Usually, when I try to deduct something, I automatically assume that I'm wrong.

It saves me a lot of trouble, because it gives me more room to disprove what I come up with. My first guess as to why Dolan might be after the book was because of its spells. I shot the idea down like a pheasant, using my own frustration as a musket, firing hole after hole until I was emptied of it and my mind was clear.

The fact was this: If all Dolan wanted were the spells in the book, he could have simply attempted to capture Fox and torture it out of him, meaning that Fox would be the target and not his son. So the real question is: Of what importance is the boy? I wove together the few facts that seemed to fit, such as the name of the book that matched the surname of the boy, the blood sacrifice that's involved, and even the prospect of blood magic, whose rumors reached me through Rhys.

Blood, and blood, and blood. That was the key, somehow. The blood of witches that runs through the boy, meant to be spilled by the man, who uses no book but may use blood instead. After mentally reviewing everything over and over, I was somewhat open to the possibility that I might be right.

But not that it'd be obvious.

"Some witches have been found dead in this area, to the northeast of here, with their blood drained from their bodies," Eldrin says smoothly with a hand on his chin. He slightly cocks his head in Fox's direction with a smirk. "Oh, and I'll take that demigod hair as well, if you don't mind."

Fox fingers the chunk of Abasi's hair and hands Eldrin a small section. The exchange doesn't go unmissed by Abasi, who gives a collective shudder. He seems to have realized that he has entered the magical parts market, which is a booming business, the last I've heard of it. I think my mother's skin hangs somewhere in Einar's forge, awaiting its future as a shifter cloak.

Meanwhile, I'm slowly processing Eldrin's words. My deduction was confirmed, which I would have found completely fine if it weren't so terrible. This time, I had wished that I could be proven wrong, in some completely noticeable way that I would have been stupid not to see before. I would have been scolded by Rhys for being so dense, and I would have been glad for it.

"Pleasure doing business with you." Fox hands Eldrin the hair and catches the slightly disturbed look on Abasi's face, "I'll be sure to give you the demigod skin, later."

"Please don't joke about that," Abasi says, his expression grim and rather worried.

"What's wrong, Death Boy? You scared?"

"Yes, actually," he responds with a blistering glare in Fox's direction.

"Sabian. Nydia," I say quietly in Old Norse, and I know that my siblings can hear me, "You can leave now. There's no reason for you to stay here."

It's too dangerous, I stop myself from saying. It is easy, too easy, to forget that these children were born and raised for mortal combat and the glory of battle. But it it is also very easy to remember that if they are caught in Midgard, they can just as easily end up like my mother: Hanging empty of flesh in a dwarf's shop window.

I don't take my eyes off of them until they fly off, and my eyes don't tear themselves from the sky until the little black blips that are them disappear.

I don't think I missed very much when I was sending my siblings away, as Fox and Eldrin are bantering about something that I can't understand.

"What's your stage name? Ed the Excellent?" Fox is asking Eldrin.

"And yours would be Fox the Fantastic?" He shoots back, opening his book again and turning a page.

I groan internally at him, unable to keep a hiss escaping from between my teeth. I can see why Abasi would be friends with this warlock. They both have the annoying habit of whipping out a book and reading right in front of the people that are talking to them, no matter who it is that's talking or what the subject might be. It makes me wonder just what it is that they read that's so important.

"Well, I am handsome. I'm pretty sure I can make more room for fantastic," Fox replies with a grin, unfazed by Eldrin's book. "So, do you have any idea why witches are becoming shriveled-up raisins?"

"As for the raisin deal," Eldrin responds with his nose still in the book. "I believe they are harvested for their magical blood."

"Or," Fox holds up an inquisitive forefinger, "They have a weird fetish for raisin people. Either explanation could work."

"Doubt it, or it would be a bunch of normal people, too." Eldrin lowers his book and puts a hand to his chin.

I am suddenly struck by the mental image of wrinkled corpses completely drained to the dry flesh and brittle bone, and I can't help but shudder.

"And how, exactly, have you yourself avoided this fate?" I ask Eldrin.

"I'm smart," he says immediately. "Warlocks are being hunted, so I avoid them as best I can."

"And I survived because I'm not an idiot," Fox adds, and shrugs in response to the deadpan expression I give him. "I don't show my power too often, and I don't say that I'm a witch in public."

I rub my face as if trying to mold my expression to passive indifference. 

"Should we go to the scene of the crime, or to your ex's guild?" I ask Fox.

Fox reaches for the flask hanging around his waist before tipping his head back and draining it. 

