It was fine. She didn’t need him.
As Mae dematerialized back to her house with the Book, she was totally resolved and absolutely refusing to think about Sahvage ever again. Re-forming inside the garage, she walked right into the back hall, through the kitchen, and out the other side.
“I have what we need.” She ignored how her voice broke. “I’m going to take care of everything.”
Opening the way into the bathroom, she caught her breath for a moment. The ice from the night before was mostly melted, nothing but a cold pool surrounding her brother’s body.
“It’s going to be just fine.”
She had a feeling she was crying. She didn’t know why else her cheeks would be wet, but she didn’t care and that was the good thing about obsessions. They were utterly clarifying. Nothing else mattered, which made it all so much easier. Especially when your emotions got messy.
Kneeling by the tub, she put the Book down on the bath mat and stared at her brother’s face. Then she looked at the ancient tome. Its cover was so ugly, and every time she breathed in, her nose revolted. But beggars, choosers, and all that.
“It worked,” she said to the thing. “I didn’t believe in the summoning spell, but here we are.”
Reaching down to open it, she felt a surge of nausea as her fingertips made contact. And then, when she tried to lift the cover, she could have sworn there was resistance, as if the thing didn’t want the intrusion. But it was an inanimate object, right?
As one of her tears fell on the old leather, the droplet was absorbed as if consumed. And then, abruptly, the Book opened itself, the cover thrown back without any help from her. While Mae jerked in surprise, pages started to flip of their own volition, the parchment rifling through faster and faster, until all of a sudden, the movement stopped.
Like a page had been chosen for her.
As her heart started to pound, she looked down. And prayed that whatever ingredients were required for the resuscitation, she had them in the house—
What the . . . hell?
“Oh, no . . . no, no, no.”
There was some title at the top of the page, and there were many, many lines of brown and black ink below it . . . there was even a drawing, archaic in nature—as if from the Middle Ages—illustrating a corpse rising from a grave.
So she had the right section.
But she couldn’t understand the language. Whatever the spell was written in . . . was nothing she had ever seen before.
“Shit!”
When she tried to see if there was a translation she could read somewhere farther along in the chapter, the pages refused to be turned, the Book becoming like a frozen block.
Mae started to breathe heavily. Then she fumbled with her phone. Her hands shook as she dialed.
“Hello?” came the elderly voice.
“Tallah, I have the Book. IhavetheBookbutIcantreadit—”
“Dearest, dearest—please.” The elderly female’s voice was worried. “I cannot understand you. You have to slow down.”
Mae was panting, but she forced herself to get control. “I have the Book. I’m here, with Rhoger, at my house. But I can’t read what it says. Can you come here and help me?”
“The summoning spell worked . . .” Tallah’s voice drifted off into wonder. “And of course. As you know, I was trained properly in the traditional fashion for females so I am fluent in many languages.”
“I have no car to come pick you up in.”
There was a pause. “Dearest, what happened to your—”
“It’s not important. Are you able to dematerialize to the house?”
“Yes, yes. Dearest, I shall be there right away.”
“Thank you. Just come through the garage, the door’s unlocked and one of the daytime shutters in the back has been cracked. There’s nothing where my car is supposed to be so it’s safe.”
“Worry not. We shall work this out together.”
As they ended the call, Mae sagged with relief. But she worried about whether Tallah was capable of—
Knock, knock, knock.
Her head whipped around. Getting to her feet, she stepped over the Book and got her gun out—not that she was confident about using the damn thing. She’d managed to nearly shoot herself in the heart back in that furnace room with Sahvage—
Okay, she was not thinking about that right now. Or ever again.
Dear God, what had her life become?
Knock, knock.
Who’s there, she thought as she leaned out of the hall and looked at the front door.
What if it was the Brotherhood? If they could trace the phone, then they no doubt knew where Sahvage had spent the day. What if they were coming for the—
“Mae?” Came a muffled voice through the door. “Mae, dearest, are you in there?”
“Oh, Jesus—Tallah.”
As she lunged through the living room, she thought it was so typical of the older female to be confused. Yanking the door open, she found the old female right on the stoop, dressed in one of her caftans, her gnarled hands gripping a small purse to her caved-in chest like she was a beggar.