Lottie played the role of apothecary to perfection. She laid out each neatly prepared ingredient on the long mahogany table; little piles of thyme leaves and hyacinth petals, washed and trimmed alliums, lively sprigs of baby’s breath. Feathering killed the moth, extracted its haemolymph and ground the cocoon with well-practised precision. Then, because Feathering was shaking too hard, Lottie laid out the test-tube racks, assembled the right doses of each ingredient in each vial, and squeezed a droplet of blood from Feathering’s index finger into Mordue’s vial.
Mordue watched all of this unfold with an impenetrable expression. She sat silently in a chair at the head of the table, hands clasped in front of her, staring at her test-tube rack. Was she trying to steel herself? Did she think the reversal ritual would work? Or was she too afraid to hope? Then there was the unbearable weight of the lives we had to mourn. Even though Mordue’s soul would be brought back, Poppy’s life could never be. Neither could Fiona nor Dawn, nor Sam nor Janie. No wonder she looked so thoroughly hollowed out.
Once the tincture was ready, Mordue stood stoically on heeled boots, her black peacoat hanging heavy on her shoulders. She held out her hand to Lottie and nodded. Lottie gave her the vial, then exhaled deeply. She had played her part. Now all that was left to do was watch and hope.
Mordue raised the vial to her mouth, but Feathering suddenly said, ‘Wait. Stop.’
The dean looked at her wearily. ‘What is it?’
Feathering simply threw her arms around Mordue, squeezing tightly and whispering something inaudibly in her ear. Mordue didn’t reply, just pressed her eyes shut and hugged Feathering back.
Then it was time.
Mordue drank.
For a few split seconds, nothing happened. Mordue looked around at each of us, mouth twisted in displeasure at the taste of the concoction. She was halfway through a shrug when her eyes flew open in a dreadful bulge, and a blood-curdling scream erupted from her lips.
‘Vanessa!’ Feathering cried, grabbing Mordue by the elbow as she sank to the ground.
The screams went on for what felt like hours. Mordue writhed, gouging at the stone slabs with her blood-red nails, gagging and retching and heaving.
My own stomach turned at the sight. Because if this didn’t work, the pain was all for nothing.
And if it did work . . . I would have to go through it too.
Lottie sank into the chair next to mine and lay her arm across my shoulders. Before my body could even flinch at the unexpected intimacy, before I could throw up all of my worldly guards, I was resting my head on her chest and fighting back tears.
Eventually, Mordue went quiet and still. It was almost worse than the screams. I lifted my head again.
‘Vanessa?’ Feathering whispered, voice lifted with fear. She wasn’t wearing her black lipstick, and her white-silver hair was pulled back in a low bun. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes were raw with worry. I could hardly believe this was the same woman who so intimidated me when I first came to the Sisters of Mercy library.
After another few moments of awful stillness, Mordue groaned, unravelling herself from the foetal position she’d found herself in. Pressing one hand against the ground, she lifted herself up gingerly, as though she’d just been beaten to within an inch of her life.
‘It worked,’ she murmured. Then her voice hitched with tears. ‘It . . . it worked.’
‘Oh,’ moaned Feathering, and threw her arms around Mordue. The two shared a long, trembling embrace.
‘How can you tell?’ Hafsah asked curiously, squinting at her like she was a particularly puzzling level of a video game.
‘I’m me again,’ Mordue said simply, sniffing back an errant stream of snot. ‘It’s been so long. I’d almost forgotten who . . . I’d almost forgotten. But I remember now. I can’t explain. I’m just . . . I’m me.’
‘I’ll go next,’ said Hafsah briskly.
‘Whose blood are you using?’ I asked curiously.
‘I’ve been fucking a bartender from the Refectory.’ A casual shrug. ‘He’s way more into it than I am. Told me he loves me last night, so I did a little cut on his arm while he slept. Just normal psychopath things.’
Laughter erupted from my mouth before I could stop it. Even Mordue and Feathering gave weak smiles.
Hafsah’s ritual went as harrowingly as Mordue’s did; the writhing and the clawing and the retching. I felt every bloodcurdling scream in my own ribcage.
Then the stillness; followed by the opening of her eyes like a newborn foal.
She gave a stoic nod as she dusted herself back off. ‘Thank fuck for that. George’s blood came through. He mustactuallylove my soul as it really is.’ A slight nod. ‘Poor bastard.’
Lottie squeezed my shoulder and then unwound her arm. I looked at her, and she looked at me, and a thousand unspoken words passed between us.
I wanted to get this over with.