"Scene of the crime," he says around the mouth of the flask.

I sigh, leaning heavily on my staff as I turn my gaze to Eldrin. "Lead the way, warlock."

"Indeed." Eldrin nods, adding, "But we must be careful."

"Ed the Excellent, move onwards!"

Eldrin rolls his eyes at Fox, holding his hand out with his palm facing the sky. Red magic flares from his hand, and a swirling vortex appears in the air in front of him. I bite back a moan of despair when I see it. I detest portals, I decide as I anticipate falling on my face upon passing through.

Eldrin walks to the portal without looking back at us, still reading that infernal book of his. 

"This way, please," he says right before vanishing into the vortex.

Fox walks through casually, his hands in his pockets. Abasi follows, still looking sullen, and I reluctantly slink to the back of the group. I swallow nervously, gripping my staff tightly as Abasi, too, disappears.

"I'm never going to get used to this, am I?" I ask no one in particular before taking a deep breath and a panicked leap through the portal.

I pass through the wave of magic, and my feet land on solid earth rather than wooden beams. I don't stumble, and I feel my breath release in relief. Rhys is tightly coiled around my arm, and I give him a tug so that he doesn't cut off the circulation.

I immediately feel at home when I look up and realize that we're in a forest. Light winks through an emerald canopy of leaves, and my every inhale brings with it the smell of vegetation. The smell of life, so different from the towns or villages. Those places, that are full of inanimate objects and dust that is collected and stirred, filling the air with the stinking breath of talking people. And, of course, the smell of people in general.

Then I look down, and my eyes drop to see a small, shriveled gray corpse of what once was a witch. Her hair is pitch-black, and her skin is as gray as rain. Her thin, shriveled arms are thrown up as if to shield herself, and her mouth is open in a scream with her teeth blinding white and spotted with ash. Her eyes are open in the same expression of shock and fear as they were the second before she was disposed of, except that now they see nothing and are blank with death.

This isn't the first time I've seen a dead body, and if I survive long enough, it won't be the last. So the fact that she--no, it---is small and shriveled and gray and dead isn't what sends me reeling with a gasp. Her blank, terrible stare isn't the reason why I back away and accidentally bump into Eldrin, who rolls his eyes and pushes me away from him. And the fact that she is no older than I am, possibly the same age as myself, isn't the reason why my breath catches and fear grips my heart like a vise made of ice.

The reason is because the corpse is covered in alien markings, as savage as scribbles in the ashes, like the black fingerprints of revenants. I can practically taste the chaotic, dark magic that pulses from them, and my head seems to split painfully in half. I grip it in agony, and Rhys hisses as if he feels it as well.

"What in Jörmungandr is this?" I choke out through the torturing ache in my skull. "What are those symbols?"

"The're symbols that acted as patterns for the magic, so that they could extract it efficiently," Eldrin answers as if my question irritated him.

No one else seems to have been affected by the marks, and I feel the pain ebb away as I keep backing off to put space between me and the symbols.

"That, I can tell," I snap at Eldrin. "But these symbols are. . . foreign to me. They are not the runes that I am familiar with."

"Just saying," Eldrin responds with a shrug.

A squeezing sensation in my arm brings my gaze down so that I could growl a complaint to Rhys, but my words are lost when I see the expression of utter agony on Rhys's face.

I'm not a stranger to Rhys's pain. In the few occasions when we're forced to fight, sometimes he doesn't notice when he's wounded, and he can be impulsive once he's begun to exchange blows. But he's usually really careful not to get himself injured too often or to a fatal degree. I can't fight very well with my staff, but Rhys and his wooden daggers are a force to be reckoned with. When I take his damage, he can endure anything.

Which is why a mix between bewilderment and dread washes over me when I see Rhys feel pain for the first time in four years, and when I realize that I myself feel nothing at all.

I take a small step forward, and Rhys hisses loudly. I take a large step back, and he quiets somewhat. Just what are these symbols, and why does it hurt Rhys just to be near them? I study them, not daring to get any closer. My eyes sink into the scrawl as if trying to absorb their cryptic meaning, tracing them across dead arms, splayed hands, ruined face--

But I don't understand what they mean, not in the least.

"Abasi, can you read them?" I turn to him, searching his face for any sort of recognition. "Are they Egyptian?"

His dark hair swishes as he shakes his head. "Not Egyptian, that's for sure."

"And they're not Norse." I'm about to approach the body when I remember Rhys. I pull him off of my arm and set him down, and he watches as I walk to the dead witch.

