because she was simple? Because she had never known danger? Because Agnes had spelled her?

Clang.

More nuns spilled from the abbey. I had almost reached Elizabeth. How could I run this fast?

Because Agnes had also spelled me. She intended this.

With a last burst of speed, I grabbed Elizabeth. She stayed rigid, rooted to the ground. Frantically I tried to remember the counterspell, found it, and shouted it to the wind.

Clang, clang, clang.

The tower fell as I dragged Elizabeth, a dead weight, away from the falling stones. I was too late. At least one struck her legs, and then another struck me.

My last thought as the tower collapsed completely was—and how did I know?—that it had turned midnight, and my pact with Agnes had ended.

Silence.

The clanging had ceased. The thud of falling stone, gone. Had Agnes destroyed my hearing?

No. Sound and pain rushed back together: Elizabeth screaming, Cecily bending over me, blocking the starlight. I lay atop Elizabeth. Slowly, I rolled off her.

“No, do not move, do not . . . Very well. Lie still, Sarah. A stone hit your head. Beatrice, come here! I have called you twice!”

Elizabeth’s screams filled the world. Lying on my back, the cold night sky above, I could not think. I could only feel the pain that drowned my head.

Drowning . . . Someone had drowned . . . Joan . . . Grandmother . . . Elizabeth, stop screaming!

Fading daylight, through a window.

I lay on a bed, the stone walls of the abbey surrounding me, the pain in my head reduced to dull jabs. A spell . . . There was a spell to reduce pain . . . I could not remember it.

“You are awake,” Abbess Cecily said. “No, do not turn your head if it hurts you. Lie still, Sarah.”

“What . . .” I could not find words. I did not need to. Cecily took my hand.

“You ask what occurred? The bell tower collapsed last night. I did not think it so infirm, but apparently it was badly built. You saved Elizabeth’s life. The big stone would have hit her head, not her legs, if you had not pushed her. A lesser fragment did strike your head. We brought you into the abbey, and I dosed you with the tisane you left to help Sister Margaret sleep. Does your head still pain you?”

I nodded, which created sharper pain.

“Lie still, my dear. You are safe now.”

Safe. My half of the pact with Agnes fulfilled. Agnes . . . What had happened to Agnes?

Grandmother. I had seen the wavering, faint form of Grandmother . . . and the Dark One . . .

Memory rushed back, and I groaned.

Cecily held out a cup. “Drink this and sleep again.”

“No . . .”

She lowered the cup. “Very well. You are the healer.”