“You found it,” Kite said slowly, understanding dawning.
“Bad stick.” Cam glared at the sword. “I didn’t miss you, either.”
“It follows you,” she continued dreamily, “and it can never be lost as long as it is tied to you.”
“Tied to me?” Cam made a face. “That doesn’t sound good.”
Kite noticed that his moustache was drooping and was longer than usual. She flicked away the urge to reach out and stroke it back into shape.
“Oh, it’s just an immortal bond between creatures.” Kite waved her hand dismissively. “Nothing to worry about. It was supposed to be the compass, it was supposed to lead me there. But instead it brought me to you. Not willingly, I don’t think. It seems to hold a grudge. What did you do to it?”
“Nothing! I mean, I rescued it from the junkyard. And then Clytemnestra took it. I —”
“It didn’t want to be found,” she said, “and perhaps it resents being traded like currency. This sword is a noble creature and should be treated with respect. When we return to the junkyard, it will have a choice to make.”
“The junkyard? Why are you going back there?” His eyes narrowed. “We? The last time I saw you, you betrayed us to the Coven. And if Eli didn’t send you to rescue me, I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Betrayed you?” Kite tilted her head. “Precious, I saved you. I saved her.”
“She doesn’t think so.”
“She is scared to trust a witch.”
“She should be.”
“Yes,” Kite agreed sadly. “But I will keep saving her. And I will save you, too, for her.” A single strand of hair stretched toward Cam, and the stones on his chest began humming, a melody that sounded like a homecoming. She smiled. “The stones recognize me.”
“I guess the stones don’t understand that you’re a traitor,” he said, but his words lacked venom.
“Or maybe they know something the boy doesn’t.”
Kite walked past him, staring curiously at the smooth glass underfoot. Then she knelt down and stared at her reflection in the dark pane. All at once, a flash of lightning from underneath the stone shattered her image, and Kite felt a scream rising up in her body. She stumbled back, heart racing.
“What’s wrong?” asked Cam. “You’re acting stranger than usual.”
“I can’t stay here,” she said, hair covering her face like a mask. “This is where the obsidian blades are forged. These are the Witch-Killing Fields. And we have disturbed their slumber. They are awake.”
“Who?”
Kite stared into the glass, mesmerized, as her reflection was eaten by ghostly jaws and skeletal hands.
“The broken ones, of course.”
His fear cracked. She could smell the moment the adrenalin cast a haze of murky brownred over his body. And then the blade was against her throat, in a split second when his fear decided she was the enemy. But the true threat lay dormant underneath them. Waiting.
Kite let her words dissipate into air, like a small gasp of breath. “That won’t kill me,” she whispered. Her hair hung limp on her back, wary and waiting.
“But it can make a blade that will. I can chip out a bit of obsidian and end you.”
“You could,” she agreed. The Beast nuzzled her ankles. She hushed him with her mind. She tipped her head back, throat still pressed against stone, and admired the great fields of the universe flowering with life and death. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
Cam said nothing but swallowed audibly. She suspected he had never killed anyone before.
“You know, I was forbidden from coming here as a girl. Too dangerous. I wonder how many witches came, anyway, just to see its beauty. If I had to die, there is no other place I would choose.”
A shooting star streaked overhead. The stone was warm at her throat, like the touch of a lover. Like Eli’s hand. She always had a firm grip. A few pink shells rained from Kite’s eyes and clattered over the black glass. Kite kept her eyes open. Cam stilled, and then set his shoulders back. His grip tightened around the stone blade. He stared into her eyes, the glowing orbs of bluegreen light. His grip relaxed.
“What am I doing?” He pulled on his hair, making it even messier than before. Kite felt the blade pull away from her body, and a rush of cold air replaced its warmth. She let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. Seawater dripped out of the side of her mouth.
“You were eliminating a possible threat,” said Kite.
“I’m not a killer.”
“No?” Kite cocked her head. “Then it’s a good thing I found you before you got eaten.”
“How do we get out of here?” His voice was harsh, grating. The sound forced out of his mouth. “Where are we?”
Kite stood gracefully. “The Witch-Killing Fields. It’s where the obsidian is harvested to create weapons like Eli’s blade. The power isn’t just the obsidian,” she told Cam. “I discovered it in my research on how to free a made-daughter assassin. The essences of witches were fed to the ice, and their magic changed. The stone you stand on is a grave, and the ghosts of our dead is what lends the obsidian blades their strength. They are hungry for more witches.”
“You wanted to free Eli?”
“Of course. All things should be free.” Her voice was light as air, bright as a firefly bobbing in the night.
“But you’re the future Witch Lord.”
“Yes, that was my fate.”
“Was?”
She turned her luminous eyes on him. “All things should be free.”
He stepped back and the knife dropped to his side. For a moment, he looked like a lost child stranded on the ice, needing to be rescued. But then the moment passed, and he was a monster again — part man, part stone. A blade edge sharpened by fear and loneliness.
“You can get me back to Eli and Tav?” The longing in his voice was palpable. He was alone, and he was never alone; or at least, he tried to never be alone. They had failed him, Kite realized. They had not sent him across
