“Is that why I survived?” I asked. “You made a mistake?”

“Is that a question coming from you?”

I licked my lips. “No.”

Algaliarept closed the book. “Your blood is common, Rachel Mariana Morgan. Tasty with subtle flavors I don’t understand, but common. I didn’t play with you; I tried to kill you. Had I known you could ring the tower bells, I might have handled things differently.” A smile came over it, and I felt its gaze spill over me like oil. “Maybe not. I should have known you would be as your father. He rang the bells, too. Once. Before he died. Do hope it’s not a premonition for you.”

My stomach clenched, and Nick grabbed my arm before I could touch his circle. “You said you didn’t know him,” I said, anger making my voice harsh.

It simpered at me. “Another question?”

Heart pounding, I shook my head, hoping it would tell me more.

It put a finger to its nose. “Then Nicholas Gregory Sparagmos better ask another question before I’m called away by someone who is willing to pay for my services.”

“You’re nothing but a squealing informant, you know that?” I said, shaking.

Algaliarept’s gaze resting on my neck pulled a memory of me on the basement floor with my life spilling from me. “Only on my bad days.”

Nick straightened. “I want to know who summoned you to kill Rachel, and if he or she is now summoning you to kill ley line witches.”

Moving almost out of my line of sight, Algaliarept murmured, “That is a very expensive set of questions, the two together far more than our agreement.” It dropped its attention back to the book in its hands and turned a page.

Worry crashed over me as Nick took a breath. “No,” I said. “It isn’t worth it.”

“What do you want for the answers?” Nick asked, ignoring me.

“Your soul?” it said lightly.

Nick shook his head. “Come up with something reasonable, or I’ll send you back right now, and you won’t be able to talk to Rachel anymore.”

It beamed. “You’re getting cocky, little wizard. You’re halfway mine.” It closed the book in its hand with a sharp snap. “Give me leave to take my book back across the line, and I’ll tell you who sent me to kill Rachel Mariana Morgan. If they are the same person who is summoning me to kill Trenton Aloysius Kalamack’s witches? That stays with me. Your soul isn’t enough for that. Rachel Mariana Morgan’s, perhaps. Pity when a young man’s tastes are too expensive for his means, isn’t it?”

I frowned, even as I realized it had admitted it was killing the witches. It must have been luck that kept Trent and me alive when every other witch had died under it. No, not luck. It had been Quen and Nick. “And why do you even want that book?” I asked it.

“I wrote it,” it said, its hard voice seeming to wedge the words into the folds of my mind.