“How are you feeling?” asked old Patrick, once he’d freed himself from the stone trap.

  I instantly regretted not sorting through the reservoir stones before I started meditating. Yet another example of why you shouldn’t postpone simple tasks. The grey, hardened patches on my arms were spreading. Sweat broke out on my brow. I felt hot. The brief relief I’d felt after escaping the stone’s grip had already given way to exhaustion.

  I wouldn’t say it was hard to move, but there was no ease in it either.

  “Not great,” I admitted, a second before the heat inside me turned into chills. “Looks like... earth poisoning.”

  “Home,” the old man ordered.

  He grabbed the canvas satchel full of reservoirs, slung it over his shoulder without checking which had charged and which hadn’t. He didn’t want to waste time sorting or packing, and leaving the bag on the clearing, even just slightly off to the side, risked the place of power devouring the whole thing.

  Too much magical bait in one spot.

  “Let me carry it,” I offered. After all, calling it a “satchel” was generous, it was practically half a sack of semi-precious rocks. No light load for an old man, even a Shifter.

  “No one’s carrying it,” he said. “We’ll just drag it aside.”

  He did exactly that, leaving it propped against the twisted trunk of a pine, the first we’d passed that was thicker than his calf.

  The walk back was unexpectedly hard. On the way to the Stones, I’d held back to avoid tiring the old man, but now I was barely managing to move my legs at all. Every step felt like a fight.

  I kept wanting to lie down. The carpet of dry pine needles looked like the softest, most inviting bed in the world.

  The patches on my left arm spread and began to merge. My little finger and ring finger had turned fully grey, hardened, and barely bent anymore. The right arm was doing better, but the changes had started there too.

  And this was only the beginning of the journey.

  The stone plug in my left nostril shifted with every breath, slowly scraping the inside of my nose.

  I was soaked in sweat; my shirt clung to my back. And yet, my mouth was completely dry. I emptied my field flask before we’d even done a kilometre downhill. At least we’d left the place of power behind, and the stone sickness on my skin had lost its external feed, the spreading had slowed.

  Then again, I wasn’t moving very fast either.

  Time to admit it, I was in real trouble. If things continued like this, I wouldn’t make it home. So, without shame or hesitation, I dropped my rucksack and collapsed.

  The old man rushed over, worried.

  “Get up, lad, now’s not the time…”

  I managed to lift a hand in protest.

  “It is. Otherwise I won’t make it.”

  Kink dropped his own rucksack, grabbed my arm, and with one smooth movement, hoisted me onto his shoulder.

  I protested.

  “Spell! I need to use a spell!”

  He kept walking, hurrying along the trail.

  “Destruction of ethereal entities. With earth. I need a minute.”

  Harry always said the mind was a wizard’s greatest weapon. But he also drilled caution into me, especially with unknown magic and experimental spells.

  Right now, though, I didn’t see any other way. It would either work, or it wouldn’t.

  “Fine,” the old man allowed, and gently set me down. I immediately flopped onto my arse. He pulled out a signalling rod.

  “No!” I said quickly. “If it doesn’t work, they won’t make it in time anyway. We’ll just spook the whole clan.”

  Kink only grunted. Then, ignoring me, he raised the rod to the sky and fired a large flaming arrow. It tore through the canopy above, slicing several thin branches. In the sky, it gave a high-pitched whistle, and exploded into a burst of red sparks.

  It was done. No point arguing now.

  I pulled out my spellbook.

  Ah, Steady Will. That would come in handy now. And Mind Ward — also useful.

  I’d originally chosen these spells to protect against compulsion, and rarely used them thanks to that silver thing Harry implanted under the skin of my forehead.

  Still, the side effects helped me pull myself together. The fatigue didn’t disappear, but it moved to the background, and I was able to assess the situation with a bit more clarity.

  I’d never learned to draw glyphs and shapes in the air, so I needed a surface. My hands were shaking too much to draw proper proportions in the spellbook. I couldn’t afford a single mistake. That meant drawing on the ground.

  Better yet, someone else could do it.

  “Grandfather Patrick, could you inscribe this one for me?” I asked, showing him the destruction of ethereal entities spell. “But swap wunjo and algiz for fehu and berkana, respectively, and place othala in the centre.”

  “I’m not much good at this, lad,” he admitted. “Never really studied ritual work or amulets.”

