“You know,” she said quietly. “I promise you do. There’s a reason you chose him. Let him hear your song.”
He nodded.
He took a breath.
He held out his stump over the open wound in Ox’s middle. The tattoos burst to life, the roses blooming, the vines crawling along the scar where the raven had once been. Mark’s own raven, the mark on his throat, fluttered its wings.
Ox said, “Light. All I see is light.”
“Look,” Gavin whispered.
The ground underneath Ox was moving. Grass shifted through the ragged wound. The earth split apart, and a shiny black curve appeared through the soil.
It pushed through the dirt.
A beak.
A raven.
It blinked as it pulled itself out of the ground. It shook its head and wings. It eyed each of us, head cocked. And then it lowered its beak back to the earth. It jerked its head back up. A vine with thorns pulled free. The raven let it go, and as we watched, a rose bloomed through Ox’s stomach.
The raven croaked as it spread its wings. Then, almost quicker than we could follow, it shot up into the air and hung suspended above us, wings wide, feathers ruffling.
Joe lifted Ox’s hand and pressed it against his chest, just above his heart.
He turned his face toward the sky.
And howled.
Each of us joined him in turn, adding our voices to his.
We sang with everything we had.
But it wasn’t just the wolves. It was everyone. All the people, witches and wolves and humans alike.
We all sang for him.
The rose opened.
At its center was a light.
And before it exploded, I saw my father standing in the trees.
He was smiling.
Then everything went white.
WE STOOD IN THE CLEARING.
The moon was full.
Doors. So many doors. Doors that went on forever.
But it was different than it’d been before.
Every single door was open.
“What is this?” Joe whispered.