Page 63 of Ivy & Bone

But Mona’s eyes had been clear. Startlingly so. This was different. And Prue was certain Vasileios was behind it.

Prue knew nothing about death magic or the Underworld or the concept of swapping souls, which apparently had shocked Cyrus, too. She didn’t even allow herself to think of who he had swapped souls with—if it was a villager, it was probably someone she knew, and the thought made her feel ill.

But she did know Cyrus. And this particular problem required his magic.

She needed that dark power, and she needed Mona. The real Mona.

For several minutes, Prue paced the length of her tiny cell, taking deep breaths and mentally walking through what she had to do. She didn’t have spell ingredients, but she did have her blood, and right now, that was plenty. Her limbs still weighed heavily from the taxing ordeal in the woods earlier, but she would have to push it aside. As much as she wanted to collapse and rest, time was of the essence.

She had to do this now.

“Goddess above, grant me power,” she whispered. Her skin prickled with awareness, and her third eye slid open. Prue suppressed a shudder. She had never liked the third eye. It felt . . . strange. Foreign. Like an extra body part she didn’t want.

It opened so much more easily than she’d expected. Usually, the magic in the air had to be quite potent to awaken her witch senses. But perhaps her powers were still present from all the magic she’d summoned in the woods with the soldiers.

Or perhaps it was already awakened from how much power thrummed through the palace. She thought of the ghosts swirling above the castle and knew the place must have been warded somehow to keep the spirits out.

With her third eye open, Prue could feel the power reverberating off her bones and buzzing in her chest. Goddess, it was everywhere, this magic. Every breath, every blink . . . The energy surged through her, sweeping over her like a tidal wave.

Prue inhaled a shuddering breath, her eyes stinging from the intensity of it. The power in the air was so thick she could hardly breathe. In one instant, she sensed darkness, a sticky sludge like molasses. And in another, she sensed the light, flowery scent of Mona’s pure earth magic.

Mona’s magic. It was here.

Now Prue’s eyes were burning for a different reason. She hadn’t smelled her sister’s magic in so long . . . It brought on a burst of memories and trauma. Prue shut her eyes, groaning from the force of it all.

It’s not really Mona, she reminded herself. It isn’t. It can’t be. But a sliver of doubt worked its way into her thoughts. How could this imposter have Mona’s magical scent? Her aura?

Prue gritted her teeth and shook her head. She would get all the answers she needed once she summoned Mona’s spirit. Her eyes flew open, and she scanned the rocky ground of her prison cell. Her eyes landed on a pile of broken pebbles at her feet. She crouched and sifted through them before finding a jagged edge, almost like a spearhead.

Prue pressed the sharp edge into her palm until a bead of blood welled from the wound. She let it fall to the ground, and it sizzled when it met the earth. “I invoke the death magic of Osiris, god of the Underworld.” Her voice was low and even and didn’t sound like herself at all.

Prue’s fingers curled into a fist, her nails digging into the wound, widening it as more droplets of blood fell. An ethereal gust of wind whipped at her hair, and that horrifying ice-cold power swelled in her chest. Cyrus’s power.

As blood ran down her hand, Prue whispered, “Pomona Donati, I summon thee.”

The wind continued to lash at her, fierce and merciless, as the cold hardened to ice in her chest, stealing her breath.

Then, a figure materialized outside her cell door. Prue watched, transfixed, as it took shape. At first, it was pearly white and slightly transparent, nothing more than an ambiguous shape hovering in the air. It looked so similar to the ghosts outside that a spike of fear bolted through Prue’s chest. Then, wavy hair formed, along with a skirt Prue knew so well—the same skirt Mona had been wearing when she’d died. Gradually, her twin’s face came into view: large eyes, full lips, strong chin . . . Prue couldn’t make out colors with this ghostly form, but she could see the luminescent eyes peering at her. In this form, they looked like silver orbs, and it reminded Prue so much of Cyrus that she had to drop her gaze.

“Prue,” Mona whispered, her voice echoing slightly. “What—what have you done?”

“I had to summon you,” Prue said, her tone pleading. “Do you know what’s happened?”

“Of course I know.” Mona’s voice was harsh, reminiscent of the days when Prue made a foolish mistake that could’ve been solved by simply opening the right book. Not much had changed, even in death. “How could you summon me? I can’t be here, not when that thing is so close by, parading as me!”

Prue’s heart lurched at her words. “What the hell is going on, Mona? Who is that?” She gestured vaguely to the ceiling, to where she thought the throne room would be. “And how did Vasileios get your body?”

“I don’t have time to explain it all to you.”

“Then try,” Prue bit out. “I need some answers. In case you can’t tell, I’m in a dungeon.”

Mona glanced around as if she had indeed failed to notice this. She huffed a breath—which, in that moment, Prue found to be quite amusing, given that she didn’t need air—and said, “All right, I’ll try to sum it up as quickly as I can. When I died, my soul was separated from my body, which I’m told is the normal situation for those about to enter the rivers of Hell. Vasileios snatched me before I could fully transition, though, and claimed me for himself. However, he only has one half of me—my body. Until he merges it with my spirit, he cannot fully access my magic.”

Relief and shock mingled in Prue’s chest.

Mona could easily read her expression because she snapped, “Don’t look so relieved. All Vasileios has to do is bring that imposter down here. If we physically occupy the same space, we’ll merge, and he’ll have full access to my powers.”

Prue barely contained a shudder. “But . . . I can smell your magic here, Mona. How?”

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