Page 38 of Silver in the Bone

“Shut up or go away,” I told him. “I’m waiting for a few more of them to leave before going in.”

“Uh-huh,” he said. “Well, if we’re going to be here awhile ...”

He turned his back to the barn’s wall and pulled out a small knife and a chunk of wood from the side pocket of his trousers.

The movement of his hands was almost mesmerizing as he worked. Soon a spiral shaving dropped to the ground, then another, until he had carved away the grit of the bark and rounded the wood’s harsh edges.

I would have pegged him as having a more upper-crust hobby than whittling—something like foxhunting or collecting Fabergé eggs or summering on a superyacht.

Not that I spent much time pondering what Emrys got up to in his personal time.

“Was Cabell late in meeting you here?” Emrys asked. “Or did the others bring him along?”

I gave him a narrow look. “Why don’t you tell me? Isn’t that Daddy’s pal in there?”

The knife stopped midstroke.

What had Phineas said at the library? We’ll never get it out of the Council’s claws, and then it’ll be Endymion’s wrath we have to worry about ...

“If he’s looking for the ring for your old man, why are you working for Madrigal?” I pressed. “Why aren’t you in there with Septimus and the others?”

“That’s none of your business,” he muttered, his gaze fixed on the piece of wood in his hand.

“You’ve now made it my business,” I hissed back. “Don’t tell me—”

Emrys’s head suddenly snapped up, and before I could even think to react, he’d snagged my wrist in his hand and pulled us both away from the wall. “Look!”

Around the corner, a girl emerged from behind a nearby building. Her braids were twisted into buns on her head, and she was still wearing the furry coat she always did—and that hideous fanny pack, of course.

I pressed a hand to my face and groaned. I really hadn’t imagined her earlier.

Neve. From the tarot shop.

“Uh ... ,” Emrys began. “What is she doing?”

She ran straight for the barn, her face set with determination. She slid to a stop a few feet from the side of the structure and threw an empty aluminum can at the wall. There was something dark on it, almost like ...

She’d drawn a spell sigil on it.

“Huh,” Emrys said.

Neve reached into her fanny pack and pulled out a long, thin piece of wood. One end of its narrow body was capped with an obsidian blade, an athame of sorts, used to carve sigils. The other was edged with silver to conduct the flow of magic.

My stomach felt like it was about to fall out of my body.

“Wand,” I said, rising.

“Sorceress,” Emrys finished, clutching his whittling knife in his fist.

“Give me that,” I said, reaching for the blade.

He pulled it away. “And give you the opportunity to stab me with it? I think not.”

I turned back just in time to see Neve grin as she pointed the silver end of the wand toward the can.

“Neve!” I called out. “Don’t!”

The words were lost to the thundering blast of pressure that radiated out from the can, throwing Emrys and me back several feet. I covered my head as the spell shredded the barn’s wall and sent slivers no bigger than matchsticks raining down over us.

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