Free Chantress Fury by Amy Butler Greenfield Page B

on the enchanted island where I’d spent my childhood, but I hadn’t realized she had them here in London, too.
    At first the steaming water was white-hot on my chilled skin, but after a few minutes my muscles relaxed and the nightmare of the monster began to recede. As I washed the stink of the serpent out of my hair, Norrie came and sat beside me, speaking cheerily all the while. But when she stood to get the towels, she glanced out the window and shivered again over what might have been.
    “Oh, lamb, I don’t think I’ll be able to look at that river for a month, it makes me that sick. When I think of that horrible creature—and you in that tiny boat, with nothing but your music to defend you . . .”
    “I had Nat,” I reminded her. “It was Nat who saved us.”
    “Did he?” Norrie shook her head. “I can’t say I saw it all that clearly, not from so far back, and with the rain so heavy. But I did hear you singing. Surely your magic helped?”
    I shook my head. “We’d have been lost without Nat’s dagger.” I was thankful beyond words that Nat had been there, and I wanted to give credit where it was due. But in the back of my mind, I felt chagrin, too—and worry. I was used to being the one who saved myself, and the one who saved others. Yet against that strange, impossibly strong magic, I’d been all but powerless.
    I couldn’t bring myself to say it in so many words, however. Not even to Norrie.
    “The dear boy,” said Norrie. Then, looking more closely at me, she added, “I hope I’m not speaking out of turn—”
    “Let’s not talk about it now.” My face, already pink from the bath, grew pinker. I stirred a bit of rosemary with my hand. “Tell me about these herbs instead. Do you really think they work?”
    Norrie hesitated. “Well, my own mother set great store by them, and people have been using them for time out of mind to keep themselves safe. Though I can’t say they did much to protect you, back when you went singing us off our island. But who can tell? Maybe it would’ve gone worse for us if I’d done nothing.”
    “Lady Helaine said they weren’t part of Chantress lore.”
    “Your godmother didn’t have much time for them, it’s true, but I don’t see why Chantresses should scorn to use them. Especially now that we’re coming up to Allhallows’ Eve. Only a few days now till it’s here.”
    Norrie had always been anxious about Allhallows’ Eve, believing it to be a time when spirits walked and magical threats abounded. Her worries seemed to be based more on old traditions than anything else. According to Lady Helaine, however, Allhallows’ Eve was indeed a dangerous time of year, at least for Chantresses, because that was when Wild Magic was at its strongest.
    This warning hadn’t affected me as Lady Helaine had intended. She’d taught me that everything in this world had its own Wild Magic, its own music—which could mislead or even kill a Chantress who opened herself up to it. Like most Chantresses, my godmother wore a stone that deafened her to Wild Magic—a stone that instead allowed her to work Proven Magic, a collection of safe song-spells that Chantresses learned by rote.
    I had once had such a stone myself, but it was cracked and useless now. Wild Magic was the only way open to me. Fortunately, I gloried in it, finding it far more powerful and flexible than Proven Magic, and far less dangerous than my godmother had claimed. For a long time now, I hadn’t given Allhallows’ Eve a second thought, except to appreciate the greater intensity and clarity I heard in the music all around me at this time of year.
    But perhaps I had been naïve. Perhaps Norrie’s vague anxiety and Lady Helaine’s solemn warnings contained more truth than I’d realized.
    I thought of the furious singing I’d heard—so much like a Chantress, and yet so different. “Norrie, you don’t happen to know of any connections between sea monsters and Chantresses, do you?”
    Norrie