Do not do this, a voice in the back of Mae’s head said. This is wrong. This is a door that should remain unopened—
Squeezing her eyes shut, she pictured Rhoger in that ice water, the cubes floating above his haunted, vacant stare. As her pain washed over her, she opened up the vault in her heart and put her fearful hope out into . . . well, the universe because she wasn’t sure she believed in the Scribe Virgin.
She tried to see Rhoger alive and by her side—
Mae closed a fist around the knife and gasped as she pulled the blade through. With her lids popping open, she got a clear image of red blood dropping through the knot of her hand and landing with a splash in the milky tincture in the bottom of the silver dish.
Drop. Drop. Drop—
She wasn’t sure what she expected. But as moments turned into minutes, and all there was . . . was the dripping . . . a piercing dissatisfaction went through her. This was a folly, a fantasy born of her desperation and Tallah’s desire to repay the service of Mae’s mahmen. A dead end—
Tallah took something out of the big pocket of her housecoat, her bony hand extending over the table.
Held in her trembling fingers was a small triangular piece of what looked like parchment, two sides of it smooth as if cut, the long side uneven as if torn.
“That is from the Book,” Mae breathed.
“I have saved it all these years. Saved it for . . . if I needed it. Thus I give this unto your quest.”
At that, Tallah put the fragment into the silver dish—
The flash was bright and hot enough to have both of them shoving back from the table, Mae’s hand and wrist humming with a sudden heat, a rhythmic pounding of pain in her palm having nothing to do with the knife cut.
All around the cottage, lights dimmed and flickered, and a gust of wind rattled the windows.
Everything went black.
Mae’s chair fell over backward as she leaped to her feet. “Tallah, what’s happening—”
There was a squeak on the other side of the table and then the sickening thud of the old female’s body hitting the floor.
“Tallah!” Mae scrambled around the chairs, bumping into them, scattering them in a cacophony of noise. “Where are you—”
All at once, the lights came back on. No more flickering of electricity. No more sounds outside. Down on the floorboards, Tallah was sprawled unconscious, her eyes rolled back, the whites glowing as if she had been possessed by—
With a snort and a gasp, the elderly female came to, her wrinkled face registering shock. Then she lifted her head and looked around as if she had no idea where she was.
Mae knelt down and took careful hold of one of those wrinkled hands. “Are you okay? Let’s take you to the healer’s clinic. I have my car—”
Tallah coughed and shook her head. Then she batted Mae’s worry away. “I’m fine. I’m fine . . .” Those eyes swept around. “I don’t know what happened—can you help me up?”
Getting a hold on the female’s thin arm, Mae dragged Tallah back into her chair. Then she went for her own purse.
“I’m going to call the clinic and tell them—”
“No, no . . .” Tallah stopped Mae’s fumbling hands. “Don’t be silly. You’d just be wasting their time—let them take care of people who need it. Honestly, I’m perfectly fine. The sudden darkness frightened me, that’s all.”
Mae stared down at the female, looking for signs of confusion or . . . God, she didn’t know what. She wasn’t a doctor. But as time went on, and Tallah stayed upright and seemed to make sense?
“You know, maybe I was wrong,” the elderly female said with defeat.
“About what?”
“Everything.” She put her head in her hands. “I’m tired.”
“Would you like me to help you back into bed downstairs—”
The knocking on the front door was loud and persistent, and Mae twisted around to see the front of the house.
“Is that the . . .”
Tallah grabbed her arm. “Don’t answer it.”
The pounding went silent. Then resumed.
“Stay here.” Mae pulled away and ducked a hand into her purse. “I’ll be right back—”
“No! Don’t open it!”
Mae marched through to the parlor, and just as she reached the door, she glanced back. Tallah had turned away to the table and was drinking the last of her tea, her head tilted as she seemed to down her cup for strength.
Refocusing, Mae brought up her canister of mace, her body shaking, her instincts screaming with warning.
But surely that summoning spell hadn’t manifested some book that had the power to knock on doors?
Telling herself to get real, Mae ripped open the front door, put her mace out—
And jumped back in alarm.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she barked.