Ren shook his head. “You’re trying my patience and the saint’s. He doesn’t talk to anyone but me.” His green eyes narrowed on her. “Are you truly that worried by my saint? Does any of this have anything to do with our walk the other day?”

  “My worry is genuine.” Marnie gritted her teeth. “I’m not doing this because you kissed me.”

  “You kissed her?” Jack growled, sounding exactly like the bear he resembled.

  Marnie touched his elbow, settling him. “A revealing spell,” she insisted. “Come on, Jack, we’ve already got the mirror. We’ll cast it. I’ll have a look at his saint, and then I’ll be satisfied. I promise,” she added to the bishop.

  Ren opened his mouth to speak. His eyes darkened from their usual bright green to something unfriendly. The change lasted only a moment. “If we do this, we do it my way, at least. My saint is uncomfortable with you together,” he said. Jack and Marnie looked at each other. “Your bond. The Amigtas. My saint doesn’t want anything to do with your revealing spell, either, and won’t show himself to you while Jack is in the same room.”

  “Jack.” Marnie nudged him. “Go stand with Doyle in the hall . . . Go on.” Jack complied reluctantly, grousing under his breath. “All right, no Amigtas. No uncomfortable revealing spell. Now what?”

  The glass in the mirror shimmered like disturbed water. A child appeared in the reflection, or a spirit that looked much like one, with some disturbing differences. The spirit’s fingers and hair took on the form of gnarled tree roots, spindly and wood-like. His eyes were black, but otherwise he had the slender stature of a young boy around the age of ten with hair the color of coal to match his dark eyes.

  The spirit opened his mouth, lips moving as though he were talking, but Marnie couldn’t hear anything. His black eyes were on his host, Ren.

  “He communes only with me,” the bishop explained. “He says he cannot trust you.”

  “Then our feelings are mutual,” she said to the spirit.

  “Marnie, this is getting ridiculous. If I wasn’t so tired of being held against my will, I’d be flattered you were fighting to protect me. I assure you, I’m safe. The saint casts rites for me and keeps down my natural magic so it cannot overwhelm me or others.”

  “Your magic overwhelms others?”

  “I know you sensed it the other day. Does that really surprise you?”

  “It is strong but not dangerous, Ren. It goes against everything I believe in that organic magic can’t be harnessed. That it is as dangerous or harmful as the Cloth believes.”

  “What if the saint is changing?” Jack said from the hall. “Changing his allegiance. Maybe he is a spirit, or was, but . . .”

  Ren frowned. “Change to what?”

  Jack fell silent and did not explain. Marnie knew he was thinking of the little girl, Allison. It went against her every instinct to bring up the witchling now.

  She chose her words carefully. “There is a growing rumor amongst witches that a saint—a spirit—while sharing the body of a host, after coming into contact with a certain, potent brand of natural magic, can become crazed and change . . .”

  “Marnie, I hope you aren’t suggesting what I think you’re suggesting.” Ren shook his head, expression grave. “It is the darkest heresy to suggest that a saint could have anything in common with a demon.”

  Doyle appeared flustered. “I have to agree with the bishop. It makes more sense that any being whose allegiance appeared to change within a host had simply successfully hidden its true nature from the beginning. It is a demon’s prerogative to feast on organic magics instead of using them to cast benevolent spells and to make cruel bargains that only benefit it. A spirit would never do such a thing. Could never do such a thing.”

  Marnie wasn’t ready to admit it, but she had suspected the same thing the first time Jack told her what Allison had done, how she had changed, and how the demon had bitten him, consuming some of his magic and blood. Lady Young’s warning repeated in her mind. It made more sense that she had been tricked. That the being called Remus never was a spirit.

  Except, what great spirit would share a body with a demon? There was no doubt Rabbit was a great spirit. She’d saved a child from the brink of death, brought to life a deceased hare, and cast a fertility spell to appease the needs of a barren woman. These were not the actions of a demon.

