Page 106 of Foresyth Conservatory
“Page four hundred and thirty-two, boy. I won’t say it again,” the Meister thundered.
Leone glared at him.Oh, God. Don’t give us away.
I silently pleaded for him to obey. The Meister held his breath as they locked eyes, but mercifully, Leone relented and turned to the page. I stifled my sigh and glanced at Sequoia, who was moving to serve the ceremonial tea to each of us, except the Meister, who would remain grounded, his soul intact.
With careful hands, Sequoia poured the thick, velvety liquid into my ceramic mug. The steam curled toward me like a dark invitation, its scent floral yet earthy. I took a deep breath and allowed myself to sink into the cushions around the altar. I reached into my pocket to check the switchbox was still there, relieved to feel its weight.
Sequoia began the chant in a harsh, foreign tongue. I struggled to enunciate the strange words with the cotton stuffed in my mouth, but I repeated them as the others did, shifting the cotton against my gums to keep it dry.
“And drink,” the Meister commanded, his green eyes gleaming with anticipation. A shiver ran down my arms, and I adjusted my position to hide it. Around the Circle, everyone raised their cups to their mouths, their waxy lips glistening. I followed suit, carefully holding the cotton wad on my tongue to absorb the liquid. Even in that brief contact, warmth flooded my body. I steadied myself, watching as everyone else pretended to gulp as I had instructed.
The buzzing in my ears grew louder, but my pulse thundered when Aspen took up the athame. He angled ittoward his palm and spoke in a low voice. “Shattered Mother of my Blood, Primordial Womb, Creator of Souls, I offer my flesh, my blood, my fire.” He pierced his palm, letting blood pool.
The others followed with their own elemental invocations. When the athame reached me, I looked to the Meister.
I was the Bonder, not an element. But I wouldn’t reveal what I knew.
“Repeat all of them,” he said.
I pressed the tip of the athame into the palm of my hand until it broke the skin. I winced, but did as instructed and recited, “Shattered Mother of my Blood, Primordial Womb, Creator of Souls, I offer my flesh, my blood, my fire, my water, my air, and my earth.”
We joined hands in the Circle, mingling our blood. Nina’s and Sequoia’s palms pressed into mine, our blood seeping between our fingers. This was the part I’d planned for. We needed a shared signal, so I began counting to ten. When we reached it, we’d move to secure the Meister and the Book.
One . . . two . . . three . . .
My eyes grew heavier. The cotton in my mouth was full of liquid, spilling onto my tongue.
Four . . . five . . . six . . .
I held the liquid, fighting the urge to swallow. Despite my efforts, I felt some of its heat course down my throat. Just a few more seconds, and I’d spit it out, right into the Meister’s face. The buzzing building into a deafening crescendo.
Seven . . . eight . . . nine . . .
I couldn’t wait any longer. I tried to signal—squeezing Nina and Sequoia’s hands—but my body felt sluggish, like itwas trapped in molasses. I opened my mouth to shout, but no sound emerged.
Ten.
And that’s when I fell.
It was as if the earth had split beneath me, a chasm swallowing me whole. My body pitched forward, gravity itself twisting into something malevolent, dragging me down into an abyss. The circle of cards scattered around me, spiraling in my descent like leaves torn from the great oak. I clawed at the sensation, trying to tether myself to reality, but my limbs were useless. My eyes rolled back, the world blurring into darkness.
This is it,I thought. This is how I die.
The certainty was strangely liberating. For a brief, fleeting moment, the fear loosened its grip, and I floated on a cloud of warmth. My pulse slowed. I felt myself unraveling, surrendering to the void.
“No. Not yet.”A voice cut through the blackness, sharp as a blade and impossibly soft at once. A woman’s voice. I strained to turn toward it, but my body was unmoored, unresponsive. I was nothing but a thought, suspended in emptiness.
Then came the light. It began as a faint glimmer, like a distant star, but it grew, spreading and spinning until it became a cascade of brilliance, like shards of silver glass raining from above. The spiraling stars congealed into a shape—a form.
A woman.
She stepped out of the light as if emerging from a dream, her every movement fluid and deliberate, like time itself bent to her will.
Sophia?I wanted to say, but the thought dissipated, swallowed by her presence. I couldn’t speak; my body refused to obey.
Her tendrils of hair shimmered like molten silver, cascading around her in waves. Her eyes—liquid moonlight—bore into me, unrelenting and ancient, carrying a sorrow I couldn’t comprehend. She moved closer, and as she did, I saw the fine glint of her lashes, the faint shimmer of tears pooling at the edges of her eyes. Was she crying?
“You have to make amends,” she said, her voice resonating everywhere and nowhere, a sound more felt than heard. The words wrapped around me, a lifeline in the void. I tried to respond, to ask her what she meant, but my lips wouldn’t move. Yet she understood. I felt it—our thoughts entwined. Hers vast and deep as the night sky, mine a flickering ember.
