His body stiffened in response to the panic in Vae’s voice. He saw Cassie at the far end of the garden, backing away from that weedy spot, one hand clamped over her mouth.

Something wrong. Something terribly wrong.

*Gray!*

He ran.

The moment Vae saw him running toward Cassie, she ran toward the house. He had no idea who the Sceltie was calling for help, but he was certain she’d do her best to rouse everyone she could.

He slowed to avoid running Cassie down. “Cassie!” Maybe it was nothing worse than a snake or a dead mouse. Maybe . . .

She turned to look at him. Her freckles were the only color in her face.

“It’s witchblood,”she whispered. Then she threw her arms around him and held on as if her life depended on it. “It’s witchblood.”

Her legs buckled, and he went down with her, wincing when his knees hit the ground.

“So many,” Cassie sobbed. “So many.”

He didn’t know what to ask, didn’t know what to do, didn’t understand why those black-edged red flowers upset her so much.

*Cassie? Cassie!*

Not alone, Gray thought as the Sceltie returned, whining anxiously.

Voices. Shouts. He couldn’t twist around to see, but moments later Theran and Ranon were there, asking questions he couldn’t answer while Cassie sobbed.

Then Shira was there, on her knees beside him. “What’s wrong? What happened? Is she hurt?”

“I don’t know,” Gray said, so shaken he began to stammer. “She looked at those weeds and got upset.”

“Not w-weeds,” Cassie gasped before she started crying harder.

“Mother Night,” Shira muttered. She called in a bottle Healers used to store tonics, yanked out the stopper, then grabbed a hunk of red braid and pulled Cassie’s head up. “Here. Drink this. Drink!”

Cassie drank. Gasped. Gulped air.

But she settled. When she rested her head on Gray’s shoulder, she was still shaking but no longer crying.

Shira sat back, took a swig from the bottle, then held it out to Gray. “You too.”

He obeyed and took a long swallow.

“What is that?” Theran asked.

“Brandy,” Shira replied.

By now the rest of the First Circle except Talon had reached the spot—even Powell, who was still puffing from the run.

Gray looked up at Theran. “I don’t know what happened.”

“Not your fault, Gray,” Theran replied softly.

“So many,” Cassie whispered. “So many.”

“So many what?” Shira asked with that quiet voice Healers used when they were asking about something painful.

“One for each,” Cassie said. “That’s how it grows. That’s how you know. One plant for each. Living memento mori. Can’t be killed once it takes root, can’t be hidden. Ground soaked in blood nourishes the seed.”

Gray saw the shock on the men’s faces. Saw Shira pale.

“Cassidy . . . ,” Shira said.