Eve pulled the paper out of her pocket and unfolded it. It showed a detailed drawing of the wall and the ground in front of it. Symbols had been sketched over both, parts of the spell that I recognized.
“We’re going to need to paint the potion onto the wall and ground,” Eve said. “But it’s a complicated design. It’ll take ages if I try to do it alone, and we don’t have that kind of time.” She glanced up, as if looking for the moon, which was slowly rising. It was full dark already, and the streetlamps were burning.
“We’ll help,” Carrow said. “But I should paint the wall. Mac and Seraphia became cursed when they got too close to the wall. I was immune, though.”
“I’ll take a brush, too,” I said.
“But—”
“My days are numbered anyway, Carrow. The least I can do is help with this.”
She frowned, pain flashing in her eyes. Eve looked at me, bemused, but I didn’t elaborate. She was smart enough not to ask.
“Thanks.” Eve carefully tore the map into four sections, then handed them around, skipping Mac and Seraphia but keeping one for herself. She went to the bench and gathered pots and slender brushes. She handed them around, then filled the little pots with the potion that she’d made. “Do your best to replicate the design as you see it on the paper.”
I nodded and took mine, then met Carrow’s gaze.
“This is like art class for the damned,” she said.
I chuckled.
“Come on.” Eve got to work.
Carrow and I headed straight for the stone wall, while Eve and Quinn stopped in the courtyard.
Eve frowned at it. “This grass is a problem.”
As I began to paint the symbol on the stones, Eve knelt and pressed her hand to the ground. Her magic flared briefly, and the grass began to wilt. The flowers shriveled and died until there was nothing but dirt and gravel for the first ten meters in front of the wall.
“That’s better.” Eve looked at Quinn. “Do your best to paint the potion onto the dirt. Drip it, if you must. We need to get the symbols in place for the spell to have something to grip onto.”
Carrow and I stopped in front of the wall and looked at each other.
“Your eyes are glowing green again,” I said.
“It’s something about this wall and this curse.” She frowned at me. “The dark curse isn’t getting you, though. Not the way it got Mac and Seraphia.”
“Thank fates for small favors, maybe.” I tried to smile, but it felt unnatural. I turned to the wall and began to paint.
Together, the four of us worked. The paint glowed with magic as we drew the symbols, and I could feel the pulsing evil in the wall.
“Can you sense it?” Carrow asked. “Whatever is polluting this place?”
“I do. Feels like it’s been here a long time. Like it’s grown roots.”
“But it’s still not getting to you, is it?” Worry echoed in her voice, and her paintbrush stilled as she looked at me. “Not the way it got to Mac and Seraphia?”
“I'm fine.”
She frowned but didn’t press me. We returned to our work, and I couldn’t help but steal glances at her. Every now and again, I caught her looking back—sometimes at her friends, sometimes at the statue of Councilor Rasla, a frown twisting her lips.
“You don’t like him,” I said.
“I don’t like what I’ve learned of him.”
“He was a bastard,” I said. “But long dead now, thank fates. Stuck in his afterlife.”
Like I soon would be.