The bird said nothing. I hadn’t really expected it to, but if this new world had taught me anything, it was that you shouldn’t underestimate the language capacities of the furred, fanged, or winged.

I began to flip through the book, looking for a language I recognized. I was really only fluent in English, but I could recognize a few more and was willing to type the text into an online translator.

Unfortunately, nothing clicked.

I dug into my pocket and pulled out Rasla’s seal. Holding it up, I looking for a clue in the stone. They’d been stored together, so maybe the seal would help me read the book. I studied the emblem on it. The Celtic design looked nothing like the ones in the book, and his name certainly wasn’t helpful. I put the seal back and continued to search the book for anything I recognized.

There was nothing.

Except, that wasn’t true. I couldn’t read the words, but I could feel something in them. It was like my soul was beginning to buzz with energy. A sense of recognition zipped between the book and me, powerful and strange.

Finally, I turned to a page with several twisty, Celtic-looking symbols. I’d never seen anything like them before—not even on Rasla’s seal—but they called to me. Fiercely.

Gently, I pressed my fingertips to the page and felt a jolt of energy travel up my arm.

Magic surged within me, both familiar and foreign. It fizzed through my veins, filling my soul with light. Pressure built, an undeniable need to do something.

The bird squawked, so close I could touch it.

I wanted to touch it.

My fingertips buzzed to press against the smooth feathers, to feed some of my magic into the bird. Instinct drove me—or maybe it was the book, feeding knowledge into my soul. Whatever it was, everything suddenly felt natural. Inevitable.

I kept one hand pressed to the book and raised the other. The bird watched me with wary black eyes, head tilted.

Then it hopped closer.

Shaking, I rested my fingertips against its smooth, ebony feathers. Magic exploded within me, bursting out through my fingertips and into the bird.

Light glowed around the feathered animal, and it squawked loudly. I jerked, nearly removing my hand. But instinct stopped me.

I kept my fingertips pressed to the bird’s feathers, letting the magic surge from me into the small creature. The book felt like a conduit or a battery, helping my magic flow with incredible ease and power. I still couldn’t read the symbols on the page, but somehow, my soul understood what was happening.

The magic shifted, growing stronger. With it, the bird began to grow. Light glowed from it so brightly that I could no longer see the creature.

The air popped, and power sparked across my skin.

When the light died, the bird was gone.

A person sat next to me.

Beatrix.

Holy fates, it was Beatrix, her red hair gleaming in the light. Shock dropped my stomach to my knees, and I gasped.

My long dead friend…returned?

8

Carrow

Weak from magic use, I stared at the figure on the couch.

Beatrix.

It was her—there was no doubt. Same brilliant red hair, green eyes, pale skin. The same little scar through her brow that she’d got when we’d gone rock climbing in the Peak District, and she’d fallen.

Confusion flickered in her eyes, along with fear. She leapt off the couch, spinning around, her gaze frantic.

“Beatrix?” I rose slowly, my heart thundering a mile a minute. What the hell had happened? “Is it really you?”

“Um…” She looked down at her arms, brow creased in concern, then looked up at me. “It is.”

“You’re not…dead?” My skin chilled. I’d seen her body.

“I don’t think so?” Confusion echoed in her voice. Her eyes flicked up to mine. “And you’re truly here?”

“Yes.” I threw my arms around her, thrilled when she felt solid and real.

My magic flared to life, trying to read her the way it always did. In my mind flashed images of the sky and trees from above. From her time as a bird?

She laughed and hugged me back. It felt so good to hug my friend again. It’d been over a year since she’d been murdered by the necromancer’s henchman. I’d thought her gone forever.

She winced, pulling back. Pain twisted her features, and she reached up to rub her head.

Concern flared to life inside me. “Are you all right?”

“Um—” She swallowed hard, staggering slightly. “Some memories are coming back. Foggy, though.”

“Come.” I grabbed her arm and pulled her to the small table near the kitchen. “Sit and have some tea. Get your bearings.”

She nodded and sat, looking around with confusion. “This isn’t your normal place.”

“It’s long gone. We’re not even really in London anymore.”

“Not in London?” She jumped up from the chair and went to the window, staggering slightly. I raced after her, wanting to stop her, to force her to sit and recover, but I couldn’t imagine how confused she was. If she wanted to see it for herself, I wouldn’t stop her.

