I never should have trusted her absence. I never should have doubted her ghost was real. I knew she was here, knew it in my blood. Why would Alex’s spirit leave me alone if Margery’s curse won’t? Margery claimed Alex the same night she claimed me: the night of my séance.
My fault. All of it—my fault.
I stop in a clearing, turning in slow circles. I can’t watch every angle at once; I can’t guarantee that the moment I turn my back on that tree, this one, her specter won’t slip from between the vines to close cold fingers around my throat.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. If she hears me, she gives no sign of it.
Then I turn on my heel and sprint out of the woods as fast as my feet will carry me. I stumble and trip over rocks and roots, stagger up the steps to Godwin House, and all but collapse in the back hall, dripping melted snow onto the floorboards and shivering in the sudden heat.
I place black tourmaline along my windowsill, a defense against whatever—whoever—I saw. But when I climb into my bed, I can’t sleep.
I’m afraid to close my eyes.
* * *
—
I’ve planned the third Night Migration, notes written with Ellis’s leaky fountain pen and slid under doors, folded and tied with twine. Kajal finds me the morning after I deliver the notes while I’m making tea in the kitchen, her eyes red-rimmed.
“I can’t come tonight,” she says. “I know we’re not supposed to talk about it, but I didn’t want you to end up waiting for me.”
“Are you sick?” I ask.
Kajal grimaces, an expression that comes across as pained. “Yes. I suppose it’s that time of year, isn’t it? I don’t doubt I’ll infect all the rest of you by the end of the week.”
“Oh no. I’m sorry. Here, let me make you some tea. And don’t worry about tonight, really; you should rest—”
“What’s going on?”
We turn to find Ellis in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, already dressed in a blazer and twill trousers despite the fact it’s not even eight in the morning.
Kajal sneezes into her elbow then scrubs the heels of her hands against her cheeks. “I’m ill. I’m not going to make it tonight, obviously, so I just thought—”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ellis interjects. “Of course you’ll make it tonight. It’s just a little bug. We couldn’t have a meeting without you.”
“I really can’t.” Kajal’s hair is usually perfectly coiffed, silky and coaxed into loose waves; today it’s pulled into a messy bun and tied off with a scrunchie. She looks like she needs to be in bed, not tramping through the frigid woods.
But Ellis’s frown deepens, and she pushes off the doorframe, stepping farther into the kitchen. “You have to come. This isn’t optional, Kajal—you made vows during initiation. You’re bound to us now.”
“It’s fine, Ellis,” I say, and I find myself having shifted to put my body between Ellis and Kajal—although I don’t really remember moving, although I know Ellis wouldn’t hurt her. “Magic isn’t real, remember? So there won’t be any evil spirits rising from the grave to punish Kajal for taking one night off.”
Of course, the vows we all made during initiation weren’t that kind of vow anyway—I’d been so careful to keep magic far away from our earlier rituals, to be good—but it’s an argument that will work on Ellis. That’s all that matters. And if she still wants me to practice magic tonight, to perform for her like a prize horse, she’ll agree.
Ellis’s expression has gone still and smooth as marble, a sculpted neutrality that I don’t know how to interpret. But I stay where I am, my feet rooted into the stone floor, into the uneven foundation of Godwin itself.
At last a slim smile cracks her mouth, and she nods, once. “Fine,” she says, and she says it calmly enough that I almost believe she doesn’t care anymore. “As you like. I hope you recover well, Kajal.”
She turns and goes without another word, and the vacuum of air left by her absence makes it hard to breathe. When I look at Kajal, she’s leaning back against the kitchen counter like she’s been exsanguinated.
“Ellis will get over it,” I tell her, and I offer an arm that I don’t expect her to take. Only she does, leaning her weight in against my side and letting me help her out into the common room to curl up on the sofa. I drape one of our ugly knit blankets over her reed-thin legs and tuck it in around her hips. “Can I get you something? A book? Tea?”