Wren cradled the skull in her hands, peering into its empty sockets. Their master's cat had gouged her arms before she had slit its throat.

  "Is this the only way?" she asked him as she knelt among the dead leaves in the shadow of the ancient elm tree.

  Corbin rubbed his grimy hands. Bits of fur and dried blood were embedded beneath his nails. "Told you, already - that's what was written in the master's grimoire. We don't have much time if we want our freedom."

  The winds shifted, and the tree limbs above creaked and swayed. High above, the moon glared down, watching, heaven's baleful eye.

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  "Quick! Recite the spell!" Corbin implored.

  Come sing around the mourning tree,

  Voices sweet, hearts deadly,

  Come sing around the mourning tree,

  As the moon is rising.

  Build for him a house of stone,

  Buried ‘neath, roots are grown,

  Build for him a house of stone,

  As the stars are shining.

  Seal it all with gory black,

  Coppery sweet, don't look back,

  Seal it all with gory black,

  Before the day is dawning.

  A distant scream rang out.

  They buried the skull in a stone box sealed with blood before fleeing, free at last.