The Blood Binding by Helen Stringer Read Free Book Online Page B

here.”
    “Okay,” said Steve. “So if I
run the perimeter of the parade ground I should be well inside the old binding,
right?”
    “They’ll be very angry,” said
Branwyn.
    “Um…angry?”
    “Yes.”
    “What do they do when they’re
angry?” asked Steve.
    “They make you fear things,”
whispered Branwyn. “It’s terrible…terrible.”
    “You do realize that you’re
not helping? A bit of optimism would be nice right about now.”
    “Oh, there’s something else,”
announced Elsie.
    “Of course there is,” said
Steve. “There’s always something else. Do we have to do it backward on
one foot or something?”
    “No,” said Belladonna,
suddenly understanding. “We can’t stop.”
    “How did you know that?”
asked Elsie.
    “I don’t know…I just do. It’s
all part of the binding: the potion, the words…and the running.”
    “That’ll be more Spellbinder
hoodoo,” said Steve. “Let’s get on with it. Is everyone ready?”
    “Thank you for trying,”
whispered Branwyn. “I want you to know…even if it doesn’t work.”
    Belladonna smiled, stood next
to Elsie and looked over at Steve, who had taken off his jacket and hoody and
stood, shivering, bottle in hand.
    “On three,” he said, grimly.
“One…two…THREE!!”
    He took off up the right hand
side of the parade ground, the herb mixture pouring from the nozzle of the
sauce bottle as he went.
    “Mucgwyrt, attorlathe, stune,
wegbrade, maethe, stithe, wergulu, fille, finule, herrif, laserpiciferis,
mucgwyrt, attorlathe…”
    “They know! They know!”
Branwyn was on her feet, terror in her eyes.
    “…stune, wegbrade, stithe,
wergulu…”
    The spinning, folding,
forming and reforming clouds had changed. Suddenly they seemed to have
purpose—two combined and shot across the parade ground toward Steve, who had
just rounded the first corner, while another became solid and stretched itself
into a black wall in front of Belladonna and Elsie. For a moment it just hung
there, suspended in the air like a movie screen, but then it began to throb and
started screaming and roaring at the volume a jet engine would have if you were
actually inside the engine.
    But it wasn’t just noise, it
was fear, oozing through the air like syrup, engulfing her, creeping into all
the places in her mind where she had hidden the things that made her nervous,
or made her scared and escalating every one of those feelings to the level of
blind terror. She couldn’t hear her own voice any more, and panic was all she
could feel, but she kept going.
    “…fille, finule, herrif,
laserpiciferis, mucgwyrt…”
    On the other side of the
parade ground she could just make out Steve and the other Spirits of the Black
Water. They seemed to be trying to entangle him in inky tendrils. Once he
almost tripped, and then seemed to choke as shadowy fingers encircled his neck.
As he turned the corner near the remains of the old watchtower, Belladonna
could see tears on his cheeks, but a look of grim determination on his face.
She wondered what the spirits had found inside his head, the thing that he most
feared.
    “…attorlathe, stune,
wegbrade, maethe…”
    Branwyn staggered and sat,
her hands over her face and her body heaving with sobs. It didn’t take any leap
of imagination to know what fear the spirits had found within her, but Elsie
stood fast, repeating the words with Belladonna, attempting an encouraging
smile, but not quite managing.
    “…stithe, wergulu, fille,
finule, herrif…”
    Out of the corner of her eye,
Belladonna could see that the ghosts from the ruins were converging on the
parking lot. One man, with patterns dyed on his skin like Cradoe, separated
himself from the crowd and walked up to her.
    “Is it a binding?”
    Belladonna nodded, but didn’t
stop. The man stepped away respectfully and rejoined the other ghosts.
    “…laserpiciferis, mucgwyrt…”
    Steve stumbled again, but
didn’t fall. He rounded the final corner, the Spirits of the