Bereft

- 30 -

The salt on the talisman was growing black as the ink sept into its grains. Saule tapped her fingers along the cart's edge, waiting.

"Is that why you're so afraid of him?" I asked, my voice soft to keep the accusation from it. "Because you were told to fear him as a child?"

"Partially." The salt was nearly full-black, only the inner section still pure. Saule leaned on her hand as the music coming from her headset muttered in the background. "But not fully. It's hard to explain, but they're not like us, are they? Sure, I'm a witch and you're a human, but we both watch television, complain about taxes, and walk our dogs after work. Admittedly, my dog got into the trash last month and ate an old potion and now has feathers, but we live similar lives."

My brow rose.

Saule shrugged, leaving traces of salt on her face when she rubbed her nose. "We grew up and exist within the same society—at different extremes of it, but within the same boundaries. Sins like Pride don't have that common ground. They're not from here. They're not really from anywhere is what I was taught in school. They're permanent drifters. They've always been around, they've always been a cautionary tale, their history melded into our beginnings, and undoubtedly in our end. They're survived...everything. Guns, explosions, atomic bombs, mage rebellions, revolutions, volcanoes—falling through the vacuum of the void to the nether beneath. I mean, what does that even do to them? They can't be rational after all they've witnessed in this world and the next. It's just not plausible. Yeah, I'm afraid of Pride. Anyone in the coven would be. When I look at him, I don't see a person. I see...like, an embodiment of the infinite. The birth and the death of the universe. All of it wrapped up in a pissed off package telling me to heal some human or he'll snuff me like a candle—and I knew he could do it. He could do it without a pebble of remorse rippling the unplumbed depths of his conscience."

Saule gave me a wry grin as she jerked the talisman out from under the salt. The black characters were gone, leaving the talisman utterly untouched while the salt was jet black. She crumpled the empty talisman and tossed it behind her shoulder. "Not what you wanted to hear, is it?"

I smirked, watching her hands as the witch swept the black salt into the small ampoule, capturing every grain. The hum of energy that had soaked into the talisman had been sucked out by the salt. Interesting. "It's nothing I hadn't thought of before. It's not like I expected you to say he's just terribly misunderstood. I know Pride is...different." A vast understatement. I had hoped Saule could expound on what trifling bits of information I had on the past of the Sins and Darius, but she didn't seem to have much more knowledge of them than I did. I should have realized it earlier, given how secretive Darius and his ilk were.

"Sorry I can't really tell you more about them. Not much to say because not much is known. You saw what happens to the information we do have on them. I just thank my lucky charms it wasn't me he decided to set on fire." Saule twisted the top of the red bottle to get it open and used the dropper to slip four or five viscous drips into the open ampoule. I squinted at the new liquid. It looked like—. "I bloody hate sticking myself every time I have to fix something like this up," Saule grumbled as she twisted the droplet bottle closed again. "Yeah, it's my blood. I'm a blood witch—goes with the territory. And, no, before you ask, I'm not evil or wicked or whatever. Such a dumb human prejudice. The majority of blood witches are healers, and it's not nearly as badass as it sounds." I hadn't said a word, but I could sense Saule's good humor evaporating as her attention turned to the subject. "It's not fair. It's more flash-bang propaganda. Black mages like to take bits of blood-witch spells and pervert them, using them to hurt humans and other mages, and we get a bad rep for it."

The coarse salt had liquefied in the blood, leaving a dark, sludge-like residue in the thin vial. The witch's magic was a wire-thin rivulet circling us and cart, twisting in smooth revolutions I could almost sense. Muttering under her breath again, Saule plucked the needle up and held it out to me. I carefully took it, confused, until the witch said "Splash some of the rubbing alcohol over a finger and the needle, then prick your finger. It needs a drop of your blood as well, but your skin has to be free of impurities. Especially after man-handling my other mana pots."