A vine reaches out to the ground, selecting a small shard of clay from the pot that shattered at my hip. Mary lifts it, holding it before me. I accept the token with both hands. Grandma’s thumbprint dents its surface. Folost does a similar motion, passing the shard of brick from within him into my hands. It’s burning hot, but only for a fleeting moment. Somehow, I don’t seem to really feel the singe at all. “We are honored to be bound to a witch such as you. Never hesitate to call upon us whenever you need.” With those last words, Folost’s flames wrap in on himself and sputter out of existence
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