Текст книги "Bewitched"
Автор книги: Laura Thalassa
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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 24 страниц)
Some spell circles use them to enhance the group’s collective power and experience, but do I trust the strangers enough in this circle to trip with them?
Hell no.
So when the chalice makes its way to me, I lift my mask and bring the cup to my lips, but fuck this, I am not drinking some random concoction. My life is chaotic enough while sober.
I press the rim of it to my mouth and tip it back just enough for the liquid to brush my lips. After a couple of seconds, I lower the chalice and pass it along. Only once the attention has moved down the line do I discretely reach under my mask and wipe my mouth.
Already, on the far side of the room, I see some witches swaying. Whatever was in that drink, it must be strong to have such an effect.
Once the chalice makes it fully around the circle, the priestess sets it aside.
“Let’s join hands.”
I clasp the palms of the women on either side of me, and my skin tingles where my power presses against theirs.
The priestess makes a low, guttural noise, then speaks in another tongue, one I understand.
Latin.
“I call on old magic and the darkness from deep beneath our feet. Lend us your power for tonight’s spellcasting. From earth to feet, foot to hand, and witch to witch, our circle calls forth your magic.”
Power flares across the group, rising from the marble floors and into the soles of our feet. It flows up our legs and torsos before funneling down our arms, moving around and around the group until our powers blend, and it feels as though we are a single unit.
I’m so absorbed in the strange, exhilarating sensation of being a part of a single larger unit that I don’t realize another woman is being led toward the circle, not until the priestess calls out, “Enter our circle and join in the night’s festivities. We offer our permission to cross our sacred power line.”
Down the circle, two witches awkwardly lift their joined hands, and two more individuals press in between them, crossing into the center of the circle.
I watch the two individuals, my eyes fixed on the larger of them. This person wears a black robe and a mask like the rest of us. It’s what lies beneath that mask that catches my eye. The skin of their neck is a smooth pale gray, the sheen of it somehow dull. As they prowl forward, their movements seem jerky and mechanical.
The darkness must be playing with my eyes.
I force myself to look down at that individual’s companion. The second newcomer also wears a mask, but that’s where the similarities end. Unlike the rest of us, she wears an almost-sheer white shift, one that makes her nipples and pubic hair blatantly visible. I can’t see what her expression is beneath her mask, but she leans heavily against the first companion, as though her legs aren’t doing so well keeping her upright.
Nothing about it sits right with me.
“What is going on?” I ask the green-eyed witch.
She gives me a look that plainly says to shut up but says, “This is just part of the new moon spell circles.”
The woman in the shift stumbles a little, and when she rights herself, I notice how small her limbs are.
My heart seizes.
Not a woman but a girl. She can’t be more than sixteen, which is technically considered the age of adulthood for supernaturals, but come on. She looks too young to be out here participating in a spell circle. And definitely not inebriated, which she looks to be.
For a moment, the skin of her forearms shifts, her arm hair elongating. Then it recedes back into her skin as though it were never there to begin with.
I suck in a startled breath.
She’s a lycanthrope?
Why is she being led into a witch’s spell circle?
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
All of this feels wrong.
The girl’s companion moves a hand to the back of her neck and guides her down to her knees.
For a moment I am paralyzed by fear, my horror seizing up my limbs.
What the fuck is going on?
My eyes move from witch to witch, but none of them look anxious or agitated.
Why do they not look worried?
“Join hands once more, sisters,” the priestess says, stepping into the circle with the two guests of honor.
My heart feels like it’s in my throat as I clasp the palms of the women around me, sealing the circle. Magic thickens in the air.
I must be misunderstanding something. Surely I am.
The priestess lifts her arms and speaks once more in Latin. “I call on the darkness and the old, hungry gods who will bear witness to my deeds.”
She drops her hands and reaches into her robe. From it she pulls a gleaming ceremonial blade.
As the priestess speaks, she lifts a ceremonial blade in one of her joined hands.
Holy fuck, who gave her a knife?
My gaze sweeps over the rest of the circle. Several witches are swaying, and the eyes I can make out in the dim room look a bit glazed, but not one of them appears surprised or uneasy.
Why is no one else freaking out?
