Seren Nightshade's Arc

Chapter 8 of 26

Seren ran until the willow was two ridges behind her. She dropped in a clearing with Hank at her ankle and the sergeant at her back. Half of her burned like a lit wick. The other half sat cold in her chest, unfinished. Belladonna's voice came up through the cold half like frost cracking a jar. "Pay," the ancestor said. "Find the one who cut my root. Or I take back what little you have." Seren pulled the black mirror from her pack and set it on flat stone. She cut her thumb and smeared blood along the runes. "Show me who cut her." The glass cleared. She saw a shrine garden at night. A pair of soft hands parted the nightshade leaves. A gold knife slid down and severed a pale root. The sleeve was red, white, and blue. "The priest," the sergeant said behind her. She had healed him once; he stayed near her now like a paid debt. "Trump. He tends the pantheon's garden. He's been jealous of your line for years." Seren whistled low into the dirt. The ground shifted. A black boarhound rose from the shadow of a stump, gold eyes locked on her hand. She held the mirror to its nose. It took the scent and turned east. A small figure stepped from behind the stump. Tan skin, black hair, a child's body in a blue robe stitched with moons. Cassidy, the moon twin. Seren had never asked her for anything. Cassidy had come anyway. "Isaiah asked me," Cassidy said. "Half a throne is still a throne worth keeping. I'll hold the pantheon's eyes off you for one hour." Behind Cassidy, the medium with the blue-green mohawk leaned on her crystal staff. Amber's second soul had come back from the smoke changed, quieter. She nodded at Seren once. "I'll anchor the binding when you catch him. My staff will hold." They ran behind the hound. It led them to a low chapel where the priest knelt at a basin, washing a gold knife. He turned. His face went the color of curdled milk. "You cut her root," Seren said. "She was a weed," Trump said. "Your whole line is weeds." Seren pulled the vine rope from her belt. The berries clicked as it uncoiled. She threw it. The vines wrapped his wrists and drew tight on their own. Belladonna's voice climbed through her, warmer now, close to laughing. "Alive," the ancestor said. "Bring him to the shrine. I'll take the rest myself." Seren dragged him out by the rope. The cold half of her chest loosened. The debt was paid. The half-godhood settled deeper, hers to keep. But Trump smiled through the vines as they walked. "You think I acted alone? Half the pantheon signed the order. They know your name now, witch. They know exactly where you stand."