Chapter 6: Dusk on Hester's Floor

At dusk I lay on Hester's floor with a bucket by my head and the grey thread tight on my wrist.

The light in the window went from gold to orange to a dull red.

"It's the hour," Hester said.

She sat cross-legged beside me with her hands on her knees, and her face was grim.

"Nothing yet," I said.

I had barely finished speaking when my wrist went cold.

It started where the thread lay, a thin line of ice, and then it ran up my arm into my shoulder and across my chest.

My lungs locked.

I tried to breathe and found that I could not.

"Hester."

"I'm here."

The silver came up all at once.

It filled my mouth with bitterness, and I rolled onto my side and retched into the bucket.

What came out was grey and thick and glittering.

My wolf, which had burned warm under my ribs my whole life, flickered once and sank low.

I reached for her and found a cold, dim place where she used to be.

"No," I whispered. "No, no, come back."

"Easy. Easy, girl."

Hester had my head in her lap.

Her hands were shaking, and I had not thought she was a woman whose hands shook.

"It's in me," I said. "It's actually in me, and she hasn't even put it on yet."

"It was a fitting," Hester said. "They set the band on her brow for an hour. The wearer's wolf starts to drain at once. Yours follows."

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