Pulling the collar of her robe down, the priestess brings the blade to her sternum. And then she drags it down. I see skin split, hear cloth tear, and when the first drops of it hit the marble floor inside the circle, my magic senses it, rising in my veins like a leviathan, eager to draw on the fluid. And that smell, that earlier smell that’s plagued me, I recognize it now—
Dark magic.
It oozes into the air, drifting up like smoke.
The priestess touches her fingers to her wound. Once she’s coated them, she approaches the girl, removing the latter’s mask.
“With blood I bind,” the priestess says in English, marking the girl’s forehead with her blood. “With bone I break. Only through death shall I at last forsake.”
At the center of the circle, the girl whimpers, then begins to scream.
No.
I drop my hands from those of my sisters, and the circle’s collective magic dissipates away with a whoosh as I rush for the girl.
I don’t know what I’m doing, only that I should’ve stopped earlier, when the blade came out, or the dark magic, or hell, even when they mentioned pulling from the darkness of the earth. This situation is all sorts of fucked up, and no amount of money is worth whatever is going on.
I knock the priestess aside before dropping to my knees in front of the girl, distantly aware of the priestess shouting as she loses her balance, her knife clattering out of her hands.
I grab the girl by the hands, terrified for her.
The girl’s robed companion turns to me, and from beneath the mask comes a monstrous hiss.
On instinct, my magic lashes out, slamming into the figure and throwing them back.
Empress? Memnon’s voice speaks into my head.
Crap. Not him. Not now.
“What the fuck are you doing, Selene!” Kasey yells, coming toward me.
I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m doing, and this shifter is probably an adult who agreed to this, and maybe I’ve gotten everything wrong, but her pupils are blown, and she’s making wolfish whimpering noises, and I will fucking fight anyone who comes between me and her.
“You’re okay,” I whisper to her, and I wrap an arm under her shoulders and help her rise to her feet.
She sways, placing most of her weight on me. I feel her lean closer and breathe in my scent, reminding me of Kane.
Must be a wolf thing.
Around us, the women are shifting and murmuring, and for the first time this evening, they’re starting to look nervous. A few of them have moved over to the priestess, helping her up and trying to staunch the flow of blood from her wound.
“Come on,” I whisper softly, urging the girl to move.
If I can get her up the stairs and into my residence hall, I can get her proper help.
“Creature,” the priestess calls out, “avenge me.”
Across from us, the shifter’s original companion now rises from where they fell. Only now, their hood has slipped off, revealing a pale gray face, smooth, lusterless skin, and eyes that are entirely black. Though it resembles a person, it’s not human. It doesn’t even seem to have a life force at all.
Along its forehead is a single word, one that’s been scrawled into its skin, written in…in…
Aramaic, my mind whispers to me.
Before I can make out what that word is, the creature rushes us.
All around me, witches gasp.
I throw my magic at the creature, pulling power from the ground just like the priestess instructed. It feels like taking a large breath, then forcing out a powerful exhale. The soft orange plume of my magic leaves me, barreling across the room. It slams into the being, knocking it off its feet and into the stone wall behind it.
Its body makes a dull cracking sound, and the creature collapses in a heap.
Empress, what is going on?
“You fucking fool,” the priestess says to me. To the creature, she calls out, “Creature, repair yourself.”
The being begins to move, but it’s no natural movement. Things are jerking and shifting beneath its robe.
My hold on the girl tightens, and I back us up.
The shifter moans, drawing my attention away from the room for a moment.
“Are you okay?” I whisper to her.
“Don’t…feel…so good…” she mumbles, leaning her head against me.
The girl is sweating and trembling and very obviously intoxicated with a drug or a spell or both.
I can barely think over the pounding in my heart. “Can you run?” I whisper. “Or shift?” I’ll take an intoxicated wolf over this room of witches any day.
“Ungh,” she says, her head seeming to roll on her shoulders.
I think that’s a no.
I head toward one of the lit passages branching from the room.
“Oh no, you don’t,” the priestess calls. “Leave if you want, but the wolf is mine.”
Her magic fills the air, and when I turn to her, her mask is gone. Blood still drips down her chest, and I can still smell the remnants of the dark magic tinging the air. Dark magic I participated in.