  “You know the runes — that’s enough.”

  “All right, we’ll give it a go. Big one?”

  “About the size of a watermelon.”

  Thanks to his sharp eagle-spirit sight and steady hand, the old man managed far better than I ever could have. He carved the runes directly into the path with a knife, the earth here was firmer and held its shape better. The lines came out almost mathematically precise.

  All that was left for me to do was touch the outermost groove and pour earth magic into it. One thing I certainly wasn’t lacking right now. My source was full, and the rest of my body still had magic sloshing around in it from gods-knew-where.

  I poured it in, dropped to all fours, and, keeping my hand in contact with the form, leaned over it so that the central othala rune lined up with my gut, and activated it.

  The central rune had been added to destabilise the spell, so it wouldn’t fire as a focused beam, but disperse on release. The last thing I needed was damage to my subtle body.

  A grey, hardened wave of magic slammed into my stomach like a stone fist and scraped my skin like sandpaper.

  I let out a guttural snarl and collapsed, writhing in pain.

  Every patch of skin touched by the grey taint of magical poisoning now burned like hot coals. Good thing I hadn’t added any kind of magical sustain to the spell, the moment it dispersed, the pain faded, melting into a nettle-like sting.

  It was manageable.

  I gratefully accepted the old man’s help. He looped my right arm over his shoulder and helped me to my feet.

  My skin itched. My head was buzzing. And inside, there was a vast emptiness.

  Well, there went my source. But at least I was alive.

  “You’ve got a nosebleed,” said the old man.

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  I wiped under my nose with my left hand and smeared the red droplets with fingers that were still grey, but beginning to move.

  “It’s nothing,” I said. The plug had scraped my nasal passage raw, but as long as the blood was coming out, it really was nothing to worry about.

  …Though why was it bleeding at all?

  I reached for my amulets.

  Nothing.

  The stone bog had drained the magic from everything on me, except the ring of stone skin.

  Oh, the irony.

  A few steps later, I let go of the old man’s support. Walking wasn’t easier, exactly, but I could do it on my own now.

  And then, about a kilometre on, we heard the clatter of hooves.

  “Over here!” Grandfather Patrick called.

  Two dun-coloured stallions, saddled and ridden by solid spellcasters from cousin Evan’s generation galloped right up to us. Tim Kinkaid, from a different branch of the family, leapt from the saddle as he rode and rushed over to me. Arthur Logg stayed mounted, but reined in his horse, who snorted, reared up, and struck the air with his front legs.

  “Who did this?” Tim asked, his hands empty but held like he had a revolver in each.

  “No one,” old Kink said, pulling out his signalling rod again. “Duncan needs to be taken to the hospital. Earth poisoning.”

  He raised the rod and launched a second arrow into the sky — this one green, signalling the all-clear.

  “How are we supposed to take him?” Tim asked. He meant the horses, of course. They used to fear me like fire, thanks to the hunter’s mark, a gift from Ferrish, part of the energy node sealing.

  “They don’t fear me anymore,” I cut him off. “But there’s another problem. How the hell do you ride one of these beasts?”

  “Oh!” Tim grinned. He was about to lie, I could tell. “You’ll love it!”

  Between him and the old man, they got me hoisted up onto the haunches of Arthur’s horse. I clung to his thick jacket like my life depended on it, teeth clenched, and didn’t let go until we reached the hospital.

  Bloody beast!

  How do people even ride those things?

  In one short trip, I’d bruised my backside and earned a couple of blisters on the inside of my thighs. And that’s with my skin already half turned to stone! Only good manners stopped me from loudly sharing my thoughts on horses and riding with the rest of the world.

  I didn’t dismount so much as collapse. They carried me in on a stretcher and handed me over to Doctor McLal.

  Eugene, unlike Miranda, was tall and thin, with long drooping moustaches and hands that reeked of tobacco.

  He examined me, poked, prodded, tapped at the patches of hardened skin with a fingernail, and repeated the whole process again, this time using some multi-lensed glasses and a small hammer.

  “You’re right,” he confirmed. “Earth poisoning, no doubt. How’d you manage that?”

  “Tried to open a source. Meditation, plus a charged elemental unity potion, keyed to earth.”

  “And the stone up your nose, that part of the plan too?”

