“Your blood,” she revealed.
I made a sour face – just the kind of sour face a girl would give after having already lost most of her blood to sorcerer kings today. “How much?”
“Just a thimbleful. Not much. You’re a McLane, and somehow this contract binds you – all the McLanes – through time and space.”
I nodded. Even in my muddled head, that made good magical sense.
“One word of warning, though – don’t allow yourself to become too attached to the past.”
“Why not?” I couldn’t shift the frown from my face as it dug hard into my chin.
She stared at me for several seconds before opening her lips. And those several seconds of silence were some of the worst in my life. “Because you can become trapped,” she answered.
“Oh,” I said in a falsely calm tone.
“Don’t worry. Just keep your wits about you. Search for clues. You can do this.” As she said that, she leaned forward, clapped a hand on my shoulder, and looked right into my eyes.
Maybe she saw something, because she didn’t linger. She pulled away, a calm smile on her face. I imagined Sarah had seen a lot in her long life, and I imagined this end-of-the-world stuff was old hat to her. So if she wasn’t lingering over me with fear, maybe… maybe… maybe I had a chance?
I went with that feeling, held onto it with both hands as I ground my teeth together and waited for the final elements of the rite to come together.
Soon, I found myself standing roughly in the center of a metal scrapheap, a truly strange assortment of things arranged in a circle by my feet.
There was a plastic bottle full of grass clippings that had been mashed up with chalk. There were three kinds of metals stacked precariously on top of each other. There was my thimble full of blood, there was the book, and there was something that looked like a sacred knife.
I’d expected the other witches to assemble around me, maybe hold hands, maybe start to chant.
They didn’t.
I was on my own.
Sarah had muttered something about the contract not being able to tolerate anyone else. When I pressed, she explained that the presence of other witches may cause the contract to defend itself. In other words, there could be a magical explosion. And we really didn’t need any more of those.
I kept sucking in shallow breaths. I tried to make them deep. God, did I try to make them deep. I opened my mouth all the way and attempted to suck air down into my lungs, but it didn’t matter. My throat felt constricted to the point of a pin.
Still, somehow, I managed to stand.
Sarah’s warning kept playing in my head. If I became too engrossed in the past, I could trap myself there.
And while I didn’t mind that sunny grassy moor, I knew full well what McCain would do.
I clenched my teeth and grated them together as I watched the contract.
The rite, apparently, was simple. Or relatively simple compared to some of the seriously complicated magical spells Sarah and her witches usually cast.
All I had to do was pluck up the sacred knife, dip it in the thimble of blood, and write a single word over the torn, battered-leather cover of the contract.
And what was that word?
Unimaginatively, it was open.
Why did it feel like that one word would open more than the book? Why did it kind of feel like giving the command to open Pandora’s box? Or maybe a prison full of the worst fiends in history?
I knew full well that I didn’t have time. Hello, every second I stood here, shaking and panting for breath, was a second McCain was only getting closer.
And yet, it still took me several more seconds to pluck up the courage to lean down to one knee and grasp the knife, let alone try to dip it in the blood.
I was shaking so badly that I had to support the hand that held the knife, grasping the wrist with an iron grip. “Come on,” I commanded myself. “You’re a McLane, remember. You can do this.”
With those words of self-encouragement, I tipped the knife into the blood, brought it forward, hesitated, then wrote the word open on the book.
I kind of expected something to happen immediately. You know, some kind of explosion, definitely sparks, maybe even magical flames.
And yet, nothing happened.
With the sacred knife dripping in blood, I kept the tip hovering over the book, a frown pressing over my lips as the seconds ticked by.
I even leaned down and checked I’d spelled open right. Yep. I wasn’t an idiot yet.
And then?
Then I started to feel something. It was subtle at first. Almost imperceptible.
It began under my feet. This faint shifting, almost as if the gravel was trying to dance.
It started to grow. Grow until the ground began to quake.
“Oh my god,” I managed as I pitched to the side, the knife still in my hand.
Sarah had told me not to let go of the contract, and as the ground continued to quake so badly I was certain it was going to split apart and I was going to fall down to Hell, I managed to pitch forward. I threw myself at the book, body crunching over it just as magic began to rush from the ground. Now there were sparks, flame too. It was a display the likes of which I’d never seen. The sheer power rippling from the earth was unmistakable. It caught the ends of my hair, sent them billowing around my face, and made my skin tingle and prickle like I’d rolled in pins.
I didn’t have a hand free to brush the sensation away, and I certainly didn’t have the coordination as I continued
