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“You witch.” I toss my bottle aside, grab my knife from my belt, and stab her right below her ribs. “Oh, oh, oh. Fuck.”

The candles go out, and then they flicker back to life, the flames jumping higher. Cosette’s shriek peels away into a thin cackle.

I realize I’m the one who’s screaming and double over as a wound opens on my abdomen, mirroring the spot where I stabbed her. I apply pressure to the gash, blood spilling through my fingers.

Cosette’s shadow stretches along the wall behind her, extra appendages curling around her legs like tentacles.

“It’s a good thing your aim is lacking, you fool.” She grips my knife’s handle, pushing it deeper into herself. “Do you think you’re the first person who’s tried to kill me? Do you think I’ve lived this long without casting strong spells for protection?”

No, I figured there was a good chance her body would be protected by strong magic. My aim was perfect; I never miss.

I heal too fast to bleed out easily, but I’d be as fucked as anyone else if I’d hit one of her vital organs.

I retch, and blood pours from my mouth as I gurgle, “My mistake.”

It was worth a shot, anyway.

“Don’t let it happen again.” She removes the knife, slowly, painfully, dragging the blade through her skin inch by inch. The handle is slick with blood when she hands it back to me. “You might need this in a few minutes.”

“What?”

I look past the crimson puddle near my feet and see what I overlooked when I first came in. Open jars are scattered around the spell circle, placed near the symbols scratched into the hardwood. The markings swirl into an elaborate design I’ve seen before–an ancient rune inked on the Mer-King’s scrolls.

Cosette hums as she plucks dried petals from the floor and sprinkles them into the giant clam shell.

“I suppose I should thank you for making it so easy to unlock the Mer-King’s rune keys.” She kneels before the bowl of the clam shell and blows on the water inside it. The surface glows green, masking her face in its phosphorescence. “Run along now, before you spoil the fun.”

Oh gods. What has she done?

I back away, leaving a trail of blood in my wake as I run out to the white sand. My gash is beginning to mend, but it will take days to heal completely.

I stumble around the mouth of the bay, waiting until it’s safe to vanish myself closer to Cordelia again.

“Fuck,” I groan, cleaning my face in the water flowing from a gutter and wiping my knife on the inside of my cloak. The cloth is halfway down the blade when I sense Cordelia’s fear.

Images of a dark beachgrass lawn blur across my aura, her point of view bleeding into my aether. She’s running from Cor’s castle, her sore feet moving at a sorry pace.

I shove my knife in its sheath and try to pinch myself through the space between us, but I’m too weak from the blood loss.

“I’m coming,” I whisper. “Hold on.”

I growl through my clenched teeth as I try and fail again to reach her.

How am I supposed to willingly keep myself away once we go our separate ways? How am I supposed to deny her when she calls for me?

I drop to my knees and grasp the sand, focusing on the vibration of her emotions. With a stinging pinch, I dissolve my form and find my way across the strait to her.

I land in a patch of dead stonecrop, an alarm bell ringing in my ears. Cordelia is staring wide-eyed in the night.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” she says. “The alarm bell went off, and Darcy pounded on my door, telling me to come down to the beach with everybody.”

“She sent you running out of bed like this?” I ask, noticing the crumpled mess of strings and wool draped over her arm. She’s scared half-to-death and shivering in the coat thrown over her night clothes, her day dress clutched in the crook of her elbow. “Did she yell at you?”

Cordelia hates being yelled at. It causes her to shut down and panic.

I used to dread her meetings with the Mer-King because he would always overwhelm her with the volume of his Ocean Voice.