  I resisted the urge to slap him across the moustache. How was he supposed to know?

  “The place of power activated. I nearly drowned in the stone.”

  “You don’t say! How fascinating!”

  My hand twitched on its own. Fascinating, was it?

  “Sorry,” the doctor said. “But it really is fascinating, and it explains the poisoning. Because the effects from meditation and the potion should’ve been internal. I don’t see any signs of that. I’ll have Sally take a look at you as well, but I think we can start treatment in about two hours.”

  “Two hours? Am I going to make it?”

  “Why wouldn’t you?”

  So I told him, how it started, how it had been progressing, and what I’d done to stop it.

  “Well, judging by that, you managed to halt the spread. My glasses show only minor magical activity in your tissues and subtle body. Though the latter’s a bit roughed up. I wouldn’t recommend casting that spell again anytime soon. As for the delay, it’ll take two hours to mix the right ointment. We’ve got universal potions for internal poisoning, but they won’t be much use in your case. I’ll call Sally and head to the lab myself — get the compound ready for external application.”

  He stood up, signalling that the conversation was over.

  “The stone,” I reminded him, pointing at my blocked nostril.

  “That’s tricky. As long as it’s not causing serious trouble, we’ll leave it.”

  “It is causing trouble. A lot of it.”

  “Still, best leave it. It’s lodged in there at a bad angle — if I pull and it breaks off, you won’t enjoy having a shard left inside your nasal cavity. If it’s got a sharp edge, it’ll be even worse.”

  Hard to argue with that.

  Even though the piece lodged in there was smooth, it had already scraped my nasal lining raw. The irritation was radiating to the nerves, my head and teeth had started aching slowly but surely.

  If the thing had been sharp…

  Ugh! I shuddered at the thought.

  Still, before Eugene escaped, I managed to beg a drop of healing potion for my tortured nostril.

  After the doctor left, a nurse appeared, the one tasked with easing my suffering.

  “Hello, hero.”

  I recognised the voice first. Then I turned my head and saw the generous cleavage framed by the open collar of a white coat.

  No medical coat had any right to flatter the waist and chest like that. Someone had definitely tailored it on purpose.

  “Betty,” I greeted her. Hopefully I managed to keep my tone neutral.

  In her hands she held a kidney-shaped bowl, from which protruded a large syringe and a couple of vials. Not the kind of woman you want to annoy, not with a syringe that size.

  As if there weren’t any other nurses in the hospital.

  No, of course not! It had to be my ex!

  “How did you even get a stone in there?” she asked.

  “Long story.”

  “Tell it. I’m not in any hurry.” She set the bowl on the side table and perched herself casually on the edge of my bed. “Usually, patients with things up their nose are under eight years old,” she added, shifting the vials to the table and picking up the syringe.

  “What’s the syringe for?” I asked.

  That made her laugh.

  “Typical. All you hero types, not afraid of a werewolf’s teeth, but a little needle has you trembling.”

  “I’m not afraid of needles. I just like to know what you're about to do.”

  “Flushing it out, Duncan. Relax, no injections.” She drew liquid from both vials into the syringe, I recognised the scent of a healing potion, and handed me the bowl.

  “Hold this so the fluid runs into it.”

  I did as I was told, but the bowl made it hard for her to position the syringe properly. After a bit of manoeuvring, she offered a new solution.

  “Lay your head in my lap.”

  “You’re joking,” I said.

  “What? Oh, don’t tell me, you’ve already got some silly idea in your head. No, Duncan, I’m not trying to seduce you. You’re just starved for female attention. If you prefer, I can jab the needle straight into your nostril, that’ll flush it. The potion will close the wound fairly quickly, but for full effect I’ll need to pierce it in three different places. Your call.”

  Yeah, right. Not trying to seduce me. Or maybe I was reading too much into it.

  Either way, I really didn’t fancy having my nostril stabbed three times.

  “Fine,” I grumbled, laying my head across her lap and angling the bowl under my nose. Not the strangest position I’d been in...

  Oh no. Don’t think about that. Not now.

  Naturally, that’s when Betty leaned slightly forward, and her chest pressed gently against my head. Full, young, firm, perfect...

  A stream of potion up the blocked nostril brought me crashing back to reality.

