Page 18 of Ivy & Bone

Prue held open her bag, allowing her mother to survey the contents. To her surprise, Polina nodded approvingly.

Prue wasn’t sure there had ever been a time when Polina hadn’t chastised her for getting something wrong in a spell.

Polina arched an eyebrow, a challenge in her eyes. “What’s the first step?”

“Really?” Prue scoffed, gesturing at the souls around them, fruitlessly slamming into the barrier again and again. “You’re using this as a teaching opportunity?”

“Everything is a teaching opportunity,” Polina said, waving a dismissive hand. “Besides, you summoned this monster.” She gestured at Cyrus, who scowled. “A simple banishment should be easy for you.”

Prue huffed a sigh, her fingers itching to reach for a grimoire. But, of course, she’d left it in the crypt, which was probably nothing more than rubble by now. She crammed her eyes shut, struggling to remember the spell she’d glanced over years ago. Of course, she hadn’t been paying much attention then. Or ever. Mona had always been the one to memorize spells for no reason.

“We—we spill blood, join hands, and . . .” Prue swore, struggling to remember. “Dammit, what is the phrase . . .”

“Expelle animas,” Polina prompted.

“Yes, expelle animas . . . defendat terra,” Prue said quickly, her memory snagging on the phrase at last. “Defende populum nostrum ad nutum triplices deae.”

“Very good,” Polina said. She pulled an athame from Prue’s bag and pressed it into first Prue’s palm, then Beatrice’s, and then her own. The three witches brought their palms together, one at a time, sharing blood. When Prue lifted her hand to Cyrus and looked at him expectantly, he cringed away from her.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“It’s your turn,” Prue insisted.

“Absolutely not.”

Prue rolled her eyes. “You’ve already sworn a blood bargain with me. What’s the harm?” When Cyrus continued to watch her as if she’d sprouted a second head, Prue growled, “You will do your part to protect my home, or I won’t take you back to yours.”

Cyrus’s nostrils flared, his eyes burning with hatred. Prue had the distinct impression he would’ve slit her throat right then and there were it not for the oath and the potion Polina had forced him to drink.

Thank the Goddess for those precautions, she thought as Cyrus begrudgingly took the blade and dragged it along his own palm. Silver blood oozed from his skin as he pressed the wound to Prue’s bleeding hand.

Once they’d shared blood, Prue felt the air around them hum. The spirits pressed more fervently against the domed barrier her mother had cast to protect them, as if they could sense the power of the spell about to be cast. Prue’s third eye blinked open, her insides trembling from the energies pulsing in the air.

The witches all joined hands, and Prue clenched Cyrus’s fingers a bit too tightly. He dug his fingernails into her skin in response, and she bit back a smile at the anger roiling off him. Goddess, it was so amusing to witness him so angry. He was like a raging toddler who refused to obey his parents.

“Expelle animas,” Prue murmured, closing her eyes. Beside her, Polina and Beatrice echoed her words. “Defendat terra. Defende populum nostrum ad nutum triplices deae.”

They repeated the words over and over. After a moment, Prue elbowed Cyrus, who snapped, “What?”

“I know you know Latin. It’ll help if you say it, too.”

“I’m no witch.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Prue hissed. “You’re the only one with a legitimate connection to death magic.” She leaned closer to him, hoping Polina couldn’t overhear her whisper. “If I die, or if my plan fails, I can’t guarantee this enchantment will hold. But if you bind your death magic to it, perhaps it will.” She was tired of threats. She was tired of putting on a brave front. So, her resolve deflated as she breathed a single plea: “Please.”

Cyrus blinked, something unreadable stirring in his silver eyes. For a moment, he stared at her, his mouth slightly open and his brow furrowing. Just when Prue thought he would spit at her or laugh in her face, he nodded stiffly.

Prue almost chuckled in surprise. But, thankfully, the sound was stuck in her throat.

Cyrus turned away from her and began chanting, his Latin flawless. Prue exhaled in relief before she joined him.

The ghosts screeched, ricocheting off the barrier again and again. Energy thrummed in the air, tickling Prue’s skin. She felt her hair stand on end, her curls rising. Sweat pooled in her palms and along her neck and back. On either side of her, Polina and Cyrus’s grips tightened as if they felt the strain, too. Prue’s arms shook, her bones quivering. Her teeth chattered as she continued uttering the spell, refusing to back down. A whisper of power brushed down her neck. The ghosts continued to scream and rage.

Then, a burst of gold light surrounded the barrier, igniting in the sky like a beam of heavenly light. Pain shot through Prue’s limbs, and her palm felt scorching hot. Gritting her teeth against the intensity, Prue continued chanting.

Come on, she urged. Just a little longer.

The ghosts unleashed one last pitiful scream before they faded and dissolved entirely. The fog dispersed, revealing the midnight sky above them. When the gold light vanished, Prue blinked at the sudden darkness that swallowed them. The village was eerily silent, and for one horrible moment, Prue expected the screaming to start anew.

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