Page 134 of Balance
The lines between Miles’s brows deepened, as did his frown. “I’m not sure,” he admitted, something akin to shame—and concern—lacing his voice. “I suppose she could ignore your summons if shecouldn’trespond, but I can’t think of a single scenario that would cancel out the reach of your abilities.”
“Maybe I’m just not strong enough.” I sniffled, rubbing my eyes with the back of my forearm.
Miles hummed, contemplation twisting his expression, and when his eyes met mine, he appeared to be just as confused as I was. “I don’t know,” he said, trying, but failing, to shoot me a comforting, lopsided grin. “Maybe she was talking about something else?”
I shrugged. These boys knew more than I did on these topics.
“Here.” Miles moved, pulling me to him and out of my dark thoughts. He wrapped his arms under my back and knees as he stood, and his presence fell over me like a comforting weight. “Let’s not stay in here right now,” he said, stepping past the neatly carved doorway and down the tiny, flat-stoned stairs. He moved toward the outdoor kitchen. “I’ll make a fire, and I want you to sit in front of it.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked, resting my face against his chest. Why was I tired? I’d hardly done a thing.
“I’m going to perform Kathleen’s final rites,” Miles answered, his voice tight.
This would be my first funeral.
We’d had no service for Sorcha—not even a burial. Kieran had no choice but to leave her behind as we ran. But being here, watching Miles as he somehow managed to turn the atmosphere from dark and dreary to something respectful and almost beautiful, made me wonder about another death that had happened not so very long ago.
“What happened to Mr. Weaver?” I asked, interrupting Miles as he lit the tall white candles he’d arranged in a neat circle on the ground. He paused, glancing at me with a raised brow.
It was fully night now, and the moon was hanging high in the sky. He’d dug out a grave already, and did his best to make himself look respectful, courtesy of the small creek that ran past the cabin. He’d also donned a dark brown cloth, wrapping it around himself in some sort of ritualistic wear.
It was probably not the best time to tell him that he really did look like a monk.
Besides, this was not the time to tease.
I dealt with the dead, and I never even thought about what happens to a person’s physical body after they die. Guilt flooded me, and my chest grew tight.
Mr. Weaver was technically a member of my family. And even though he’d haunted and berated me every time I ran into him, the fact of the matter was that he wasdead.
Did he even have a funeral? Did anyone in my family pay their respects? He and Dr. Stephens didn’t really seem to get along.
Considering that we all seemed to be mediums, and he was nearby, was it weird?
“Funerals are for the living,” Miles answered. “And also, they are a way to put the earthly body to rest. You only deal with the spiritual side of things, and while witches are concerned with the spirit, we also focus on the physical. Our rituals are designed to express thanks for the human form that the individual inhabited while on this earth, and to encourage their spirits to leave this realm. It’s for closure, and most spirits will move on at the resolution of these rituals. A lingering spirit is never a good sign.”
He’d stopped lighting the candles, frowning at the one at his feet. I felt like he wasn’t finished.
“And?” I prompted.
Miles blinked, shaking himself out of his sudden silence and glanced at me. “Obviously, Caleb did not move on. But yes, he did have a memorial service—his quintet-member, David Kelly, did his rites. It took place while you were… gone.”
I ignored the slight hesitation and the guilty expression that passed over Miles’s face at the brief mention of the time I’d been institutionalized… again.
“Mr. Weaver is still here.” I bit my lip, once again hoping that my suspicions were wrong. Of course, I could always summon Mr. Weaver, just on the off-hand scenario that I did leave him trapped in Ms. Protean’s office. “Do I send him away? What’s my job?”
But then if it was true I’d stuck him there, he would be really angry. I didn’t feel like dealing with that drama right now.
“No, he wouldn’t listen anyway,” Miles answered, lighting the last candle. “I think he’ll do whatever the heck he wants.”
Yeah, he probably would. Even dead, he was ornery and had plans. He’d said so himself, there were so many things he had that needed doing. Hecoulddo whatever he wanted too—that was, if he had hisfreedom. Which he might, at the moment, lack.
He was going to kill me.
“Do you want to stay?” Miles shot me another concerned look, the humor he normally wore absent from his expression. “Or would you be more comfortable waiting somewhere else? I just want to…” He paused, gesturing toward the candles, and some feet away at the makeshift grave.
“I want to watch.” I moved to my feet, pushing my hands in my pockets, fingers closing around the hag stone that Kathleen had given me.
This was nothing fancy, but like she said, there was something magical about it. The pinkish stone seemed to pulse under my fingertips.
