Cecilia nudges me. “Go on. Get closer. They can’t see you.”

“Just like you and Louisa couldn’t see me?” I hiss.

“Forces bigger than Patricia are at work with you,” Cecilia says, narrowing her eyes. “Her original walk has been pulled into the current of our family’s ancestral energy like a leaf in a river. The ancestors won’t release you until they’re done. Now, go.” She shoves me hard until I move around the hedge onto the lawn.

As I approach, the chanting figure turns away so all I can see is their black hooded sweatshirt and jeans. They look over their shoulder, as if a noise has caught their attention—maybe Ruth—and I freeze, but they look right through me like I’m not even there.

Even two feet away, I can’t make out their features. The hood is pulled low, but even their nose and mouth are shadowed shapes. Satisfied that they’re alone, the figure turns back, fishing out a small item from their pocket. A vial of dark liquid. The figure unscrews the vial and pours it over a gloved hand. It’s blood, I realize, and they coat their palms and fingers until the leather is glistening.

They walk slowly across the grass while swiping their bloodied glove in the air, palm out, leaving an arc of green mage flame in their wake. The flame hangs in the air like an emerald rainbow, then turns into liquid. Glowing aether flows down to the ground in thick trails. The figure backs away, chanting, and the aether spreads until it’s a shining veil taller than a man and at least twenty feet across. There’s a roaring sound, rising like a wave in my ears, and then a thick tear.

I feel the tug on my spine again, but just before the world disappears for the last time, I see dozens of partially corporeal clawed feet extend through the veil and land on the grass. A low howl begins out of sight, the garbled sound growing clearer, louder…

Hellhounds.

I come to with a gasp, sitting just as I was before Patricia’s walk. There’s a sound I can’t quite parse. An “—ee” sound. I hear it again. “—ee?” A question. I blink and see Patricia on her knees, her hands trembling on my shoulders. Her mouth moves, and this time I hear it. “Bree?”

“Patricia.”

“Oh, thank God.” She pulls me in tight for a hug, then sits back. “You were here, but you weren’t here. Breathing but unresponsive. Louisa wouldn’t let me call on her again. I had a feeling I should wait, but—”