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“We will speak soon,” the Under-King said to Jesiba, more warning than invitation. Before Jesiba could reply, the Under-King and Sigrid vanished on a dark wind.
Only when its scraps of shadow had faded from the morgue did Jesiba say, “What a disaster.”
Hypaxia was staring at her hands, as if trying to walk herself through her mistake.
Ithan couldn’t stop the shaking that overtook him from head to toe, right down to his very bones. “Fix this.”
Hypaxia didn’t look up.
Ithan growled, his heart racing swiftly, “Fix this.”
Jesiba clicked her tongue. “What’s done is done, pup.”
“I don’t accept that.” Ithan bared his teeth at her, then pointed at Hypaxia. “Undo what you just did.”
Slowly, Hypaxia lifted her eyes to his. Bleak, pleading, tired. “Ithan—”
“FIX IT!” Ithan roared, the witch’s necromantic instruments rattling in the wake of the sound. He didn’t care. Nothing fucking mattered but this. “FIX HER!” He whirled on Jesiba. “Did you know this would happen?” His voice broke.
Jesiba gave him a flat look. “No. And if you take that tone with me again—”
“There might be a way,” Hypaxia said quietly.
Even Jesiba blinked, turning with Ithan to survey the former witch-queen. “Once the dead have crossed that threshold into Reaperdom—”
Hypaxia’s gaze met Ithan’s and held, the pain bleeding away to pure determination. “Necromancy can lead her to that threshold; it can haul her back again, too.”
“How?” Jesiba asked. Ithan could barely breathe.
“We need a thunderbird.”
Jesiba threw up her hands. “There are none left.”
“Sofie Renast was a thunderbird,” Ithan said, more to himself than to the others. “We thought her brother might be one, too, but—”
“Sofie Renast is dead,” Jesiba said.
Hypaxia only asked, “Where’s her body?” The question rang like a death knell through the morgue.
Jesiba got it before Ithan did. “After that debacle,” she said, pointing to the examination table where Sigrid had laid moments before, the sheet now discarded on the floor beside it, “you really want to try raising the dead again?”
“Sofie’s been dead for too long to raise,” Ithan said, nausea churning in his gut. And, he didn’t add, he couldn’t help but agree with Roga about Hypaxia’s track record.
“If she hasn’t been given a Sailing, then it should work—though the decayed state of her body will be … gruesome.” Hypaxia paced the room. “She should still have enough lightning lingering in her veins to bridge the gap between life and death. The thunderbirds were once able to aid necromancers, to use their lightning to hold the souls of the dead. They could even imbue their power into ordinary objects, like weapons, and give them magical properties—”
“And you think it can somehow undo Sigrid becoming a Reaper?” Ithan said.
“I think the lightning might be able to pull her soul back toward life,” Hypaxia said. “And give her the chance to make the choice again. A few days as a Reaper might change her mind.”
Silence fell. Ithan looked to Jesiba, but the sorceress was silent, as if weighing Hypaxia’s every word.
Ithan swallowed hard. “Will it work?”
Jesiba didn’t take her eyes from Hypaxia as she said quietly, “It might.”
“But where’s her body?” Ithan pushed. “The last I heard from my friends, the Ocean Queen had it on her ship. She could have sent it out the air lock for all we know—”
“Give me thirty minutes,” Jesiba said, and didn’t wait for a reply before stalking out of the room.
