“An athame,” Jim answered. The words came slowly, as if he was forcing each of them out of a throat too tight for speech.

“What’s that?”

Jake answered, his voice smooth and easy. “A ritual knife. They’re not usually used for cutting, so most of them are dull. This one is special, though.”

Jim handed it to her, and she took it with reluctance. Some instinct told her this was committing her to this course of action. After this, she wouldn’t be able to back out. Not that she wanted to, but it was still a difficult step.

The knife was heavier than she expected. The handle was cool and smooth. “Why is this one sharp then?” She hefted it. “I’d be afraid of dropping it, it’s so slick.”...

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