  “Don’t move,” Betty warned, grabbing my nose bridge with one hand. The needle circled the stone, touching the inner flesh. Not pleasant, but intense, and timely.

  The liquid forced its way between the plug and the tissue, washing out the irritation. Relief came within seconds. The itching I’d grown used to faded, and I relaxed enough to forget all about the weight on my head…

  Until the door opened.

  Sally and Ellie froze on the threshold, taking in the scene.

  I flinched.

  So did Betty.

  And the damned needle jabbed straight into the tip of my nose.

  Pain lanced through my skull like a lightning bolt.

  “Ow!” Betty yelped.

  I blinked, and somehow ended up on my feet, the syringe clenched tightly in one fist, eyes watering like I’d chopped a sack of onions.

  “Ever heard of knocking?” I barked, overwhelmed.

  Now Simon and Finella had joined the view, peering through the doorway.

  “Well, we didn’t expect to walk in on this kind of moment,” Sally snapped back.

  I pointed at my nostril, still packed with stone.

  “When you get one of these up your nose, I’ll come watch your ‘moment’ and see if you care how it looks!”

  “Is that a rock?” Sally asked, stepping closer and lifting my chin. “How did it get in there?”

  The hand I’d raised to point at my nose clenched into a fist, hard enough to crack my knuckles.

  “I hate that question.”

  “Sorry,” Sally said. “It’s just… we saw the signal flare, we were worried, then we heard you’d been badly hurt, rushed here as fast as we could, and found you…” She glanced sideways at Betty, but finished differently. “…with a rock up your nose.”

  “What exactly were you called for?” I asked.

  “No one called me,” she said.

  “Eugene didn’t phone you?”

  “No. We came the moment we heard you’d been brought in.”

  “I said right away that rocket had something to do with him,” Simon added.

  “Oh, shut up, Kettle,” I snapped at his grinning face, then turned to Sally. “I’ve got earth poisoning. The doctor was supposed to call you, to check if my internal organs were damaged.”

  “Lie down. Give me a few minutes to prepare.”

  “You can’t just… take a look now?” I asked, mostly out of spite. After all, I’d just had my nose skewered with a needle. And the culprit was now pretending to merge with the wallpaper. Not very successfully, her chest still stood out rather dramatically.

  “I can see where to hit you,” Sally said. “Right now, in fact. But diagnosing magical poisoning is a bit more complicated. Will you lie down or not?”

  I lay down.

  The stone in my nose was quite enough for one day. Didn’t fancy getting punched by a woman, especially not one who’s also my cousin.

  About three minutes later, Sally gave her report.

  “Yeah, it’s external only. A few minor injuries too, and the rock. Actually, I can take it out for you.”

  “Please do,” I begged.

  She turned to Betty.

  “Get me forceps and clamps.”

  Betty asked which ones, Sally told her to bring the lot. My ex marched to the door.

  Simon and Finella stepped aside to let her pass. Ellie didn’t move an inch.

  Betty lifted her chin, puffed up her chest, and tried to use her assets as a battering ram, but Goat had the unshakeable poise of a Shifter. The impressive curves met equally immovable resistance. To avoid making a full spectacle, Betty pretended she was simply squeezing past.

  Everyone except Simon pretended nothing had happened. The baronet, of course, beamed and gave a little round of applause, which made Ellie blush.

  Once armed with her tools, Sally began testing the grip on the stone, clamping, tugging, testing again. She settled on a curved pair of forceps.

  “Lie on your stomach,” she instructed. “Hang your head off the edge. Take a deep breath, clench your teeth, press your finger against your clear nostril — and blow. Hard. Don’t stop.”

  She clamped onto the stone. Pinned me down by the back of the neck. And yanked.

  A long pebble tore free from my nose.

  I tried to howl, to lift my head, but Sally dropped the forceps, clamped a hand over my mouth, and threw her full weight on top of me.

  “Blow!” she ordered.

  I pinched the good nostril and blew again.

  With a wet, bloody splat, another fragment hit the floor, smaller this time, but no less painful.

  “Don’t move!” Sally commanded. “Mouth breathing only.”

  She picked up the stone pieces, no squeamishness whatsoever, and fitted them together.

  “There. That’s all of it. Relax, Duncan. You’re done.”

  “Thangsh,” I sniffled, trying to staunch the bloody stream pouring from my nose.