  Ren intervened. “Being saint-blessed, or spirit-touched as they call it on the island, is a fortunate thing. I appreciate your concern, but it was misguided. I know better than most that magic has a multitude of flavors and scents. I’m sure what you smelled was similar and reminded you of a demon, but I think I’ve more than proven that’s not the case here.”

  “You have,” she relented, biting her lip, wishing she felt more convinced. “Please, just be careful, Ren. Be so careful. I want to be wrong about all this. I really do.”

  Chapter 11 (Jack)

  Three mornings later, Jack found Kye seated on the floor in the bedroom of the cottage, shredding a letter into tiny pieces, her hazel eyes rimmed red.

  He watched her wordlessly, his gut turning to stone.

  She looked up at him, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “Please just go away, Jack. I need a minute.”

  “Your master?” he guessed.

  “I sent him the notes for the croc skin and promised more. He wrote me back . . . told me to stop trying. That it was a good match, and I needed to be cared for. Like he knows what I need! If he had any idea, he wouldn’t be strapping me to some ancient priest.”

  “That’s not going to happen to you.”

  Kye jumped to her feet, dropping handfuls of letter scraps, letting them flutter in the air and settle like falling snowflakes. She brushed by him, pacing in a tight circle in the front room. “It’s happening already.”

  He dogged her strides, reaching for her, but she pushed his hands away. “When is your master coming?” He tried giving her more space, stuffing his hands in his pockets to keep from grabbing for her.

  “My master isn’t coming. He’s sending watchmen.”

  Bile burned his throat. “Kye—”

  “I won’t go peacefully.” Her voice rose steadily in volume, transforming from menacing to naked fury. “I’d rather they strung me up! I’ll kill them if they try to take me, Jack! I swear I will!”

  She erupted.

  Kye punched the counter, kicked over a stool and stomped it, snapping the wooden legs. She kicked the wall, then struck it with a closed fist that came away red and scuffed. Jack captured her in his arms before she broke her foot or destroyed her hands. He recognized this rage. He’d done something similar after his mother died, fracturing knuckles and a wrist hitting walls. He’d given into that fire more than once, even after the LaFontaines’ had taken him in.

  Then he discovered his magics, and he had a new outlet, a new distraction, and the rages lessened.

  And then he found Marnie, and he stopped wanting to punch things altogether.

  Kye screamed at the ceiling, struggling against him. He held her. Absorbing the fury. She swatted at his chest, sobbed into his shirt, nose running.

  Slowly her body tired, slumping against him, exhausted. He smoothed her hair until her whimpering stopped. Her body ceased trembling, and her breathing slowed.

  “Are you familiar with the Silk District parsonage?” His voice took on a low, soothing tenor.

  “I know where the church is.” She rubbed her eye with a fist.

  “The parsonage is right next to it. Meet me there in one hour.” He released her, marching for the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To kill your engagement. Be there in an hour.”

  ***

  Jack sent Marnie a wire, knowing she’d act the second she read his words. He paced in front of the parsonage, dressed in his nicest shirt. He even wore shoes. His toes were suffocating.

  “You’re late,” he said when Marnie arrived. Jack rubbed his chin, casting long glances over the whitewashed building, feeling brilliant and like a fool at the same time, both excited and terrified.

  “You were vague about how much you needed,” Marnie said, looking around him hopefully. “It took a while to get so many notes.” She patted her handbag which looked full, fattened by what had to be a fortune greater than Jack could imagine.

  He glared at her. “She’s not here.”

  “Aw,” she groaned, looking past him longingly all the same.

  “Now go so I can take care of this.”

  “You mean go before Kye arrives?”

  His mouth hardened into a thin line. He folded his arms, muscles stretching his shirt sleeves. “Yes.”

  “Oh, come on, Jack! Just let me get a look at her.”

  “No.”

  She scoffed at him. “Why the hell not? I’m your Amigtas. You never need to hide things from me—”

  “That’s exactly right. You’re my Amigtas. You have a hold over me that can be overwhelmingly persuasive. By your own admission, you tend to cling to things too fiercely. You form opinions of others in a heartbeat. Remember that rat with the impressive tumor? I kept him in my room for most of a year growing it . . . ? You fell in love with the damned ugly thing and named it—”

  “—Sebastian—”

  “—so I had no choice but to piss away a year’s worth of work. Suddenly, all I could see was a Sebastian instead of the repulsive, fat rodent full of prime Diridge ingredients. I couldn’t stand upsetting you. I healed the ugly beast and set it free in the train tunnels.”

