NINETEEN

THE MOMENT BURSTS INTO BEING with a wicked clarity.

Here she is. About to be dinner. Numb, bound by ice this time. Powerless, yet again. There they are. Night terrors realized into day, preparing to eat her. The sun is high in the sky, hidden behind the clouds. Nary a breeze rustles the leaves of the trees. Will-o’-wisps flood the dark places in the forest surrounding them, waiting for another kin to do the death dance, waiting for another story to end.

A chalky, mindless fear grips Croi’s limbs and breathes hotly over her skin. Not that she can feel it. She can’t feel her body at all, and oddly enough, she wants to laugh. Even now, her body is not her own.

She refuses to think about Caolan’s action. Her mind understands that he simply chose his sibling over the stranger he barely knows, but her heart. It’s wounded. For someone without siblings, without parents, this betrayal is just another abandonment in a series of abandonments, but for some reason, it hurts the most.

The smell of the dead that clings to the Redcaps is even more rancid at such close proximity. A few night crows roost on the roof of the caravan. Their beady red eyes mock her.

“Is this it?” Croi thinks to her other self. “Is this really the end?” Croi fights her despair, but she’s no match for the dread that holds her as tightly as the Redcap magick does.

What if it is?

“I don’t want it to be.”

Since when have we had choices in the things that happen to us?

“I’m tired of being a puppet for others.”

Me too.

The Redcap puts her down a little ways from the fire, facing her toward the caravan and away from the cages. The ground is hard, and she cannot move, though she tries. Just like when she was under the summoning spell, her hands and feet don’t obey her mind. The Redcaps, all five of them, stand in a circle and look down at her. They have a rapid conversation in clicks and whistles. One of them sinks to his haunches in front of her and lifts her chin with a long pale finger tipped in dried blood.

Croi looks up into his eyes. They’re red with black irises. His magick lacks vitality; it looks washed out, like the night just before the morning sweeps away the darkness. The Redcap touches her cheek, leaving behind a trail of ice, and Croi shudders, feeling his desire for her flesh. No, not just her flesh. The Redcap licks the finger he touched her face with, and his magick brightens slightly. He wants what’s inside of her. Something more potent than her flesh.

Our magicks.

The Redcaps are identical except for their sizes. Some are bigger than the others. The largest Redcap says something to the one kneeling before Croi, and the other inclines his head deferentially. The largest one must be their leader. The pit fire sparks, drawing her attention.