I kneel down beside it, studying the marks at close range. They don't look any more comprehensible up close than they did from afar. Could they have been part of a spell of some sort? Or a ritual? What connection did they have with blood extraction, and why was there no cut in the body to drain it? I check the neck and the wrists, and even the ankles to make sure. There are no openings, yet the body is obviously empty of blood. It is wrinkled and sunken, and the skin is stretched over the bones like an old empty balloon. But how?

I look right into the dead witch's eyes as if she would be the one to give me an answer. What killed you? How did they do it? One question springs from nowhere, startling me when it hits because of its sheer. . . outlandishness.

Did you die fighting?

Her outstretched arms, her open mouth. Were they meant to cry out in fear or cast a spell? Did she struggle against her assailants, and fight back even when all was lost?

"Hel, great goddess, daughter of Loki, guardian of the spirits of the dead," I pray quietly and in an undertone, hoping my reverence will make up for my criminal status. "Before this witch crossed over, she was a more honorable soul than myself. Watch over her, Hel, as she crosses the bridge from this life to the next."

And with that, I draw my knife and position it where her thumb meets her hand, right over the web of skin that connects them. I hesitantly lick my lips, all too aware of Rhys's eyes on me. He'll be testing me, as always, for weakness of heart. You are too soft, you pray too much, your sense of honor will kill you. I take a deep breath, grasping the witch's thumb and slashing with the knife before I can think to do otherwise. The metal glints like a dying star, and I'm left with a thumb in my hand.

It is strange and small and withered in my pale palm, as dry as dead leaves and as gray as rain.

Abasi's gasp tears my gaze away from it, and I look up to see his stone-gray eyes narrow as they meet mine.

"Why did you do that? The dead must be respected!" he yells, startling me with his anger. Out of the many reactions I'd been anticipating, this definitely wasn't it.

I'd expected Fox be be unfazed, and for Eldrin to be wholly unbothered. I'd figured that Abasi would be aloof, considering his profession. He's an assassin. He doesn't mourn the dead, he makes the dead. He's involved in a never-ending process of ending life and making death, every day that he works under Fox.

So I'm guessing that he's new to the job.

"I know that the dead are to be honored," I tell the not-so-cold-hearted assassin. "However, I need something to test out whatever theories we come up with. I may even have to dissect this." He still looks upset, and words blurt out from my mouth before I can think to form them. "I'm sorry, Abasi."

I'm stunned by the manner of both his reaction and my response. His anger, and my apology. For a few seconds, I forget what we are. For a few seconds, we're just kids in a forest with a body, not a demigod and a semi-reptile hunting the witch hunters. I give myself a mental shake and remind myself firmly of what I am.

What am I? I am animal aspect. I am hamr. I'm a liar, a spy, a graverobber, a murderer. I made myself this, and if I try to unmake it, I will destroy myself and lose everything, however little that may be.

Avoiding Abasi's gaze, I pull a small glass container from my cloak, relieved that it hadn't yet been broken. A miracle, especially after the taxing ordeal I went through yesterday. I pour a clear, anti-fermentation chemical inside before dropping the thumb into it and screwing the cap back on.

"Why the thumb, though?" queries Fox with a smirk. "You could've cut off the middle finger so that the witch wouldn't flip anyone off in the Duat."

His comment earns a sigh from Eldrin and a shaking head from Abasi.

"That's not how it works, Fox," Abasi informs him.

"Yeah, I think you need to understand the meaning of sarcasm," Fox remarks as he runs a hand through his white hair.

"You need to learn about being decent."

I, for one, had found Fox's joke funny, and am working at stifling a smile since no one else did. 

"Simple magic anatomy," I tell him as I recall my findings in magical theory. "The thumb bones and teeth are what channels their power. That's the reason why magi usually wear thumb bones and teeth around their necks. It is also a practice of voodooism in some islands in Nidavellir."

"Really? That's weird. I never really thought of covering up my beautiful thumbs. And Dirt Girl—!" His voice takes on a dramatically shocked tone, "—did I see you almost smile?"

I bite the inside of my cheek, turning my face back to the dead witch as if she were the most fascinating thing I've ever seen. In a way, she is. I know now that the reason I felt pain from being near her is because of Rhys, and that somehow the marks affect Rhys in a way that doesn't affect me. I look into her eyes and consider taking them, too. Not because I need them for testing, but just in case I was ever in need of a pair of eyes.

"Do you recognize these, warlock?" I ignore Fox and address Eldrin, motioning at the black marks.

