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“Hurry, please.”

“I will.”

She darts away.

The circle of wolves around me tightens. There are four here, but more are in the forest. I swallow, holding my toushana fiercely in my grip. The world blackens at the edges, my magic begging for release. I back away slowly and my foot nudges a chunk of meat on the ground. My toushana zips through me and I unleash it, turning the meat to rot. The wolves watch, licking their chops between their bared teeth.

A distant whimper.

A horn blows.

I gather all the meat and destroy each piece.

“Go!” I say. “There’s no food here anymore. It’s gone.”

They close in around me with snarls in their throats.

My fingers are icy and their tips are bruising. With everything I have, I pull at the braid of ice wrapped around my ribs. Fog forms at my lips as toushana seeps from every part of me, engulfing us in shadows, singeing everything it touches. One mutt backs away. Another follows him. But the largest one, with a grizzly brown mane and a head bigger than mine, crouches, preparing to lunge. I stagger my feet, ready to catch him, though my bones are still aching.

Suddenly, the world becomes a haze of sharp teeth, of scratching, ripping. I pummel my fists into anything that touches me. The world tips sideways. My back slams the ground. A mouth chomps at my face.

“Help! Someone, please!”

Another wolf grabs hold of my leg. I brace for the bite. But it just grabs me by the pants and pulls. I kick, screaming and clawing at the ground, leaving dark trenches in the wake of my toushana-filled hands. But it’s no use. They are too big and too strong. Two have me now, dragging me deeper into the forest. I aim a kick at one wolf’s head, but he shakes with all his might and the world rocks as my body shakes in the power of his jaws. I’m pulled faster across the rough ground, and the guesthouse looms into view.

Teeth grab me by the hair and slam my head to the ground.

The world goes black.

Thirty-One

Jordan

Adola bursts through the trees and I rush down to greet her. She slams into me, her body shaking. Cuts and scrapes litter her skin. She sobs and I hold her as the crowd joins us on the lawn, shouting in celebration. Fireworks pop in the distance. Drinks pass around on trays, and string lights illuminate a festive tent across the lawn. Tears streak down Adola’s face. She could have been killed in there. This is madness.

I hold her tighter. “It’s over. It’s all over.”

Something nudges my elbow. Beaulah beams as she hands me two small boxes.

“Adola, dear, I am so proud of you.” She pats her on the back.

“Pin, pin, pin!” the crowd chants, and Adola’s sobs turn to stutters as she tries to slow her breath. Her attendant throws her riband over her head.

“You don’t have to do this,” I tell her. “Say the word and I’ll make an excuse.”

She shakes her head and wipes away the evidence of her humanity from her cheeks. Her gaze hollows and it sends a shiver up my spine. The girl she’s become in the last few years at Hartsboro is a phantom of who she was when we were small. Her emptiness radiates in my own chest, as if it were yesterday that I stood in her place. As if it were me out there, again, starved for breath under pounds of earth, wrestling mongrels to the death. Adrenaline buzzes in my veins, then and now.

I close my hands over the box. Nothing in me wants to put this pin on her chest, a silent salute to the practices that earned it. I look at my lapel, and the shame I’ve already been carrying intensifies.

How have I not realized this before? As long as these pins mean something to me, Beaulah means something to me. Her opinion means something to me. That’s why I’ve never fessed up to her about how I feel about her and this place. Running from Hartsboro was easier than looking her in the eyes and telling her the truth.

Trust my gut. Which is screaming, “This is madness!”

“I can’t do this to you, cousin.”

“Please—” With a weak grip, she lifts my hand holding the box. I take out the pin; its carved gold shape is a twin to the one on my own lapel.

“Come on, Jordan.”