“She is a prisoner here,” Sorcha said, following his thoughts. “There must be a way to free her.”

“I’ve never freed a grim,” he said. “Is it even possible?”

Sorcha shook her head. “Grims aren’t freed; they are exchanged.”

They stood in silence for a time. Surely neither of them was meant to die and be buried here for this journey to be completed. Granny Winter would never have subjected Sorcha to such a fate.

He looked to the Lady Grim, who watched him with a sad, silent countenance. How desperately she must have wanted to leave, but it was not in her power to do so. He felt called to be a doctor, a healer. He did all he could for those amongst the living, but he had no ability to heal the dead.

“I am sorry,” he said to her. “I don’t know how to right this wrong.”

She still didn’t speak, didn’t move.

Duncan tried to take a step toward the church. He was immediately flung back by an unseen hand. He landed on the ground, painfully but not injuriously.

Sorcha helped him to his feet. “It seems the only way to reach the church is to release her.”

“Exchanging a life is out of the question,” Duncan said.

“Whoever began this churchyard did not spare her this fate. There is no means of freeing her other than finding someone to take her place.”

“I will not sacrifice either of our lives for this.” He could not. He would not. “The past two days have been life-altering despite the danger. I could never again imagine my life without you in it. I refuse to believe Granny Winter would send us on a journey that would bring us together only to tear us apart again.”

She set her hand lightly on his arm. “I cannot imagine my life without you either.”

There had to be another way to free the grim and save Donella. This could not be the end of their perilous journey.

“If only a true grim had been buried first,” Sorcha said. “Animal spirits do not require an exchange.”

Animal. “Does that hold true only if the animal is the first to be buried?”

She shook her head, her expression turning to one of deep consideration. “An animal could take over the duties of a grim even now.”

And they had an animal. He pulled Granny’s bag off his back and opened it. All that remained was the stuffed vole and the bottle. The small animal had seemed such an odd thing, but it now made perfect sense.

“Are there any rules about grims that say the thing buried must be newly dead?” he asked.

“I do not know.” She met his gaze, hope shining in her eyes. “It is possible the vole can serve this purpose.”

“It is worth trying,” he said. “It is worth seeing if Granny Winter knew of our plight in such detail.”