  “I understand completely. You want to decide for yourself if she’s a Sebastian or an ugly rodent,” Marnie said, craning her neck to see around him.

  “Something like that. Yes. So go away.”

  “That has to be her.” Marnie bit her lip. “Damn, Jack, she’s beautiful. Bet you already knew that, though.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. Kye was moving up the road, against the flow of traffic, wearing fitted black leathers, her ashen hair spilling behind her as wild and free as her soul, bouncing with her steps.

  “She is,” he said, turning back to Marnie reluctantly. He could have stared at Kye the rest of the evening.

  Marnie raised her gloved mechanical hand. “I lost my fingers keeping you alive.”

  Jack grumbled. “When are you going to stop using that one on me?”

  “Never, as long as it keeps working. How about this: you let me meet her and I vow to say nothing. No opinions, no special names, not anything . . . I keep them all to myself until you’re ready.” She flexed her automated fingers at him tauntingly.

  “All right,” he said with a sigh. “No opinions. Not one!”

  “I promise!”

  True to her word, Marnie casually greeted Kye, neither rude nor overly generous, extending her palm politely. Her nostrils flared, and Jack knew she was scenting magics. He had an urge to ask what Kye’s smelled like before he decided it could wait. Whatever it was, it must have been pleasant. Her mouth quirked, and she sniffed again, a little more blatantly this time.

  Kye glanced at the gloves on Marnie’s hands, a look of disappointment on her face. Marnie noticed and hurriedly removed them. They shook politely.

  Kye leaned in for a closer inspection of the mechanical brace, hazel eyes alight with interest. “Impressive use of Ammnon magics.”

  “I thought so, too.” Marnie smiled at Jack. “We had the mechanisms crafted by an engineer, but Jack here cast the enchantments himself.”

  Kye winked at him, and his heart thumped. “I already knew he was impressive.” Jack mussed his hair, feeling like a green adolescent and ridiculously pleased with himself at the same time. Kye’s light brows pinched together. She leaned in toward Marnie conspiratorially. “Do you know what we’re doing here?”

  “I don’t.” Marnie shot curious eyes at Jack. “By the message I received, I assumed you two did.”

  He grunted in response, giving nothing away. Marnie pressed him with a look, one eyebrow arched. “I’m playing this by ear,” he explained.

  The door to the parsonage opened. The novice, Bechtold, black hair frizzy, skin concerningly sallow, invited them inside. “Brother Doyle is ready for you,” he croaked, looking like he hadn’t slept in days.

  Chapter 12 (Marnie)

  The magic that favored Kye smelled like sun-kissed honeysuckle. It made Marnie’s mouth water. Then she got a look at the novice Bechtold and her heart sunk. He looked dreadful, and he smelled like . . . nothing.

  “Mr. Bechtold,” Marnie greeted as Kye and Jack entered the brightly lit foyer. “Are you . . . well?”

  He nodded once sharply. “Of course.” He scratched at his wrist. Marnie followed the movement with her eyes.

  “Your hand . . .” A fresh bite mark, a very human-looking bite mark, puckered his skin where his palm connected to his wrist.

  Bechtold wrenched his shirt sleeve down to cover it. “The bishop’s saint is helping me temper my organic magic. You know? To make it less enthusiastic. I can be a priest now and cast rites without worrying about its interference. No more warding myself inside bedrooms.”

  Marnie knew of no syphoning spells that left such injuries. Her stomach bottomed out, witch senses tingling. “Mr. Bechtold,” she said with an air of foreboding, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “I trust the spirits,” he said resolutely. The novice guided them into the sitting room with rushed footsteps and hurried words, clearly eager to be free of her company.

