Page 116

Fortune closed her beak.

The Archive was quiet.

From his chair in the corner, Dr. Dvita spoke to the room and to Tempest both. “Haeret Gravat,” he said quietly, “is a very old curse. Its meaning translates to ‘Bound and burdened.’”

Tempest’s hand was still on the locket. It had gone ice cold. She looked down at it, the small gold oval, the initials she had carried close to her heart for thirty years. She understood now. The letters were not representative of her mother’s name. They had never been. They were something else entirely. A curse, dressed up as a comfort. Something she’d reached for every time she was frightened, for the last thirty years!

The grief arrived first. A stone at the base of her throat, aching for the small girl who had held this and called it love.

Then the rage came. Hotter. She felt herself go solid and reached for the chain.

Fortune was faster.

She dropped from the chandelier in silence, the way owls dive at their prey, with no warning and no sound. Her beak closed around the chain at Tempest’s throat. The clasp snapped and the chain swung free. The locket slid off and struck the stone floor beside Tempest’s foot, the last of its spell spinning out before lying still. Fortune returned to her shoulder.

The room held its breath.

Tempest looked at the locket on the floor. Then she lifted her knee and brought her heel down.

A black smear seeped from the broken casing. It smelled of soot and broken promises. She could see the faintest impression of a sigil. Then it was gone—the soot, the smell, even the sorrow of it, fading as though it had never been there.

The coven exhaled as one and began to chant again.

The warmth came back immediately. It moved freely this time, washing over her and making her whole. She stood in the center of the circle and let it move through her. There was nothing else to do.

She was aware of Priya’s sharp intake of breath but did not know the cause until she looked down at her hands. They were ticklish.

She watched as the marks wound up her arms. Not quickly. They moved with the deliberate patience of something being written in slow, intentional strokes. Vine-like lines curled from her wrists toward her elbows, branching into leaves, the shapes of letters resolving out of them. Names, she realized. Many in languages she did not speak, but still she knew the shape of them. She had seen these marks before. They were exactly like her mother’s.

From his chair in the corner, Dr. Dvita said, “Ah! There she is.”

SOCIETY FOR THE PROTECTION OF NATURAL MAGIC

Society Alumni and Hall of Fame Planning Committee

[DATE REDACTED]

RE: Director Berman—Hall of Fame Induction and Service Celebration CONFIDENTIAL—PLEASE DO NOT FORWARD TO DIRECTOR BERMAN’s OFFICE

Dear Colleagues,

I am delighted to confirm that Director Amrita Berman’s induction into the Society Hall of Fame has been approved. She joined us at twenty-one, was appointed Director at twenty-eight—our youngest director ever—and has spent the past thirty years since running this institution with precision, dedication, and a remarkable tolerance for the rest of us. The committee was unanimous. It was overdue.

We now need a venue. I have recently returned from a ten-day cruise aboard the Celestine Queen, organized by former Society statistician Bayard Fontaine, and I cannot recommend it highly enough. It occurred to me almost immediately upon disembarking that a voyage of this nature would make a perfect setting for the celebration. I have made a provisional enquiry with Bayard and he is available. I welcome any thoughts, though please do bear in mind he needs an answer by [DATE REDACTED].

Director Berman is not to know.

With great excitement,

Zephyr Nightshade

Alumni and Hall of Fame Planning Committee

Society for the Protection of Natural Magic

SOCIETY FOR THE PROTECTION OF NATURAL MAGIC

Office of the Director