CHAPTER 17
I am not Ophelia. And neither madness nor love shall take me there. I am determination. I am as a morning star, baptized in the dark waters of night, I rise again, wielding the strength of my own skin.
—Journal of Stephanie Freemont, 31 October 1795
Dad gave me a kiss on the cheek. “I’m proud of you, kiddo,” he whispered.
“Back at you,” I said.
It was a few minutes before sunset and we were waiting in the dimly lit alcove by the widow’s walk staircase. Everyone was there to see us off—even Houdini, wriggling to get free from Zachary’s grip. The last thing we needed was to have him follow us into the realm.
I slid my fingers down the dagger hanging at my loosely belted waistline and then reached into my robe’s secret pockets, checking that I had my bags of salt and mini flashlight. This was so different than the last time when Lotli, Chase, and I had snuck into the realm behind the older generation’s backs. It was different, too, with all of us dressed in brown eunuch robes, our faces already sheltered by deep hoods. The flute in Lotli’s hand was a reminder of her power and the spell that bound me to keep my promise. But seeing her in the plain robe with charcoal striping her face bothered me far less than the belly dancer costume she’d worn on our previous trip.
I touched my throat, pausing when I reached the egg pendant mixed in with a conglomeration of other necklaces and chains. Genies loved their jewelry, so I’d figured a whole bunch tucked into my robe would draw attention away from the egg and look more normal than just one or two. Of course, the poison ring was totally invisible, hidden away in my bra.
Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed Lotli stealing a look at the pendant. Her gaze darted to my wrist, where a couple of my penned lines were barely noticeable. I narrowed my eyes and gave her a sly smile just to let her know she’d been caught, then pulled my hood closer around my face.
A searing pain knifed through my guts, sharp and unrelenting as if someone were raking my intestines with red-hot claws. I hunched forward as one excruciating contraction surged into the next. I gritted my teeth and forced myself to straighten up.
I sliced a look at Lotli. With a sly smile that mimicked the one I’d given her a second ago, she plucked at her flute, one fingernail jabbing at the section wrapped with my hair.
Another wave of pain knifed inside me, stopping as she lifted her finger. She might have sworn an oath to Zea that made it impossible for her to not do as he commanded, but clearly that didn’t prevent her from torturing me. Still, I wasn’t done yet. It was time to take my pretense at having abilities a bit further, and get more reassurance while I was at it.
Keeping my face expressionless, I casually drew my dagger and held it out toward Lotli, handle first. “Before we leave, there is one thing we neglected to do last time. You forgot to swear a blood oath to not desert us in the realm.”
Her eyes went dark. “We could not have left the realm last time without you or Chase, if you had not tricked us into doing so.”
I stepped even closer to her, all but forcing the dagger into her grip. “Cut yourself. Swear a blood oath on your flute.”
“This is unnecessary,” she said. But she took the dagger and pricked the end of her thumb. A drop of blood rose. She smeared it the length of her flute, gaze hard on mine. “We swear on our grandmother and great-grandmother’s souls that we will not break our sacred vow to you and your family—as long as all promises to us remain unbroken.”
I did not take my gaze off hers. Her straight shoulders, solid voice and flared nostrils, every inch of her said she was irritated but had sworn with full honesty and believed the oath had power over her. I bit back a smile, though in truth it had been created out of nothing more than momentary inspiration on my part.
Grandfather cleared his throat. “That was a nice touch,” he said. “However, it’s time. Who wants to go first?”
Plastering on a smile, Lotli turned away from me. “We are ready.” She lowered her head so he could pour the Methuselah oil over it.
He tipped the lamp. The oil shimmered against the dull brown of her hood. She raised her arms and the oil swept upward, coating her arms, hands, and each fingertip. There was no smell or blackness, or oily excesses puddling on the floor. No sound. Not even the breath of everyone watching. Even Houdini watched in silence as she transformed from solid into a ghostly gray shadow.
My insides quivered with a mix of nerves and excitement. I stepped toward Grandfather and bowed my head, waiting for the writhing sensation of the oil to coat me, and prayed: “Hecate, Queen of the Sky, Protector of the Gateways of earth, heaven, and sea. Watch over us, protect us on this journey. And bring us all home again.”