Nate slipped my knife free, then sheathed it in my side.
Voice low, a distortion of intimacy, “Your new skin’s untarnished. Wanted to be first to pollute you.”
He
winked, then sprinted from the room, no longer bespelled. Implausibly,
the priest’s snide comment had freed Nate. As proven, he’d rather stab
me than appear submissive.
Lifeblood mingling with that of the dead, I recognized his genius. Untrammeled by conscience, my magic inflamed the sigils.
A
man’s scream choked off. Nate dragged him down the stairs. Fading, I
saw the truth. The practitioner was Hounsi, no Voudoun priest, just
half-trained boy.
_________________
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