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“There’s too much resistance.” Kierce pricked his finger then palmed Rollo’s forehead. “His soul isn’t strong enough to fight through whatever is preventing it from reentering its vessel.”

“Do you think it’s because he’s alive?” I probed the substance on his chest with careful fingers. “But why would that bar his spirit entry when souls who astral project can slide in and out of their bodies without a problem?”

Though Rollo wasn’t as strong as Vi—few practitioners were, honestly—he was a perfectly capable astral projectionist, as he had demonstrated when he appeared to me in my home. His soul should know the mechanics even if it rarely got a chance to experience the process.

“Perhaps the enchantment altered his soul, or his body.” Kierce wiped Rollo’s forehead clean. “One half might no longer recognize the other.”

“The magic is parasitic.” We knew that much thanks to Vi. “As their souls are consumed, they forget who they are, making them more docile and willing to remain trapped, which further degrades them. Are the missing bites really enough to fundamentally alter the core of who they are?”

“Can a person be whole without their memories?”

The question was meant to come off as rhetorical, I was sure, but it lodged in my mind like a splinter.

“The past can drive us,” I said carefully, “but it can also hold us back.”

The dead behaved the same way.

Some souls were tough enough to stick around after death only to erode as years passed without them resolving their unfinished business. Others lacked even that much agency. Residual spirits were a single scene that played out over and over. A visible memory, more or less, that repeated until they ran out of energy and vanished. Forever.

There was no way to guess how long a soul lasted when plugged into a battery like this spell. That it existed at all was an unthinkable crime against the dead.

“Perhaps if we pierce the skin.” Kierce rubbed his jaw. “A small cut would tell us if it’s the right idea.”

“Okay.” Blood was a common spell ingredient, so the idea had merit. “Grab my athame?” I realized my mistake as soon as I said it. “I left the bag in my room.” I noted the thinner consistency of Rollo’s essence and knew there was no going back. “We can’t risk lowering the circle. His soul is too vulnerable. Do you have any ideas?”

“Yes,” he said after a brief hesitation. He folded his fingers into his palm except for one, which curved and blackened into a massive talon that explained how he pricked his finger earlier. “I can do it.”

That was new, but I wasn’t surprised, given his god aspect. “You’re full of cool tricks, you know that?”

“You’re the only one who has ever thought so,” he said, slicing Rollo’s shirt open a few inches below where his soul puddled and then peeling the fabric aside to reveal his bare chest. “I won’t go deep.”

With a light hand, he parted Rollo’s skin in a line about six inches long.

Blood welled and spilled down his sides, but he didn’t so much as twitch from the pain.

“Here we go.” Gently,gently, I smeared his soul like ointment over the cut. “And…”

The bluish glaze didn’t sink in or otherwise react upon contact, which set my stomach churning.

As if the heat of my palms were melting it, Rollo’s soul liquified the more I handled it.

“Nothing.” Kierce beat me to it. “There’s still a barrier preventing the two from joining.”

Mentally, I took back the petty thought I was happy to experiment on Rollo. I wasn’t. Not even a little.

“We have a couple of hours left before dawn, but I don’t think his soul will last that long.”

A spirit this vulnerable couldn’t survive sunrise outside of a host. Not without the enchantment holding it to the earth. I wasn’t sure even the box I used to transport Pedro could safely contain him, and I wasn’t eager to find out.

“You sound like you have an idea.” He waited for me to elaborate. “If you do, you need to act soon.”

“You saw what I did to Ankou. Or maybe you didn’t. You were in bad shape.”

“Yes.” His eyes held the faint glow of pride. “Are you afraid you’ll hurt Rollo?”

“I’ve only ever used that particular power to protect myself. I’m not sure it can be used any other way.”

I killed with it. Plain and simple. It was a defense mechanism the sisters of St. Mary’s had triggered in me when they went after Josie that fateful night. Since I couldn’t see any other use for sticking my hand into a person’s chest, metaphysically, and crushing the spark from their soul, I was hesitant to think that this was a safe use of my talents.