Page 41 of Held
“Locals?” Briar had assumed they wouldn’t run into anyone. “Peopleliveup there? I thought those were rumors.”
“There’s a whole town,” Marigold said. “They’re a bit…weird. But they aren’t hostile.”
“Weird,” Briar repeated. “Weird how?”
“Oh, nothing too bad. It’s mostly their magic practices, to be honest. Their magic is very, um, intimate.”
Briar grinned. “Intimate? Do you mean sex magic?”
“I try not to know,” Marigold admitted.
She tore the flower page out of the book and handed it to Briar, who studied it carefully. It had no color, but there were notes in the margins: the center was white, almost in the shape of a skull. The rest of it was pure black.
Marigold heaved the book back onto a shelf. It wobbled, and they both froze until the shelf stilled.
“I’ll try not to stumble into any more weird sex magic,” Briar said as she tucked the piece of paper into her pocket. “So, how does it work? The protection amulet, I mean. I didn’t expect it to protect me from wayward Skullstalkers.”
“It doesn’t. The Skullstalker—Wick’scase is unique.” Marigold eyed the amulet around Briar’s neck, gnawing on her lip thoughtfully.
“Why?” Briar asked. “What links this amulet to his blood frenzy? What sort of magic is it?”
Marigold startled. She laughed nervously, and Briar noticed that she was still sweating, a line of salt running down the side of her face.
“Oh, that’s—” She waved a dismissive hand. It looked strange, Briar noticed. Chapped and red and worn, like she had been out in the cold for many days in a row.
“It would take too long to explain,” Marigold said. “You always get bored by magic theory. What matters is that it will work!”
“You seem confident,” Briar noted. “I thought you’d never dealt with this before.”
“I haven’t.” Marigold pushed her sweaty hair out of her face. “But like you said, I’m a great witch.”
She smiled, sunny and enthusiastic in that way that Briar used to hate before she realized Marigold wasn’t faking it.
Briar started to smile back, then she stopped.
For a moment, Marigold’s eyes were slate white once more. Something spun in the center of them, thick as a snowstorm. But before Briar could panic, Marigold blinked, and her eyes were back to normal again.
“I’ll get you sorted, Briar. Don’t you worry.” Marigold patted her shoulder with those oddly chapped hands, then turned toward the hall. “I’ll get your room set up. I still have your favorite blanket! And some spare clothes, if you want to change.”
“Thanks,” Briar said, plucking at her sweaty clothes. Then she paused. “Hey. About that room…”
Twelve
The witch’s spare room faced the waterfall.
Wick watched water pour into the river and thought about the phrase.Spare room.According to Briar, it was a room where visitors could sleep.
“Or a place to keep your gold,” Briar added as she jumped up onto the bed next to him. “I think I’ll have a few gold rooms when I have my own place.”
Wick turned away from the window to watch her. She was wearing the “sleep clothes” Marigold had given her: a linen shirt and a soft pair of underclothes. Every time she moved, the shirt rose and exposed her belly. Wick wanted to kiss it very badly.
“They’ll have to be hidden rooms, of course,” Briar continued, sitting up beside him with her soft stomach showing in the moonlight. “Can’t let anybody see where I keep my important things. That’s how you get robbed.”
“Of course,” said Wick, who had never had to worry about getting robbed at any moment of his long existence. Even animals stayed away from him and his territory. Something in their bones told them he was a threat.
Wick decided he would like a spare room. The more he stayed in a house, the more he enjoyed it. It would have to be bigger than this, of course. Or less full of things. He had the feeling that he could move around quite freely if they moved the clutter. He could pile his nest into one of the rooms and have others for guests.
Briar butted her forehead against his shoulder. “You’re quiet. What’s going on in that big, horned head of yours?”
