Chapter 9: The Stonewell

I could have changed it back. I stood at that terminal with my hand on the keys for four full minutes, and I could have moved the rite to any ground on the mountain, and Seraphine Locke would have gotten nothing but a wasted evening. I didn't. Because somewhere between the fourth minute and the fifth, I heard my mother's voice — not the war voice, the kitchen voice, the one that used to say Wren, you can be scared and correct at the same time. So at moonrise I walked into the Stonewell. The...