And hell, she’d survived death. She’d surely survive a little stumble in my living room. She pushed the window open further, and I realized she was wearing the same clothes she’d died in. The T-shirt had a slogan on the back from a bar we liked: “For a good time, go to Sal’s.”

Sal’s had not been a particularly good time, but we’d both been broke and appreciated a free T-shirt.

She leaned out and looked around. “Holy crap. It’s like we’ve gone back in time.”

I joined her and looked out at the steeply peeked roofs, wooden beams, white plaster, and mullioned windows. “Yep. You don’t remember it at all?”

She squinted, looking hard at the roofs and clouds. “I do, actually. But mostly from above. I was…a bird? Flying through this city?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“How is that possible?”

“So you didn’t know that magic existed? That you would turn into a bird when you died?” Where the hell did I even start with the questions?

She shook her head. “Magic? As in pulling rabbits out of hats?”

“Not exactly.” So Beatrix hadn’t been a secret supernatural all along. Not that I’d really thought about it, but how had she turned into a bird? And why was she back?

I brought her back.

The thought flared in my mind. I’d been so excited about her return—about her survival—that I’d forgotten I’d used the book and my magic to bring her back.

I’d defied death.

Somehow.

I ran to the couch and picked up the book, flipping through the pages. It was undamaged, thank fates, but I still couldn’t read the strange writing. I looked up at Beatrix, who had turned to face me.

“I think I could use that tea now, thanks.” She gave a wan smile.

I snapped the book shut. “Coming right up.”

My mind raced as I hurried to the kitchen and put the kettle on, then returned to the living room. Beatrix stood near the door, her eyes glued to Cordelia, who had just walked in.

“There’s a wild animal in your house,” Beatrix said.

Who’s she calling wild?

“Calm down, Cordelia. She’s new here.” I glanced at Beatrix, who looked between the raccoon and me with wide eyes.

“Cordelia?” Beatrix asked.

“That’s her name. She arrived at our block of flats shortly after your…death.”

Death? Cordelia looked at me with interest.

I so did not have the time or ability to explain things to both of them. Especially since I barely understood what was going on.

“Cordelia, you can have any snack you want if you’ll give us a few moments to talk.” I looked at Beatrix. “And we’re going to get to the bottom of this.” I walked to her and gripped her hand. “But I am so happy you are here.”

She smiled. “Me too. It’s been…weird.”

“You have no idea. Just give me a moment to get the tea.” I released my grip and returned to the kitchen.

Cordelia trundled after me, climbing into the snack cupboard to find something to her fancy. From inside the cupboard, she asked, Is that Beatrix?

“Yes. How did you know?”

You talked about her a little with Grey while I eavesdropped.

“Admitting to it so freely?”

She climbed out of the cupboard, a bag of biscuits in her hand, and shrugged. Also, I think her disappearance was when I knew to come to your house.

“You think that spurred it on?”

Something had to. Things were changing. Fate was moving the wheel. I could feel it, so I followed it.

“Is that a familiar thing?”

She shrugged. Maybe.

With any luck, Beatrix might regain some memories of her time as a raven and have some answers. Because that was some serious magical business. Hopefully, she’d know something.

I finished making the tea—with way too much milk and sugar, just the way Beatrix liked it—and took the mugs to the small table.

She sat, staring at the wood grain, her gaze somewhat vacant. When I appeared in her peripheral vision, she jerked and looked up at me, her eyes clearing.

“Remembering more stuff?” I set the mug on the table.

She nodded. “I spent a lot of time in the air and following a woman around. She had”—she waved her hand around her head—“ever-changing colorful hair.”

“Eve.”

“That’s her name?” She nodded thoughtfully. “That fits. Like Adam and Eve from the garden.”

“Not quite.” Did I explain now that Eve was Fae?

“Okay, sure. But, I mean, she reminded me of life. And nature. There was, like, a light that glowed around her—an energy that made me feel good. Comforted. Like it kept me from being pulled into the darkness.”

“Do you think the darkness was…death?”

“Maybe.” She sipped her tea, thinking. “I honestly have no idea, but it felt like she was helping to keep me near you. I could feel you, and that’s where I wanted to be. What’s going on?”