  “I thought I heard your voice,” Ren said, meeting her in the foyer in his riding clothing, a crop in his hand. Kye and Jack left her for the sitting room.

  “Did you read the articles I gave you?” Marnie asked.

  He chuckled. “I have. Does that surprise you?”

  “Of course not. You’re an academic. I assumed you could read. And what did you think of them?”

  He tapped his thigh gently with the crop. “They were as compelling as you promised they would be.”

  Marnie tried to temper her excitement and failed. “And?” Her voice rose along with her exuberance.

  “And I have sent it to several colleagues. Most of them were as dismissive as I feared, but one—”

  “One is better than none!”

  “—one academic priest, from Greenwich University in the mountains where I’m from, is setting up a reenactment of the trials with his students.”

  Her nose scrunched. “Novice priests?”

  “Still better than nothing . . . Is there any chance you’ve forgiven me enough that I could convince you to attend a function with me tonight?” He shuffled in closer, smile rakish. “I want you to go on my arm. A guest of honor. I’d like to show you off to the old-fashioned amongst the Cloth. I believe you’ll awe them.”

  “I don’t see how having a look at me in some fancy dress would make any difference for them or witch-kind. Since by ‘old-fashioned’ I think you mean stubborn and prejudicial.”

  “One good look at you would challenge their perceptions. The old-fashioned view witches as wild and wanton, running around outside the walls partially clothed, chasing tigers without their shoes on.”

  “Oh, I only chase tigers during the dry season,” she said, laughing. He joined in, and the combined sound of their amusement felt a bit like a relationship mended. Some of the tension left her body.

  “Be my guest to the achievement reunion later tonight. We throw them annually to honor the special accomplishments of priests in various categories: academia, innovation, counseling, family preservation . . . that sort of thing. There will be a symphony performance first, followed by excellent food.”

  “A Cloth celebration? The place will be packed with priests. A few I could handle, but an entire ballroom full . . . I don’t know, Ren.”

  “Yes, but there will also be dancing. I hear you like dancing.”

  She frowned. “How often do you talk to my mother, exactly?”

  “As often as I can. I find her delightful, but actually that tip came from Lord LaFontaine. The last time we spoke, he mentioned you taught him to dance. Believe me when I say I’ll show you a good time, Marnie. I’m an excellent dancer.”

  She smashed her lips together to hold back her grin. “You’re too charming for your own good, sometimes, Ren. It’s going to get you in trouble one of these days.”

  “Does that mean you’ll accompany me?”

  She sighed, a belabored sound, exaggerated, full of resistance. “Yes, unfortunately it does.” His beaming smile was so frustratingly infectious she found herself smiling back at him again. Then her expression turned severe, stealing the laughter out of his eyes. “If you kiss me again, Bishop—”

  He raised a hand in pledge. “I wouldn’t dare. I’ll be the perfect gentleman all night long. I swear.”

  Ren followed her into the sitting room. Marnie moved to the cart in the corner and prepared a coffee for herself, handbag tucked under her arm.

  Brother Doyle made polite inquiries about the spells inked into Jack’s forearms. “Fascinating,” he said as the bishop took the armchair opposite the priest. “Well, don’t let me distract you from your true purpose here,” Doyle said. “Tell me what brought you with such urgency.”

  Jack’s eyes fell to the floor, and if Marnie didn’t know better, she’d think he had gone shy. An emotion she didn’t know he was capable of. Whatever was wrong with him, it only lasted a moment. Then he looked at Kye. He reached out and touched her cheek, and Marnie’s heart warmed.

  “I’d like you to marry me to this woman immediately,” Jack said softly.

  Kye’s eyes went wide. Marnie’s nearly popped out of her head. She’d been pouring cream into her coffee, and suddenly the creamer was slipping out of her hands and she nearly spilled it everywhere.

  “Congratulations,” Ren said cheerfully. He chuckled at Marnie who was having a difficult time controlling her expression.

  Doyle clapped his hands together. “Why, that’s amazing news! I love a good wedding. I have nothing short of a thousand questions for the bride and groom, so settle in. Have you selected a date yet for your nuptials?”

 

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