"Perhaps in a text I once read," Eldrin answers. "But I've only had it a short time... the Book of Silny, I believe."

"What was it that you saw in the Book?" Fox asks curiously. "Not many people can actually read it, since most of the words are blurred out."

"They are? I read it just fine," Eldrin shrugs. "Don't know why you guys were having trouble. There were a lot of rituals and... dark techniques. Let's just say it required a lot of blood."

"The question is: How did it come into your possession?" I ask Eldrin. "And how is it that we have it now?"

"I just happened across it one day. It was in the library, and no one else seemed to even see it."

"A library?" I ask with a frown. "Was it in the Ace of Tigers Guild or a public library?"

"Just a random public library!" Eldrin exclaims, matching my astonishment. "A book like that shouldn't be there."

"It seems like the book has a spell cast on it to teleport to the strangest places," Fox infers. "Why else would it be in the library for you, when Ama found it in a bag of gold?"

Strange, indeed, I think as I go over everything I've found out since embarking on this mission. Blood, and blood, and blood. I shake off the haunting signs, the evidence that any devout Norse would call evil omens.

"Either someone's screwing with us and using the Book as bait," I deduct, "Or they're trying to draw the book to themselves, but with no success. That's what makes the most sense."

"What could possibly be in somebody's way, though?" Fox asks before a light of realization ignites his eyes. "They could've used magic to either reach it or just take it. Maybe... we're the obstacle of the person who has it."

"Hmm, most curious," Eldrin says with a hand on his chin. "I suggest we take the bait, and turn the tables on 'em."

"Hold on a moment," Fox gives Eldrin a serious look. "They might be baiting someone with Silny blood, so that they can have both the blood and the book."

"Which is precisely why I go," Eldrin points out.

Fox scrutinizes Eldrin, his face the very picture of skepticism. 

"Let's suppose you take the bait. Then what?"

We spend the rest of the morning arguing, planning, and after nearly an hour, finally deciding on a course of action with less chance of all of us dying. The corpse is gray, but it's fresh, meaning that our enemies are close at hand. We are in their territory, and how better to bring the spider out of hiding than by lightly tapping a string on its web? Such terrible bait as a forbidden book and a child's blood is sure to catch their attention, so deep in their hunting grounds. We would pretend to take the bait, using Eldrin's illusions to make it seem as if Fox's child and Ama (whom would be summoned by Fox) were wandering around this specific area with the Silny Book in hand. Then we would follow the 'captives' to the hideout of the witch-hunters, and ambush them before they discovered that they'd been had.

"Good," Eldrin declares once we've finished. "Sounds like a plan?"

"Affirmative," I say.

Abasi, whom I'd forgotten was there, nods. 

Abasi hadn't spoken a word while the rest of us were planning. I'm not entirely sure why. I realize with a start that he hadn't said anything since I took a sample of the corpse. He can't still be upset about that, can he? I apologized. I tried to explain it to him.

Why do I even care?

I don't even register that I'm staring at him before Fox's voice causes my eyes to flit away.

"I'm not gonna be saving any of your asses, so you guys better be prepared," he says as he snaps his fingers to activate a portal. Ama's on the other end, and they exchange words before she goes back to retrieve the book.

"We also need an illusion of the boy, Xan." I kneel down again, pulling chemical-filled plastic bottles as well as various herbs out of my pockets. There are a lot of ingredients involved in using the Dagaz rune, but Rhys has beaten them into my brain. In this case, I know what I'm doing. "I'm going to need some of his hairs and a mouth swab."

"I can make a perfect illusion with a quick scan," Eldrin protests as I begin to make preparations. He looks over my shoulder at the bottles I have prepared as I begin to grind some of the herbs.

"Funny," I say without turning to look at him. I flick my hand at Rhys, who's sunning himself in a patch of light. He looks up with a start at the sound of his name. "Rhys here can turn into a carbon copy with this rune."

"Are you sure you want Rhys in that danger?" Eldrin asks in a serious tone.

Fox turns from the portal, studying my ingredients in curiosity. He raises a brow. 

"Do you need that much equipment to basically make a clone from someone?"

"Yes, I do," I respond without looking up from my work. "To answer your question, Eldrin, any damage that comes to Rhys will be transferred to me. He'll be fine."

"Take this for 'em, I'm not taking any chances," Eldrin insists.

I slightly turn, just in time to catch a runestone that would have otherwise hit my face. I study it in my palm, my eyes widening as they recognize the symbol. Runes such as these are rare, exceedingly so, not to mention powerful. Runes such as these require either the death of the former owner, such as with Dagaz, or an extremely large amount of magic. I wasn't born with magic, so I had to resort to option one. Eldrin, however, I may have underestimated.

