Edrine looks too pleased when he enters Marlene’s home. He doesn’t smile, but there’s a sense of victory in his eyes as they meet mine. I’m powerless, and both Taren and I know the danger the cleric presents. Orlen and the blacksmith, Dargan, stand in the doorway, oblivious to it all.

  “We must move the poor boy to the chapel,” says Edrine. “Where I can better treat him.”

  Marlene doesn’t object, but Taren steps forward, standing between Edrine and me. “Sevorn should rest. Heal him here or not at all.”

  “Taren,” Marlene scolds. “Let Father Edrine help Sevorn. If he says—”

  “Why do you need your chapel?” Taren says. “Too weak anywhere else?”

  The others gape at the confrontation, but Edrine doesn’t react.

  “Just tell us if you can even heal him,” Taren says. “If you can’t, then I’ll find the cure somewhere else.”

  Edrine ignores Taren. Instead, he gazes down at me as he speaks. “Healing is a complex art, young Taren. And this parasite…it is not a simple affliction that can be remedied with a swipe of my hand.”

  Dargan must take this as a signal, because he steps around Edrine. Orlen joins him. They’ll take me no matter what defense my friend offers.

  “Wait,” Taren says. Then he faces me.

  Something’s off in his eyes. He steps up to the bed and places a hand on my forehead. Silence follows as his hand trembles atop my head, as if he might heal me himself if he wills it hard enough.

  But no, there isn’t some grand effort of will in his expression. There’s fear and sorrow. I don’t understand what distresses him so, but his face falls into resignation and he lifts his hand away.

  “Father Edrine will heal the lad,” Orlen says. He grips Taren by the shoulder. “Give it some time. Sevorn will be up and hunting with you soon enough.”

  Taren remains at the bedside. He does not look at me. Something remains in his eyes, a mixture of emotions I cannot understand or place.

  Dargan lifts me up, with Orlen holding my legs. They haul me out of the room. I don’t have the strength to turn around and see Taren, but I hear him cursing up a storm, loud enough that Marlene orders him to leave.

  Denet follows along, not speaking. Understanding of my serious predicament dawns on his face.

  Edrine follows behind us. I cannot see him, but I can feel his presence. We’re near the chapel when I sense Nox’s fear spike. Hide somewhere close, I tell my little friend. When he doesn’t move, I repeat myself. I fear the parasite weakens our bond, but then Nox takes flight.

  Brightness greets me in the chapel. Candles are lit, encircling the outside of the pews, more than we have on Vigils. The air’s laced with holy fumes that sting my throat and lungs. I cannot cough, though I ache for the strength to—instead, my body convulses of its own accord.

  Denet whimpers at the sight of me. “Is he…is he going to be okay?”

  “Yes, little Denet,” says Edrine. “I expect Sevorn will be up and brighter than ever soon enough.”

  Denet nods, then grabs my hand as my convulsions stop, either to comfort me or himself.

  We pass through the many pews and into the back section of the chapel. Edrine strides in front of us and produces a large brass key. On the far right side of the chapel is a small room, which he unlocks.

  Inside is an altar of sorts: a stone table with decorative engravings around the edges, inlaid with gold paint.

  Dargan sets my head down on the end of the table. Cold stone seems to pierce me on contact—chills run loops across my tired body, though I show no outward expression like I did with the holy fumes.

  Denet stands by my side. I ease my head towards him, one inch at a time. If I can mouth something to him, maybe he can convince the others.

  Edrine does not look at me yet. He sifts through papers on his desk, then opens a cabinet. Inside are many bottles and vials with small labels. Colors of all kinds glow in their containers. Potions. At least a dozen. Maybe I am wrong to fear him. Maybe in his collection Edrine has a cure for Essence Parasite.

  But instead of a potion, Edrine selects a single pottery disc. He reads over it, nods to himself, then faces me.

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  “This boy’s affliction has taken over his body,” he explains, either to me or the onlookers, I don’t know. “Convulsions upon entering the chapel are a clear sign.” He glances at me. “I must purge the evil that ensnares him.”

  I mouth No to Denet, but he’s focused on the disk. Edrine cradles it until he reaches me, then simply sets it atop my chest. My body tenses on contact, then freezes in place.

  Immobilized. No physical movement or action possible.

  Already my muscles ache in their locked position.

  “What’s happening to him?” Denet asks. “He looks scared.”

  Edrine touches the boy lightly on the shoulder. “The parasite hurts him. He will remain in fear until I free him.”

  Denet nods, but his eyes do not leave me.

  “It’s best if the boy returns to his mother. My work may frighten him.”

  Orlen takes hold of Denet and pulls him away. Dargan leaves with him.

