Page 55 of The Crow Games

“It’s a family heirloom. A Frian relic,” I admitted, letting it rest on the table between us. “And it’s yours now. Please take it.”

Talia bit her lower lip. “It’s too much. There are some things people simply shouldn’t have. Too much power can be a terrible thing, and that relic, I’m afraid to say, is just . . . a lot.”

Lisbeth’s voice in my head cooed excitedly, liking her even more.

“Power corrupts,” I agreed. “I can see why Blue is fond of you, but we aren’t warlocks. It’s a worthless bauble to us. Keep it, Talia. Take it and protect your coven with it. Use it.”

Ruchel squeezed my arm, a show of support for my actions.

Talia stared at the torch amulet for some time, notably avoiding Blue’s gaze. Slowly, she took it, the delicate metal scraping across the tabletop before she dropped it into her pocket. Then she left.

An uncomfortable silence took command of the cabin as Talia’s retreating footsteps grew duller in the distance.

Asher stood stoically, a pale statue in the corner, but his shadows were a whirlwind under his feet. Nola swirled her glass, then downed it in one gulp that made her grimace. Liesel sniffled. Her sadness carried in the quiet. Emma murmured at her soothingly, but her sister’s misery shook her slender shoulders.

“I thought we’d finally done it,” Liesel wept. “I thought that book was the answer.”

“It’s not over for us yet,” Emma said softly.

“Alwin,” I growled. He was always teaching lessons, and I’d had more than enough of them today. It occurred to me how pleased he’d be to know I’d given Talia a gift, growing our community. Had it been his influence that triggered it? Was I being manipulated? The notion made me grit my teeth, not because growing support was an evil thing, but because the gods always had a hidden agenda.

“He only gave me this book because he knew I wouldn’t use it,” I shared. “Bram thought it was because no one in his coven was worthy. He was wrong. This is more god games. Now we’re right back where we started.”

Liesel sobbed loudly. Emma hugged her to her chest.

“Not right back,” Ruchel said, “we’ve more friends now than we did before. That was smart, Maven.”

“We should destroy the book,” Blue said.

“No,” I snapped, and all eyes turned on me. “We won’t use it,” I added more gently, “but let’s not destroy it. Not yet. There’s too much we don’t know about it.”

I wouldn’t risk experimenting with the book either. Feeding it a spell sounded like a good way to get someone’s soul snatched, but I wasn’t willing to lose my one and only bargaining chip with Bram either. I had questions that needed answers. A guilty god needed to die.

“Asher,” Ruchel rasped, “please get this horrid thing out of our sight for now. We’ll figure out what to do with it another time.”

* * *

After the feast that evening, I was having trouble keeping my eyes open. I was so spent, I barely ate.

“Are you all right?” Ruchel asked, her brows furrowed. “You’ve looked pale all day.”

“I had dreadful dreams last night,” I told her. “I thought maybe I drank too much, but I just can’t seem to recover my energy. Not even a little. Nothing is helping.”

She squinted at me like there was an equation on my face she was trying to solve. “Have you had enough water? Maybe you should piss in a glass for Blue to look at.”

My nose wrinkled. “No thank you.”

“Then turn in early,” she suggested. “Get more sleep.”

“That . . . doesn’t sound so dreadful.” I rose to my feet, and I must have moved too quickly because suddenly the bone floors were coming at my face, and the walls had upended themselves. Ruchel shouted my name, and everything went dark.

A horrid voice cooed at me in my nightmares.I know what youare, it echoed in my thoughts. It shouted other frightful things at me that I couldn’t hold on to. One voice became many voices that creaked and groaned in my ears. The sound put a pit in my gut and made everything feel like it would never be all right again.

We know what you did to the Whitten women . . .

Guilt turned my stomach so sour I thought I might retch. The images were a blur, flashing lights, blood on the floor, the copper scent in my nose. Glass on the ground. My finger pricking on a sharp bit of bone . . . I screamed out. I felt like I was being spun like a top. I reached for the voices, a feeling of dread turning my insides cold, but it was like trying to trap smoke in a butterfly net.

I blinked my eyes open. I’d been rolled onto my back. The lounge came blearily into view. Familiar voices argued over me.

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