Olivia stood over James, unmoving, unbreathing, all her energy concentrated onto James, her wand pointed where his heart should beat again. She chanted in what sounded first like Latin, then Gaelic, then Hebrew, then some combination of the languages. The chanting was ceaseless, encircling James in its repetition, over and over, sounds, syllables, phrases without rhyme or poetry. Without punctuation or grammar. The words and the words, and the repeating of the words, Olivia’s voice louder, softer, harsh, or baby-like. The words, and the words, and the words never stopped and never made sense. James was caught in the vortex of the chanting echoes. Was it a prayer, he wondered? An invocation? He didn’t know, but he felt the magic under him, around him in the words, and the words, and the wor
