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Page 30 of The Deathless One (The Gravesinger #1)

Jessamine glanced over her shoulder into the mirror. “Then why haven’t you asked me to worship—”

“I’m fine,” Sybil said, holding up a hand before he could answer that question. “I can see your disapproval through the mirror, Deathless One. I will get her to the Owl’s Nest safe enough.”

“You’re hardly a witch anymore, with the meager coffers of magic you have left.”

“I am well enough,” she hissed in response.

But when they both turned toward the road again, they froze.

Three more infected stood there. Two men and a woman this time, all of them hovering in the middle of the road as though they were waiting for something.

A noise, a smell, anything that would send them sprinting after their prey, just like the man Sybil had killed.

Three against two weren’t fantastic odds, especially considering that Sybil had already depleted her rather meager source of magic. He needed to be summoned, or lose his opportunity to come back for good. He could not use an infected witch.

Growling, he slammed his fist onto the mirror. “Summon me, damn it!”

He heard the words at the same time he felt the tug at his navel.

Not the summoning spell that Jessamine had used, but the magic that only a worshipping witch could use.

Not a resurrection, but at least it brought him into the realm of the living for a few moments before his magic depleted.

It was a cry for help in the darkest of times, as only a witch could do.

It wasn’t bringing him fully back into being, but it was a call he could answer.

The tugging yanked him out through the mirror, a black mist gathering in front of Sybil like the shield he was.

Still nowhere near as powerful as he should be, but it was a power he was a little more used to.

He could feel his direct tie to Sybil, and the intent behind the summons.

He would linger no longer than the amount of time it took to save them. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Apparently, even his own disciple didn’t trust him. He’d never been more proud.

Turning, he faced the infected, who were already sprinting down the street toward them. They were nasty beasts, dripping with all manner of disgusting liquids that no person should ever leak. But they were human, nonetheless.

Crouching to the ground, he pressed his palms to the sparse grass that he could not feel and let his magic sink into the shadows that surrounded him.

Summoned, the shadows came to him like puppies ready to please their master.

They pulled from where they were attached: trees, buildings, even Sybil’s and Jessamine’s shadows—they all came to his call.

Then he sent them down the road, all coiling together to create something so much worse.

First, he tried to give it the shape of a bear.

Most humans knew better than to toy with a creature such as that.

But he could feel the excitement rolling through the infected.

They were pleased with the image of a bear.

They wished to feast upon its flesh, and that simply wouldn’t do.

He wanted them afraid, not more bloodthirsty than they already were. Flexing his power again, he created paths around them. Buildings like he’d seen in his own realm when he had followed Jessamine. When he had given her permission to just be a woman for that night.

There it was. Confusion settled into the creatures as they looked down the sudden alleyways that appeared in front of their eyes.

“Go,” he ground through gritted teeth. “Stay to the right. That way is blocked off from their view.”

“But where will you—” Jessamine stopped talking the moment he snapped at her.

“I will find you. Get moving. Now!”

They didn’t stop to ask more questions. Both of the witches raced away from him, moving quietly but quickly. They were efficient, even if Sybil trailed behind Jessamine now. He kept his eyes on them, watching as they progressed through the false city he had conjured until they reached the real one.

He couldn’t know if there were even more infected waiting for them there. Right now, he had to deal with the problem in front of him.

Yanking all the shadows down upon the heads of the three infected, he let dark magic seep into every pore of their bodies.

It wriggled through their eyes, their ears, their noses, jamming their mouths open even further so it could pour down their throats.

They tore at their faces, trying to stop him from sneaking inside their forms, but he had to know what they were. How they were so sick.

Strangely enough, he found no illness in their bodies.

No bacteria or virus, no strangeness that grew throughout their body as though they had been overtaken by another creature.

All he found was magic. Not quite the same as his own, but familiar.

It had the taste of another god… but that was impossible.

He let the shadows slowly dissipate, returning to their hosts. The infected each dropped, their bodies deflating as his magic left them, until they were nothing more than dark smudges on the ground. Straightening, he cracked his neck as he muttered, “A magical malady.”

Strange. He hadn’t seen one of those since long before this kingdom was even built.

Witches accidentally created such things, sometimes, when a spell got out of hand.

But there were no more witches powerful enough to do this.

He knew that without a doubt. There was no flavor of a particular spell caster or even a single person who had caused this.

So what had infected these people? Or, he supposed, the correct question was who ?