healing potion?”
Will slapped his credit card on the counter. “Aye.”
She raised her eyebrows. “ Lykae seekin’ witchcraft. The apocalypse truly is here.”
“We doona have time for this!”
With a shrug, she said, “Aisle five. But they only heal non-lethal wounds.”
Another jolt of fear. Couldn’t be a lethal wound. As they charged toward five, Will read the overhead signs: CONTRACEPTION, GLAMOURS, CONJURINGS, APOCALYPSE PREPARATION . . . then HEALING ARTS.
At last! But the shelf was chock-full of confusing vials and jars. “Which one, Munro?”
Munro yelled over his shoulder, “A little help, Loa?”
“Look at the prices,” she called back. “You want the most expensive one.”
Will spotted a stoppered vial of lime-green liquid for three hundred and fifty thousand. Surely that cost the most?
None doing. That was the cheapest.
Munro rifled through the rest, grabbing a lever-top jar filled with a tarlike paste for twice that.
“Instructions come with?” Will asked as they barreled up to the counter.
Loa arched a brow at him. “Your credit card nuh irie.”
“What does that mean? It’s limitless.”
“Alternative payment requested. And I’m tackin’ on a sanitation fee—she’s drippin’ blood.”
Munro was already rooting for his wallet. “Damn, Loa, you know we’re good for it.” To Will, he said, “You might talk to Rónan—he mentioned making some charges. Had no idea he was talking about card-killing purchases.”
Could give a shite right now. “Loa, how do we administer this?”
“Quickly, if you’d like her to live. See the sale table over there? What you want to do is use one arm to sweep all the goods to the floor. At cost. Once you’ve laid her down, clean her wounds with a case of MountDoom Springs, then smear the paste on. Oh, and you must keep her warm with a one-of-a-kind dragon-silk quilt.” She handed him a soft white blanket, bilking him thoroughly.
Uncaring, he lunged for the table, sweeping merchandise to the ground. As basilisk piggy banks, Rothkalina snow globes, and Horn-of-Fame castings shattered, Loa’s cash register sang ka-ching.
Laying Chloe down, he covered her lower half with the blanket. Munro had already retrieved the water and a beach towel.
“What else can I do?” Munro asked.
Will answered, “Guard the door. Others might suspect we’ve come here.”
When Munro jogged off, Loa sauntered over, studying Chloe’s face. She nodded as if Will had said something to her, then turned to light black candles in a circle around the table.
“Oh, now you’re going to help?” He poured water over Chloe’s wound, then assessed it: redder, more inflamed than before—and much deeper than he’d thought.
Gods, she was so small and pale. So . . . human.
“The spirits like her. Not many pure hearts pass through our doors.”
Pure of heart? “You ken who she is. Why would they think that of her?”
“She’s of Webb. She hasn’t followed his path.”
“How can they tell?” Will already believed this, felt in his gut that she was good.
“Violence and hatred leave marks the spirits can see. You’re riddled with them.”
You have no idea.
“This one is not. Plus she doesn’t have them deep, dark secrets like you and Munro.” When she began chanting to “Li Grand Zombie,” Will’s hackles rose. He’d once heard the priestess explain the difference between her magic and the magic of a typical witch: “Mine is darker. And while theirs is based on life, mine is steeped in death.”
Loa gave a half-grin, as if someone had said something amusing. Creepy, mystical bullshite—Lykae hated it!
Then, in a singsong voice, she called, “Here, Boa! Come, my sweetheart!”
Summoning a pet? “Loa and Boa? You dicking with me?”
“I’m not jesting, if that’s what you mean.”
The lights began flickering, the candles fluttering. An ominous air stifled the room.
“There you are,” she cooed—to the boa constrictor
Will slapped his credit card on the counter. “Aye.”
She raised her eyebrows. “ Lykae seekin’ witchcraft. The apocalypse truly is here.”
“We doona have time for this!”
With a shrug, she said, “Aisle five. But they only heal non-lethal wounds.”
Another jolt of fear. Couldn’t be a lethal wound. As they charged toward five, Will read the overhead signs: CONTRACEPTION, GLAMOURS, CONJURINGS, APOCALYPSE PREPARATION . . . then HEALING ARTS.
At last! But the shelf was chock-full of confusing vials and jars. “Which one, Munro?”
Munro yelled over his shoulder, “A little help, Loa?”
“Look at the prices,” she called back. “You want the most expensive one.”
Will spotted a stoppered vial of lime-green liquid for three hundred and fifty thousand. Surely that cost the most?
None doing. That was the cheapest.
Munro rifled through the rest, grabbing a lever-top jar filled with a tarlike paste for twice that.
“Instructions come with?” Will asked as they barreled up to the counter.
Loa arched a brow at him. “Your credit card nuh irie.”
“What does that mean? It’s limitless.”
“Alternative payment requested. And I’m tackin’ on a sanitation fee—she’s drippin’ blood.”
Munro was already rooting for his wallet. “Damn, Loa, you know we’re good for it.” To Will, he said, “You might talk to Rónan—he mentioned making some charges. Had no idea he was talking about card-killing purchases.”
Could give a shite right now. “Loa, how do we administer this?”
“Quickly, if you’d like her to live. See the sale table over there? What you want to do is use one arm to sweep all the goods to the floor. At cost. Once you’ve laid her down, clean her wounds with a case of MountDoom Springs, then smear the paste on. Oh, and you must keep her warm with a one-of-a-kind dragon-silk quilt.” She handed him a soft white blanket, bilking him thoroughly.
Uncaring, he lunged for the table, sweeping merchandise to the ground. As basilisk piggy banks, Rothkalina snow globes, and Horn-of-Fame castings shattered, Loa’s cash register sang ka-ching.
Laying Chloe down, he covered her lower half with the blanket. Munro had already retrieved the water and a beach towel.
“What else can I do?” Munro asked.
Will answered, “Guard the door. Others might suspect we’ve come here.”
When Munro jogged off, Loa sauntered over, studying Chloe’s face. She nodded as if Will had said something to her, then turned to light black candles in a circle around the table.
“Oh, now you’re going to help?” He poured water over Chloe’s wound, then assessed it: redder, more inflamed than before—and much deeper than he’d thought.
Gods, she was so small and pale. So . . . human.
“The spirits like her. Not many pure hearts pass through our doors.”
Pure of heart? “You ken who she is. Why would they think that of her?”
“She’s of Webb. She hasn’t followed his path.”
“How can they tell?” Will already believed this, felt in his gut that she was good.
“Violence and hatred leave marks the spirits can see. You’re riddled with them.”
You have no idea.
“This one is not. Plus she doesn’t have them deep, dark secrets like you and Munro.” When she began chanting to “Li Grand Zombie,” Will’s hackles rose. He’d once heard the priestess explain the difference between her magic and the magic of a typical witch: “Mine is darker. And while theirs is based on life, mine is steeped in death.”
Loa gave a half-grin, as if someone had said something amusing. Creepy, mystical bullshite—Lykae hated it!
Then, in a singsong voice, she called, “Here, Boa! Come, my sweetheart!”
Summoning a pet? “Loa and Boa? You dicking with me?”
“I’m not jesting, if that’s what you mean.”
The lights began flickering, the candles fluttering. An ominous air stifled the room.
“There you are,” she cooed—to the boa constrictor
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