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Power surges from the three lethal wounds, and trickles from the graze I’ve created. Blood pounds in my head and my trembling hands clench the dagger as if I could snap it clean in two.

Despite my trance-like state, my heart is beating wildly in my chest. I don’t think my family lied to me, exactly. They told me I’d have to use my knife on the volunteers—which was essentially the gory rumour I’d always heard as a teenager. It seems I just heard what I wanted to hear. I told myself a small cut would be enough and believed they’d take the same approach.

We stand. We drop the daggers, my hands shaking as I do so. We pace the triangle three times more, my legs barely able to support me. We nod to the sky and the earth, and dizziness blurs my vision.

“Blessed be this town.” My voice catches as I chant the words along with the others.

The two other circles finally stop moving. The torches extinguish, then light again. I think I’ve done it with my mind but who even knows at this point. We each walk away in our own direction, through the ring of flame, the ring of women, of crystals, of men, then scuff the circle of salt with our feet, step beyond it, and crash down on the grass. I’m not convinced I’m capable of ever getting up again.

There’s a moment of utter stillness and silence, then the other circles break and people go to find their friends and partners. There’s awe on their faces, but they’re also chatting amongst themselves. People are throwing down picnic rugs and opening bottles. They’re surrounding me, lifting me up to a sitting position, and offering me drinks and praise before I can get away. My mum and dad both hug me, pride in their eyes, even though I didn’t actually kill my sacrifice.

I’m torn between screaming at them for their brutality and—insanely—apologising for my weakness, but I can’t get a single word out through my rapidly constricting throat.

At the top of the hill, the dead bodies are set alight, and my unconscious victim is carried away. You’ll be able to see the pyres for miles, but no one will come near tonight. After all, this town is ours.

And I’m terribly sorry if in mentioning the feud between the Thornbers and the Sadlers, I accidently implied that we’re the good guys.

SIXTEEN

There are cheers when I walk into The Windmill the next evening. Actual, goddamn cheers.

“Come and grab a drink,” someone calls.

“Whatever you want, it’s on the house. I mean, it’s always on the house for you. But that goes double tonight.”

I was an accessory to murder. I’ve kept the town cut off from the outside world. I’ve performed the sort of magic that’s not natural. I’ve lost a bit of soul and given it to the town. While the town’s lost a bit of soul and given it to me.

Cheering does not seem like the appropriate reaction. I’d probably throw up if I tried to drink something. I’m quite liable to throw up anyway. We all stayed up until the sun rose, and I’ve spent most of the intervening time asleep at my parents’ house. Hours passed out cold followed by hours more of fitful dreams.

It’s not like these men and women don’t know what happened. Half of them were there. The others, the ones with brute strength or other useful skills but no magic, weren’t so “lucky”. Nonetheless, they are all Sadler loyalists through and through. They understand what my family do and what this town is built on, and even if they don’t know the precise details of the Ritual, they get the basic idea and wholeheartedly approve. They love the family for it. And now they love me.

“Maybe later.” I force my lips into some grim facsimile of a smile. “Right now, I need to sleep.”

My audience grins knowingly.

“Of course. Magic like that must take it out of you.”

“I don’t know how you’re still standing.”

“I need a nap after I’ve thrown up a shield half the time.”

I nod, as though it’s the physical effect that’s the problem. The truth is, I don’t feel drained in the slightest. I’m brimming with energy. I could run a marathon or work some wild follow-up spell. It’s my mind that’s about to break.

I make it to my room and the chorus of drunken cheering recedes into the background. My phone feels heavy in my hands as I flick through my contacts list.

Today’s revelations put quite a different spin on certain things, and I want to talk that through. Plus, I need to vent. And, given that no one in my family’s circle are going to want to hear a word said against them and no one outside of Mannith would believe a word I was saying, there’s only one person I can do either of those things with.

This isn’t remotely sensible. There was a connection, and I’ve broken it. I owed a twisted debt, and I’ve either paid it back or wriggled out of it. The last time I saw him, I quite reasonably told him to get lost. It’s mad to reopen this old wound. But to my intense irritation, I need this conversation.And you’re desperate for an excuse, the least favourite bit of my mind taunts.

He’s saved in the phone simply as “X”. Part security measure in case anyone flicks through my contacts, part protection against seeing his name every day. It’s a kiss, and a warning sign, and the place where treasure is buried.

I press call before my mind can throw up any more nonsense.

Gabriel picks up after two rings. He clearly loves mind games, but seemingly nothing as basic as keeping you holding on the line.

“Sadie.”

The way he says my name contains multitudes. It’s a question and a declaration and an invitation and a command, all at once. He doesn’t sound as surprised as I’d secretly hoped though. He’s a hard man to catch off-guard, I’ll give him that.