“Release the girl,” she orders. Beyond her, the creature’s body is still shifting and making unsettling scraping noises.
I back up, dragging the poor shifter along with me. Unfortunately, the lit passage is close to the priestess’s…whatever that thing is.
The priestess takes a step toward me. “Witch, you have one last warning: release the shifter.”
Something is obviously really wrong here. Something more than just shady.
Something evil.
I messed up by being here in the first place, and I messed up again by not stepping in sooner. But over my dead body is this creep of a woman touching the girl.
My expression hardens as I look at her. “No.”
The priestess draws in a long breath. Then, spreading her hands like she’s encompassing the room, she says, “Sisters, Creature, get me the wolf.”
The entire room of masked figures charges me.
My fear spikes—
Empress, what is going on? I could swear Memnon’s voice sounds alarmed, but maybe those are my own emotions talking.
I swing around with the girl and rush us toward the tunnel I was eyeing.
The girl is tripping over her feet, and I’m dragging her more than anything, and if something doesn’t change fast, those witches and that…that…monstrosity are going to catch us.
With that panicked thought, I funnel my magic into my hand.
“Explode,” I whisper, and then I toss the magical grenade behind me.
BOOM!
The girl and I are thrown forward as the earth bucks, and the blast hits our back. Screams sound from behind me, and I grunt as I take on the full weight of the shifter, the two of us slamming into the ground.
Empress, what is happening!
That…didn’t go as planned.
I scramble back to my feet, hauling the girl up with me. I knock away my skewed mask, finally able to see my surroundings better. Singed wisps of peach-colored smoke waft through the air.
I glance down at my companion. One look at her dazed expression, and I know she’s not going to be able to run. And I don’t stand a chance fighting over a dozen people and a monster.
Only one option left.
I close my eyes, calling on my power. “Magic, magic, make me strong. Help me carry this girl far…and long.”
All right, not my best rhyme, but fuck it, it’ll do.
Power rushes down my arms and legs. I feel it winding about my lungs and pumping through my heart.
I sweep the girl off her feet, and cradling her in my arms, I run.
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CHAPTER 27
The tunnel we enter is small and dank. The walls here are bare earth, and the marble gives way to flagstone. There are lit candles—probably from when the others passed through, and I just go off the assumption that if I follow the candlelight, it’ll lead me out. I have to assume that’s what’ll happen. If I’m wrong…
Can’t think about that.
As I’m running, I second-guess myself again. Maybe I overreacted back there. Maybe I saw a little blood and dark magic and blew everything out of proportion.
But my intuition is telling me I read the situation correctly. That something violent and bad was going on. Something I almost got duped into completing.
That spell the priestess had been uttering, why did it sound so familiar…?
Behind me, I hear the distant footfalls of my pursuers. Crap, they’re truly giving chase.
They haven’t caught up to me yet, but who knows how long that will last. I’m carrying another entire human being, and despite the power boost my magic is giving me, I don’t think I’ll have an edge for long.
Can’t think about that either.
In front of me, the tunnel branches off. Following the light, I turn right.
My black robe keeps tangling around my legs, and in my arms, the girl’s head lolls.
I hope she’s all right.
My eyes fix on the smear of blood on the shifter’s forehead, and the priestess’s incantation comes back to me.
With blood I bind. With bone I break. Only through death shall I at last forsake.
A chill snakes down my spine.
A binding spell.
That’s why the priestess’s incantation sounded familiar. She was performing a binding spell. The horror of it is only now hitting me.
There are natural bonds, like those of soul mates and familiars. Those require no spells. Their magic is innate; it initiates and executes the binding all on its own.
Other types of bonds require spells, and they can be consensual or—the shifter whimpers in my arms again—not.
“I see her!” a feminine voice shouts from behind me. I hear what sounds like a whole stampede of witches pounding down the hallway after us.
I pour more power into my limbs, aware that I’ll probably spend tomorrow sleeping off the magical use and bracing against the killer headache the exertion is going to give me.
Even with the added power, I can hear them closing in on me.
I hear one of them whisper a spell, and instinctively, I twist away toward the wall to my left. A ball of acid-green magic whizzes by me.
