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I stuff the stones back into the pouch, considering her solution. My mother has always hesitated to tell me of the future. Even the last time I saw her, she kept things vague. She did not want to influence outcomes, unless it was a matter of life or death.

Which makes me wonder if she saw that she’d live through this. What had she said about the mysterious he who shall find me? And supposedly help?

Sybil centers the bowl of water, not waiting for my agreement. Her voice rasps through a spell, and the still water suddenly ripples. She retrieves a knife from a side table and motions for me to give her my hand.

Apprehension spikes through me. I have a collection tiny silver scars across my left palm from the same such rituals with my mother, but now there’s an added element of danger. This is a stranger, in an unfamiliar place, and I am the only person who can protect myself.

If Amy thought names held power, I wonder her views on volunteering a drop of blood?

My stomach twists, but… I want to find my mother. And at this rate, I know it’s more than just returning home. She’s not there.

She’s alive. She’s somewhere. Sybil said as much—now it’s just a matter of locating her.

Sybil sets a wad of gauze by my arm. “For after.”

I give her my hand, and she slices the pad of my index finger. The blade is so sharp, I barely feel the cut. She sets the knife aside and squeezes my digit, encouraging a bead of blood to form. When it wells up, she overturns my hand and flicks it downward. The drop falls.

It lands in the water with a hiss.

Sybil releases my hand and murmurs something.

I pull back and hold the gauze to the cut.

The water churns. I stare at it, feeling the same reaction in my stomach. Goosebumps break out across my back, running down my arms, and unease fills me. It isn’t like her other method. This is different.

I don’t like this.

Sybil chants words under her breath, trying to direct the power. Her eyes roll back, and her body goes rigid.

The only thing that keeps her from falling backward is her death grip on the edge of the table.

“Sybil?”

Her eyes snap open, falling to the water. Steam rises, as if the water is hot enough to boil.

Out of it emerges a wolf. The beast isn’t made of water, not that I can tell. The white wolf’s form solidifies.

The temperature in the room plummets, but all I can do is stare at the figure materializing from the bowl.

The wolf is all white, probably about the size of my palm. It hovers just over the roiling water. Black blood drips from its jaws. It pays us no attention as it steps down off the water, moving around the table. Its paws leave behind bits of frost in its wake, and its size swells. Sybil and I both shove our chairs away.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

The Seer doesn’t reply, but the wolf’s gaze swings around. It seems to look at me, or maybe through me.

When it hops to the floor, it’s the size of a medium dog. It barely fits in the space between us, with everything else in the room.

And the room is ice cold.

I scoot backwards until my chair hits the wall. My terror climbs, but I can’t move. The wolf raises its nose, sniffing the air. It’s already locked on me, but now it seems to sharpen. As it moves, the edges of the wolf blur. I hold onto the it’s not real portion of my brain, forcing myself from panic to analytical.

The creature moves too easily through the space. It doesn’t knock anything over. It looks solid, but it isn’t. The ice it leaves behind is a whisper of its presence.

Frost crawls across the floor in every direction. The table freezes over, and then the stone cracks. The water doesn’t flow out, though. It stays suspended, as if clinging to the stone by magic of its own.

“Not possible,” Sybil whispers.

The wolf lunges at me.