  I lie immobile, alone with Edrine.

  “You are quite a specimen, young man,” says Edrine when all is quiet. “A demon of a kind, I imagine.” He circles me. “I’ve interacted with your kind before. You always react the same every time.”

  He shows me a small vial, similar to the one Raimi used on the flames of renewal before. The shimmering liquid swirls in its small container before Edrine tips it, letting a single drop fall onto my head.

  The liquid burns on contact with my skin, searing me like the holy flames of my first memory. Agony ripples through me, but I do not flinch, not while immobilized. My vitality dips under the strain of holy magic, and the drop evaporates in a hiss.

  “Yes,” Edrine says. He corks the vial and turns away to an array of papers that litter his desk. “They say that one can control a demon, given the proper motivation or fear.” He shuffles a page, then another. “The question becomes, what to do: control or death. A difficult dilemma.”

  Though I cannot move, my mind races.

  Nox, can you hear me?

  That warm air feeling from my beetle reaches me.

  Get Taren. Find him and bring him to me.

  The feeling departs. All I can hope is that he understands.

  “Could you be controlled, young demon?” Edrine has returned from his notes. “Would you threaten the fragile nature of this small village, upend the balance and send us into chaos?” He nods to himself. “Maybe your death will be a better symbol to these backward people. To see holy power at its strongest. No one would doubt me again.”

  A commotion erupts outside the room.

  “I have every right to see him,” says Taren from somewhere beyond the room.

  “But Father Edrine said—”

  “That cleric can’t keep him a prisoner. I don’t care what any of you scrapping fools say. Marlene isn’t his mother, and none of you have any right to speak for him. I’m his crit-loving friend, shadows take you.”

  Taren appears at the doorway. Dargan, Orlen, Elder Rorahn, and Honep follow behind him.

  “What’d you do to him?” Taren demands. He strides right inside, ignoring Edrine’s calm command for him to leave.

  Taren sees me with the disc atop my chest. He immediately reaches out to remove it, but Edrine snatches his arm and jerks him away.

  “What scrapping magic are you throwing on him?” Taren repeats as he frees himself from Edrine’s grip.

  The other men stand at the threshold of the room, curiosity in the eyes of everyone except Rorahn, who looks grumpy.

  “A simple rune of stability,” Edrine says. “I don’t want him falling from the table in the midst of healing. As I said before, this is complex—”

  “I don’t scrapping care what you said before. Let him go. I’m the only person in this whole bonetouched village who cares.”

  “Now then, Taren,” says Orlen from the doorway. He steps inside, along with the others. “You’ve gotten yourself all worked up, thinking we don’t care about Sevorn. We all care plenty. He’s been a friend to Raimi, and he’s gone and heal—helped with all that grain business after the rotted granary incident.” He reaches out to grab Taren, but is shaken off. “Don’t be so scrapping stubborn, Taren. It’s best you left and let Father Edrine focus on healing.”

  Orlen tries to grab Taren again, but Taren’s feet glow golden. His [Skill] is active. Orlen is thrown back into the open chapel, knocking Dargan over with him.

  Taren steps forward, daring Edrine to strike at him, but the cleric doesn’t move. Invigorated, Taren steps toward the stone table. Honep launches himself at Taren, only to get tossed away like Orlen.

  “This is foolish,” Elder Rorahn mutters. “To use your [Skill] on fellow villagers. Very foolish.” His own body glows, giving the old man a surge of strength.

  Taren puts his hands under me, as if to lift me himself, but then Rorahn’s cane catches him in the back, piercing his protective skill. Taren collapses on the ground, stunned.

  He won’t be able to save me.

  Nox, hide in the room, keep out of sight.

  Orlen and the other men collect themselves from the floor. Nox skitters away from under Taren’s shirt and scurries under the desk, scooting back until the shadows hide his dark form.

  The men lift Taren from the ground and restrain him.

  “We’ll keep the boy confined to his home, Father Edrine,” Rorahn says. “Until he comes to his senses…and after Sevorn is healed.”

  Edrine watches them go. Though Taren is stunned, his mouth still works. He curses the lot of them all the way out of the chapel.

  Once they are gone, Edrine closes the door to the room and locks it.

  “So no one interrupts again,” he assures me. Then he pockets the key and looks me over. “I now realize you’ve gained a following here in Ashgrove. No matter my holy accusations, your death will not be accepted. No, that will not do. Instead, a demon under my control. Yes, this will serve my purposes much better.”

  He digs through a drawer and produces a piece of chalk.

  “The runes for this are complex. Let’s work through this with the same patience I’ve had in waiting for you to come to me.”