"Do you hear it?" Beckett's voice was a rasp against the hush. He always talked low out here, as if the trees might be listening.
Magnolia didn't turn. "No."
A soft laugh, half a curse. "Liar."
She tasted the lie on her tongue too. The hush throbbed at the edges, a pulse that wasn't hers, wasn't Beckett's, but somewhere between. She pressed a gloved hand to the rough bark of a pine. Cold bit her palm. Under it, she felt it, the heartbeat. Faint, but steady. Wrong.
"It's stronger than yesterday," Beckett said. He stepped up beside her, his broad shoulder brushing her arm. His beard was dusted white with frost, eyes narrowed against the gust that rattled the canopy overhead.
"She's moving," Magnolia murmured. "Or it's moving her."
Beckett's lips curled in a humorless grin. "You think the Elder's done playing bait?"
"I think he's waiting for us to open the door for him."
Beckett snorted. "Then let's not make him wait long."