I right myself and continue. As I run, I call on magic from the earth beneath my bare feet. I feel it sift through the stones and touch my skin, and I yank desperately on it, hauling the gathered power up through my body like water from a well. I funnel it down my arm and into my palm.
“Immobilize!” I don’t even bother whispering the one-word spell before twisting around and awkwardly tossing it while still balancing the girl in my arms.
Awkward or not, it does its job. I hear a cry as my magic hits someone.
As fast as I can, I face forward and draw more magic into my palm.
Selene, are you okay? I nearly trip at hearing Memnon’s voice in my ear. Now he sounds more than just alarmed. What is going on?
I can’t talk to him and get myself out of this situation, so I ignore his call.
“Immobilize,” I say again. That’s literally the only spell I can think of beyond the screaming in my head.
Again, I turn and awkwardly throw it at my pursuers. The spell smashes into the group. I face forward again, hearing one of them curse behind me, followed by the sound of people falling. I don’t allow myself to rejoice before I’m calling on more power.
My muscles are trembling, my lungs are heaving, and I can’t think about anything beyond drawing up another spell.
The ones I’m making are crude, and as a result, I’m burning through an alarming amount of magic, but it’s the best I got.
I hear the whisper on the wind a second before a spell slams into my shoulder.
I cry out as the magic burns through my clothes and sears my flesh. It’s hot as fire, but it feels like acid on my skin, eating away at it.
Another spell is lobbed at me. The violet orb whizzes past my head, and I have a moment’s relief as it hits the ground ahead of me, the magic flaring on impact.
I barrel onward, ready to run past it when—
Bam!
The shifter and I slam into a magically erected wall.
I stumble back, then fall on my ass. The shifter girl moans in my arms.
I don’t even have time to assess how badly she’s hurt; our assailants are closing in on us.
I call forth my next spell.
“Explode.” I twist my torso and throw my magic as well as I can at the incoming cluster of supernaturals. It hits the closest pursuer in the shins—
BOOM!
I cover the shifter’s face and my own against the fiery heat of the explosion. I can hear the witches’ screams as they’re thrown back.
Before they can retaliate, I lift my hand, palm facing them. “I erect a wall from floor to ceiling.” The words come out in Sarmatian. “Protect me and the shifter from those who would harm us.”
Soft orange magic shimmers in front of me, thinning and stretching until it’s formed a transparent wall of sorts. On the other side of it, robed witches are getting up, though they sway and stumble, and I remember all over again that they were given something to drink.
My heart falls when I see there are at least ten of them. So many. And they’re all so determined to get this girl and help bind her to that priestess.
The thought sends a fresh bolt of terror through me.
Empress! Memnon’s voice is demanding and laced with panic.
I’m busy. I force the message down that river between us.
What is going on? he demands.
Ignoring Memnon, I turn from the rising witches and face the magical wall. It’s violet hued and semitransparent.
I kick at it with my heel. It doesn’t budge.
I draw on more magic, my limbs shaking from exertion. I try to pull it from the ground and into my flesh so I minimize taxing my own limited well of power.
The magic sifts into the soles of my feet, and when I start to hear witches banging on the barrier I erected, I coax the gathered power up my legs and down my arm.
A small pale orange ball of it bursts to life in my hand.
I throw it at the magical wall in front of me. The wall ripples, the violet sheen of it fading a little, but it holds.
At my back, the other witches are doing the same thing to my wall, pummeling it with spell after spell. So far, it’s holding out better than the one in front of me, but there are many of them working on bringing it down.
I spare a glance at the shifter. Before, she’d been dazed but awake. Now she lies limp in my arms. I shake her a little, willing her to wake, but though her chest rises and falls, she remains unconscious.
Not good, not good, not good.
I draw on my magic in a panicked burst and slam it against the wall. The spell shifts, then reforms.
Another pull of magic, another throw.
Another ripple when it hits the wall.
Again and again I do this, ignoring the sounds of the spells hitting the wall at my back.
After one final hit of my power, the violet-hued barrier in front of me shatters. I nearly cry out in relief.
