Artemis shoved a herb into Trace’s mouth, and suddenly the magic in the earth beneath Catskill began crawling. She would’ve run if she could. It was a warm feeling, yet sickly, lifeless, and vomitous, like she was reaching down her throat and pulling out the food she’d eaten for dinner. The warmth of decay, of rot. It seemed to be coalescing around Artemis and Trace. Artemis muttered a few words, plucked and burned a hair from Trace’s mane, and stepped back.