Black Bottle

side?”

“That’s just hocus-pocus.” Haidee swung her beer bottle back and forth like a pendulum from the neck. “You don’t have to love him … or her.”

Duana interrupted Miriam’s response. “Why would Sena give us the book unless—” She snatched her hand back from the cover. “Shit! It’s cold.” Miriam saw Duana swallow her fear, which made the surgically perfect scar encircling her neck ripple.

“A better question is: how do we know this is the real book?” Miriam used the hem of her dress to twist open another beer. “I’ve seen Sena throw a glamour. She’s better than any of us.”

All nine women stared at the Cisrym Ta.

“She said she’d drag us through the jungle,” said Duana, who looked unabashedly worried.

Autumn Solburner was a dusky-skinned girl that Miriam tried not to show outward favoritism for. She entered the conversation cautiously, seeming to wonder why Miriam was being negative. “This is what the Houses have been trying to accomplish for decades.” She turned her palms up. “This is the book. It’s not a fake. We’ve won, Miriam. We have it. Why aren’t you happy? The Willin Droul doesn’t stand a chance.”

Miriam gave Autumn a serious look then said, “Sena’s in Sandren. That’s where the Chamber is.”

Haidee set her bottle down and pointed at Miriam. “You hush.”

“I will not. She’s going to the Chamber and you know it.”

No one talked. Haidee’s black eyes burned across the table at Miriam. Miriam didn’t feel like backing down. She had been the last Sister in Stonehold, the last to speak with Sienae Iilool. She knew what she was talking about. “What is it?” she asked. “You don’t want to admit it? You’re the one in the red dress … Mother.”

“Shut up,” hissed Haidee. “I’m not Coven Mother yet so be happy. We all know you think you deserve it but it’s not coming to you so quit being sour.”

“Don’t turn this into that old argument,” Miriam snapped. “This isn’t about you or me. It’s about the Sisterhood and the fact that the Eighth House is insane. We need a leader that—”

“Bite your tongue!”

“I will not! Giganalee is incompetent!” said Miriam. “If she’s not, get her out of bed and bring her down here so she can sentence me to Juyn Hel herself!”

The others gasped.

“You are excused,” said Haidee.

“Really? You’re not Coven Mother yet. I don’t think I am excused.”

“I said—”

“Focus on getting the Sisterhood back on track!” shouted Miriam, “or I swear—”

A kyru snapped out in Haidee’s hand, gleaming. A single talon. Extended.

Autumn, Duana and the rest made room.

Miriam was committed now. She felt how exquisitely and abruptly the time for shouting had ended. Feeling ambivalent about both the future and the recent past, she pulled her own kyru with a tremble. It was internal. No one else would see her fear.

To the positive, the other seven weren’t taking sides. It seemed they might be willing to let this sort itself out.

Miriam pulled her blade down over her hand and gasped. Haidee started babbling numbers instantly, enlisting the Sisterhood’s trick of hemofurtum. She meant to steal Miriam’s blood, suck her holojoules into a fast equation before Miriam had time to reach her sum. Oddly, no holojoules came …

In a smooth redirection of the kyru’s motion, Miriam pulled the weapon up into a throw. The razor left her fingertips, spinning through air. It embedded itself in Haidee’s chest; Miriam was already talking. The Unknown Tongue poured out of her. She too enlisted hemofurtum: only her equation was working.

Miriam had not cut herself.

Haidee’s equation ran dry. She had been fooled by sleight of hand and amateur acting and it was too late to adjust.

Miriam finished her sum quickly and the blade sank deep. With one gruesome tug the kyru obeyed her words and snugged itself up into Haidee’s heart.

Haidee dropped to the floor. Her lips passed an airy sound.

Miriam picked up her beer and tipped it back. Then she tossed the bottle on the carpeted floor. “We need some fucking better leadership around here. That’s all I’m saying.” She felt a little drunk. All of them were at least a little drunk. The improbability of Haidee’s body on the floor felt less significant in that light. But Miriam had spoken the truth. She turned and left the room.

*   *   *

ON the morning of the fourteenth, Giganalee woke up laughing.

Eight Ascendant Sisters stood with Miriam around the oval bed. They were the only ones who had witnessed Haidee’s death and, as the Eighth House woke, Duana functioned as elected speaker for the group. She used the Eighth House’s proper title, which Miriam thought absurd considering Giganalee’s state of mind.

“Ascended One? Haidee is dead.”

“Who killed her?” Giganalee’s eyes stared blindly at the extravagant ceiling.

Miriam felt a rivulet of sweat cut loose under her arm and trickle over her ribs.

Duana hesitated just a moment, unable to meet the eyes in the room. “It was Miriam.”

Giganalee started laughing again.

Miriam didn’t know whether to keep holding her breath. Duana looked at her. So did Autumn, Gina and the others. But Miriam realized they weren’t looking at her. They were looking to her, wondering what to do.

Autumn’s gaze in particular was deadly serious. She had taken Miriam’s side without saying a word.

“Hmm … hmm-hmm.” Giganalee’s chuckle tapered. “You know,” she said, “that girl from the isles is a scroll. Hagh, hagh-hagh—” She chortled again.

“This is useless,” Miriam said under her breath. She began to back away from the bed.

“Miriam Yeats!” Giganalee bawled.

Miriam stopped.

“You are Sororal Head.”

Duana whispered skeptically, “Why not Coven Mother?”

But Miriam could almost feel what was coming before Giganalee opened her mouth.

“There will be no Mother—” for half a second Giganalee gagged on her own tongue, then continued, “until the trouble is sorted, Miriam will wear red.”

“How do we sort the trouble?” asked Gina.

“We stop Sena,” said Miriam.

Giganalee waved her hand. Yes, said the hand. Yes, yes, yes. “If it can be done. The book has come late. I should have known.” She was grinning. “I’m an old fool.” Her words trailed off into an animal growl.

Miriam saw Giganalee’s slender talons produce a lovely brown pill from beneath the bedclothes. She popped it into her mouth.

“Gods!” yelled Duana. But it was too late.

“The Eighth House is outside the Circle!” shrieked Giganalee. Then her body yanked through a series of feral contortions. Black and yellow foam erupted from Giganalee’s mouth and burned through the snowy sheets.

*   *   *

GIGANALEE was wrapped in chartreuse lace and tied with fine black ribbon. Haidee too. Both corpses were packed into temporary wooden crates for transfer by steam rail. At the last stop, which was Menin’s Pass, the funeral procession would unpack and carry them northwest toward the hidden tombs, likely on horseback, through snow, bright green bundles strapped behind black saddles.

Funerals in winter were never easy for the Sisterhood and Miriam was glad she wouldn’t be part of the procession. Under the circumstances, she felt the need to prepare quickly and go after Sena, so she handed the funeral duties off to the Sixth House.

Details of the two deaths were not shared with anyone in the Fourth or below. The Sisterhood was already in