"That rune will protect from nearly everything," Eldrin claims. "Use it well."

I look up at him with raised brows. "Thurisaz, Eldrin? I am honored."

Thurisaz: the rune of Thor. 

I can't help but feel as if I'm handling something sacred as I pocket it. Never have I ever seen one of the Agi Runes, let alone held one in my hand. I'm all too aware of it sitting in my cloak pocket, and the magic gives off a scent like ozone and petrichor.

Eldrin nods graciously. "Just stick to the plan and we won't need it, okay?"

I nod back firmly, turning back to my concoction. It's nearly done. All that's needed are the hairs, mouth swabs, and the rune itself. Oh, and Rhys.

"Severin."

When Fox says my actual name for the first time, I can't help but look up and give him my full attention. Up until now, Rhys was the only one who said my name in such a way. Lacking of mockery, as if I were an actual person without animal aspect. It's a name I gave myself, altered and stolen from a dead man, but it's powerful to me nonetheless.

Fox gives me his classic smirk, but his red eyes are serious. 

"We have no idea what we're getting ourselves into. Remember when a certain someone went on a blind solo mission?"

My hand clenches the rune in my pocket. 

"I understand. It will not happen again." I look up at him with determination and full faith in my words. "I will ensure that it does not happen."

"Good, that's the kind of attitude I want," Fox grins as the floating door reopens once again.

"Found it!" Ama says, holding the Book of Silny under her arm.

Oh, good. 

"The hair and the swab, Miss Ama?" I say as I hold out my hand.

"Here you go, Your Highness." She rolls her eyes as she hands me a single, delicate strand of white hair and a swab in a plastic bag.

Vexed, I decide to ignore her tone as I turn back to the solution I've created. I place the hair and swab into the solution before putting my hands over it. The only magic I have is shifting, so I focus the part of me that is snake into the rune. Come on. Please work. The Dagaz rune around my neck flickers as if uncertain before glowing brightly and steadily. I exhale in relief, releasing an unnoticed, held breath.

Now comes the part I'm self-conscious about.

Everyone's watching me curiously as I open my mouth wide, at least a hundred-and-eighty degrees. I feel slightly nauseous when my gaze flips upside down and I catch the calm look on Rhys's face. Then a gutteral noise splits from my throat, and I separate from my skin, my head and torso bursting out of what recently was my throat. I squirm out of my skin, leaving it empty behind me.

I brush myself off, my skin tender from being shed. My empty skin wears an imitation of my black cloak, and the mouth part is enlarged from where I emerged. Rhys crawls into the empty skin, knowing the process fully after years of practice. I hold out the rune, and his head shoots out and swallows it before popping back into the skin. The skin I left behind begins to bubble and inflate, filling out with the illusion of flesh and blood. I watch in wonder as it shrinks and sprouts white hair on its head.

When it is done, what is left is a carbon copy of a small, white-haired boy lying on his back with his eyes closed, as if asleep. Its eyes open, and my own eyes widen to see that one is blood-red and the other is green.

The light of the Dagaz rune fades as Rhys sits up, in the guise of Xan Silny. 

"Stop staring," he growls irritably. "It's rude."

"Impressive." Fox looks at me with an awed expression that melts my self-consciousness and makes me glow with pride despite myself.

This is why flattery works so well. Even on me. Or especially on me, since it means a lot for the leader of the Seven Thorns Assassins and self-proclaimed master of witchcraft to bestow a compliment on a lowly hamr. I guess people love being complimented, and I am starved of them since Rhys isn't very likely to give me any.

I beam at Fox, unable to stifle it in time. I try to be modest. "I am no fighter or magician, but I can do some things without blunder."

He pats my head mockingly as he says, "That makes you a scientist of some sort. Congrats, you've graduated from Dirt Girl to Professor Dirt."

"Fabulous," I say in a sarcastic tone.

"And fabulous I am," Fox replies.

There is a chance that I'll be dead in the next hour. A chance that I'll see Helheim before the day is over. That Rhys will be proven right once again, that I'll be terminated before my expiration date has time to kick in. That neither Fox's magic nor even the power of a god would be able to bring me back.

But I can't help but think in stupid excitement: I, Severin of the Dirt, have impressed Fox Silny! And somehow, those words and the rune in my pocket make me feel more invincible than if I had an entire army of Rhyses, or even magic of my own.

Besides, there's always the chance that I might be wrong.