He drew a knife and cut the ropes.
They fought their way free of the ropes, rising from the bench and backing away in a moment. The light from the hearth didn’t quite reach them in the corner, and the shadows there were dark.
“Leave,” he spoke in their tongue.
They fled.
He could feel them go, could see the connections shifting as they returned to their place in his plan.
“I was going to have them tomorrow night,” the old woman said. She rose from the bench, then sat down again, her back to him. “No need to wait, now. The blade?”
He handed her the blade.
She bent over, and she sliced deep into her own ankles. The blade wasn’t sharp, and she had to saw until she was satisfied.
“There are herbs,” the crow commented. “Medicines.”
“Their medicines?”
“Among others.”
“The pain is useful,” she said. She bent over, grabbing the chain from the floor, draping it over one knee.
She placed one hand flat on the table, then slammed the knife into it, piercing flesh and the table both. She bent over with the pain.
“A good thing there is so much of it.”
“Yes,” she said, her voice tight. “Child!”
She held the chain in her one free hand, winding her hand up in chain to get rid of the slack.
The child saw the knife piercing the old woman’s hand and fear hit her. Dull-eyed before, she pulled away.
The old woman, however, pulled her close.
“Nanaming,” the old woman said, her head pressing against the child’s, even as the child shrunk down. Her arm held the chain tight. “Ga chibwàmashe, kwagwedjitò.“
A short phrase, but the words echoed words spoken again and again.
The pair were still for a moment.
The little girl broke the old woman’s grip, backing away.
The old woman, in turn, looked at the girl, then at the crow, eyes wide with fear.
“Mother?” the old woman asked the child.
“Once,” the child responded. She stepped into the bedroom, then returned. A key in hand. She undid the shackle and rubbed her wrist. “You’re the mother now, for a little while longer.”
The old woman tried to stand, and fell to the floor. She howled in pain as her hand wrenched where it was skewered to the table.
“Easy,” the child said. “Go gently. You should already feel your body going numb. There will be a moment of panic, a fluttering of the heart, and you’ll feel no more.”
The old woman stared up at her, mute. “The dolls?”
“You’ll join all the ones who came before,” the child assured her. “You’ll keep the children company until the bones that hold the body upright crumble and the hairs wither.”
True fear struck the old woman, but she didn’t have the strength to move.
“Dangerous,” the crow commented, as the old woman slumped. “Every generation?”
“Not too dangerous, with practice,” the child said.
“I could help.”
“I trust myself more than I trust you.”
The crow touched the table, brushing at the bloodstained wood with one hand. He felt the notches.
“Twenty-three times?” he asked. “You only have so many dolls.”
“The years take them. I bury the remains around the house. The first four are at the cornerstones. Far more than twenty-three. I used rope before.”
“Where do the children come from?”
“The question is where the men come from.”
“I see.”
She didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t ask what would become of the pair settling in the nearest town.
They’d see, given time.
■
Corvidae appeared in a flurry of feathers.
He glanced around, at the circle on the floor, then at the group of practitioners.
The witch hunters too.
“Again?” he asked. “Where is Rose?”
“Occupied,” the monster in the mirror said. “You don’t need to know.”
“I see,” Corvidae said, smiling. “What am I doing, then?”
“I don’t trust you in the house, but we still need help. I’m betting that someone will want to see how things play out. They’ll probably assume we’re busy and they’re too tough to take out, and venture out of safer territory. Find them, distract them. Don’t hurt innocents or civilians. Only the local powers, and only those hostile to us.”
Corvidae managed a bow.
“Go. The sooner the better.”
Corvidae stepped free of the circle.
In the hallway, miss Alexis was letting the other members of the family out of the basement.
“Don’t-” she started.
But Corvidae was adept in altering the connection between the bomb mounted on the door and the surrounding environment. He opened the door and slammed it behind him.
“Don’t!” he heard miss Alexis ordering the others.
Corvidae walked merrily down the long driveway. He could see eyes glimmering in the darkness, ready to siege the house.
Much too enjoyable. Ups and downs, including a few trips to the Abyss, to learn the right details needed to send others to the Abyss, and to pick up a proper name. Now it was time.
He laughed, and it was a high croak of a laugh, a guttural cry.
His thumb brushed the lock of black hair that was tied around his right ring finger, easily mistaken by the unwary for a ring. A certain mirror had gone missing, a tome in mirror form, with a denizen within. That one could wait a century or two. Better to leave it alone, let it work its effect on miss Rose, and in the end, if an opportunity arose and certain individuals got angry enough, perhaps one of his people could benefit.
What would he get this time?
■
The water was warmest close to the lakebottom.
Even in winter, the frigid water here was better than the warmer water there. It was clean, and it sang through her gills, clear and fresh. She was more durable than she looked.
Here and there, she managed to scrounge up something in hibernation, buried within the coarse, near-frozen sand of the lake.
She could relax. The black fish didn’t chase her here.
Happy, happy. She twisted around herself. letting her fins flare out to arrest her movement, then flicking her tail twice in rapid succession to launch herself forward.
Company would make her happier still.
Company-
Green Eyes.
Someone called her name.
Green Eyes.
She recognized the voice.
Green Eyes, if you’d hurry it up-
A light flashed. She didn’t wait for it to take form as a door or whatever.
Blake!
■