Page 80 of Summer of Sacrifice

The quill’s plume of ancient feathers tickled her palm, the magic thrumming up her arm as she materialised in front of Sorscha.

Sister Spring’s eyes went wide before she pushed Winnie to the side and threw a fist into a man’s jaw.

“Damn you to Hades!” Sorscha shouted as she turned back toward Winnie, covered in sweat where she stood in the middle of a small field. “I could have socked you in the face!”

She wore an uncharacteristic pair of fitted pants and what could only be considered an undergarment for how little it covered. In one hand she held a dagger, the other hand was wrapped and bloodied.

“Pardon my interruption.”

Winnie took quick stock of the sparring around them, quite a lot more brutal than Druid training. Asa stalked back and forth at the head of the green like a caged lion, shouting orders that his warriors clearly made sense of, but Winnie did not.

She handed the quill to Sorscha with a wink. “Your turn.”

Without another thought, Winnie began to translate, a minute coil of red magic halting her mid-translation.

“Hey, Winnie,” Sorscha shouted before she was completely dispersed, using the tip of her dagger to gesture up and down. “This is a good look for you, that fire in your eyes.”

She grinned like a fiend, and Winnie shot one right back. Sorscha’s magic untangled from her, and a breath later she was materialising in the fray of the Druid camp, her dagger at the ready.

SELESTE

Litha landed in front of Seleste where she sat at the table in Dulci’s temporary rooms within Castle Merveille. The butterfly’s wings flapped more rapidly than she’d ever seen from her familiar.

“Litha!” She stood abruptly. “What is it?”

Dulci set down her teacup, some of the liquid sloshing over the side. “What is, Seleste?”

“I–I don’t know.”

But then she did.

She rushed for the door, flinging it open. Gathering her skirts in her hands, she ran through the corridors toward her own rooms, almost slipping when she rounded a corner.

One of Augustus’ men, a kind but stern man named Porthos, was keeping guard in front of her door. He saw her coming, his hand going for the hilt of his sword, knees bent, and adrenaline no doubt spiking.

“Mademoiselle Seleste!” he shouted down the corridor, running toward her. “What is it?”

“Get the others!” she shouted, huffing and barrelling past him. She practically fell into her rooms, the faint sound of Dulci’s calls following her in. Not bothering with closing the door, Seleste slid to a stop in front of the table, a ripple going through the liquid of her scrying bowl.

“Montre-moi,” she whispered to the dark pool of water.

It was foggy, blurred…an imperfect spell. She could just make out Winnie, a cut on her cheek, a droplet of blood sliding down to meet the shoulder of her white tunic. Her tight, leather jerkin was drenched in something slick and oily—black.

Seleste jumped, a hand shooting to her mouth to stifle a gasp. A horrifying creature stalked Winnie, its hollow eyes sending a rivulet of terror into Seleste’s blood.

Winnie lashed out with magic, the beast halting, frozen where it stood. Eleanor came into the warbled image then, her mouth fixed in a roar Seleste could not hear. She had a sword raised over her head, prepared to slice at the immobile beast.

The scrying bowl went dark, just a pool of still water as Dulci ran into the room, clutching her chest.

“Goddess above,” she said around heaving breaths. “What in Hades has happened?”

Seleste frantically searched the water with her good eye, begging it to show her more. “It worked,” she said over her shoulder to Dulci. “The spell. It’s not perfect, but I can see where she is—Chresedia.”

But this gave her pause. Or had the spell latched onto Laurent? She hadn’t seen Chresedia. Only the horrible undead creatures Grimm had warned them about.

“Come on, come on,” she murmured to the scrying bowl. Augustus, Tindle, and Anne ran into the room next.

“Emile is coming,” Anne announced, panting. “What is it?”

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