Tangled by Erica O'Rourke

couldn’t find the words. His eyes were shadowed and intent in the torchlight. It was hard to tell what he saw when he looked at me, and I was afraid, all over again, that whatever he saw wasn’t truly there.
    Pascal whistled absently, bringing my attention back to the choice before me.
    My life, I thought. That’s what was on the table. My life and Constance’s, and Verity’s, too, twined together like a braid. I’d seen how cruel and unforgiving a force the magic was, how easily it could destroy people. The only reason I was alive, able to make this deal, was because Verity had sacrificed herself for me in that alley months ago.
    I crossed the stage and took the pen from Dominic.
    It was made of clear, cool glass, sinuous and heavier than it looked. The ink gleamed, black as Luc’s hair, along the finely etched tip. I bent and signed my name, Maura Kathleen Fitzgerald. Next to the ornate script of the other signatures, my writing seemed messy and childish. The ink soaked into the thick, creamy parchment, the edges blurring. Dominic whipped the contract away with a flourish, and I jerked upright at the movement.
    “That’s all?” I whooshed out a breath. That wasn’t so bad. The Binding Ceremony with Luc had hurt a lot more.
    Dominic patted my shoulder. “One last task.”
    There always was, with these people.

C HAPTER 13
    “T he Covenant requires we forge a symbol of our agreement,” Dominic said.
    Luc guided Marguerite onstage. In her hands, she carried a box of age-blackened wood. “For you,” she said, lifting the lid and holding it out to me. Inside were five silver rings, each as big around as an orange.
    I took one gingerly. “A bracelet?”
    “A link. Do well, Mo,” she murmured.
    Dominic stepped forward and took a ring for himself. At his nod, Pascal and Orla did, too. Wordlessly, Marguerite shut the box, and Luc escorted her down the steps.
    I would have thought signing a contract was enough, but it made a certain sense. Arcs didn’t need tools to work a spell—Luc had destroyed the Chicago Water Tower with words alone—but objects seemed to give their magic a focal point. Verity had been given a ring to help her with the Torrent; when Luc and I had gone through the Binding Ceremony, we’d wrapped our wrists with a fine platinum chain. It was invisible now, joined to the magic, but still a constant reminder of our connection. And then there were the weapons. Channels, Luc had called them, a way to direct a large amount of magic. He’d carried a sword, the edge dancing with ruby flames, and every time he’d drawn it, there’d been big danger and bigger magic.
    Now, I saw, the Quartoren had weapons of their own.
    They’d formed a loose circle, leaving space for me. Each held a ring in one hand and a weapon in the other. Dominic held a scimitar, a curved sword, and Orla carried a delicately carved bow and arrow. Pascal rested a huge hammer, the metal head incredibly heavy looking, against his leg.
    “Come,” said Dominic, crooking an elbow at the gap next to him. “No one will harm you here.”
    I moved into the circle, apprehensive.
    In a booming voice meant to carry through the room, he said, “We have forged an alliance, which shall remain fast until the terms of the Covenant are fulfilled. We seal our words with magic, the source of our strength. Hold out your link.”
    I did, and Dominic placed his circle over mine. The room grew warmer, and as he spoke, the air seemed to tremble, like the surface of a pot about to boil. With the flat of the scimitar’s blade, he struck the links sharply, and ruby sparks flew into the air. I turned away, squeezing my eyes shut.
    A few feet away, Luc said, “Won’t hurt, and it’ll be over in a minute.”
    I looked back at the ring. The two circles were now linked together, no seam visible, no cracks in the surface. On the other side of me, Orla touched her ring to mine and tapped it with the tip of the arrow, speaking a similar incantation. The