It wasn’t a song, though; it felt like a question. Maybe when is this night going to end, or will I be here in the morning, and what do I do then? It’s been traveling across the city all night, asking its question and receiving only blood in response. East, Lombardo, the fake Druids – they were all just a series of dumb, unsatisfying sacrifices.
The Mandragora considers me with its glowing eyes. ‘I can’t give you answers,’ I say. My voice, filtered through my tender eardrums, sounds strange but steady. ‘No one can.’
Wind passes through its body like a sigh. It’s as if it understands me. But that’s a mistake – Max thought it understood him, too, and look what happened.
It moves back into the woods. The scrape of bark against bark, and then the rustling of branches and animals. The sound