I haul the shifter back up into my arms, wincing at the pain in my shoulder as I stand and bear her weight. My injury has gone from burning to throbbing, and I can tell that once the adrenaline leaves my system, it’s going to hurt like a motherfucker.
At my back I hear my own protective wall cracking. That’s all the incentive I need to get moving.
I sprint once more down the hall. It curves, the candles burned down almost to their bases.
Okay, but where the hell is the exit?
Ahead of me, the corridor opens to a chamber full of shelves of what appear to be grimoires, judging by the hazy brown mixture of magic thickening the air.
The flagstones give way to more marble, and my feet slap across a solar image as I enter the chamber.
Almost immediately my head begins to pound at the conflicting magic.
I move to the far end of the room, where a set of stone lamassu guard a rounded archway. Beyond it looks to be another spiral staircase.
In the distance, I hear the pounding of footfalls.
Fuck.
Frantically, I look at the stone threshold protectors, an idea sparking. I move to the first step of the stairs, then turn back to look down at the statues that are part woman, part lion, part eagle.
“Lamassu,” I call to them, “I summon you to protect us. Let no one with wicked intent cross your threshold.”
In an instant, the stone guardians come to life. They rise from their haunches and prowl forward, away from the stairs, their gray tails flicking. It’s the oddest sight.
Magic, man. Don’t do drugs when you can do this.
I swivel forward and ascend the stairs, gritting my teeth against the strain of lifting the shifter.
I whisper another strengthening spell just as I hear the witches enter the grimoire room beneath me.
Go, go, go, I urge my body. My magic is reaching its limits. My arms and legs are still holding out, but the spell that was supposed to help has barely taken the edge off my strain.
Low, gravelly growls fill the chamber beneath me, the sound raising the hairs on the nape of my neck. I hear one of the lamassu snarl and a witch shriek.
An explosive spell shakes the ground, and I nearly lose my balance, wobbling with the shifter in my arms.
I’m more than halfway up the steps when I hear someone near the base of the staircase. I barely have time to process that they’ve managed to get past the lamassu when a spell slams into my back.
I scream, briefly collapsing against the railing as the same flesh-eating curse burns against my skin.
EMPRESS! Memnon roars in my head, and now there is no question about it: he is panicking on my behalf.
Keep going. Keep going.
Beneath me, I can hear the witch whispering another spell. I tense, but the hit never comes. Instead, one of the lamassu snarls.
A moment later, the witch screams, and I catch sight of her falling, the lamassu’s teeth piercing her leg. She and I make eye contact, and hers are full of terror as the beast drags her out of sight.
I take a shuddering breath, ashamed of the relief I feel, and I force my legs to keep going. As soon as I do so, I have to grit my teeth against the cry that wants to work its way out. I manage to bite it back, but I can’t seem to stop the tears from slipping down my cheeks.
Goddess, but the pain. It’s all-consuming.
I force myself up each step by sheer will, repeatedly banging the girl’s legs into the railing.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” I gasp, even though I know she can’t hear me. She still hasn’t woken up.
Beneath me, there are prolonged screams.
I’m nearly to the top of the staircase when another spell ricochets against the wall and crashes into my calf, slicing it open. I scream as my leg gives out.
EMPRESS! Memnon bellows. HOLD FAST! I AM COMING!
Just before I hit the ground, I cover the shifter’s head, and it’s my own skull that cracks against the top stair.
Everything whites out for an instant.
Then I’m blinking the world back into focus, and I hear screams, and the scent of magic is pounding in my head, and above it all, fear that isn’t my own floods my system.
TAKE IT.
“Memnon?” I whisper out loud.
I’m still blinking, still trying to make sense of the world even as I’m forcing myself to my feet, dragging the shifter up with me. I can’t stop the cry I let out as I force my injured leg to bear our weight.
There are a dozen different spells I could use to alleviate the pain or help the wound mend itself, but between the fear and the pain and my growing exhaustion, I can’t seem to think of a single one.
Need to get the shifter to safety.
I stumble up the last of the stairs. My legs shake, my lungs and shoulder and back burn, and I can feel my hot blood running down my leg and warming my skin.
TAKE MY MAGIC. I wince at the sound of Memnon’s voice inside me.
Is that what he meant? Take his magic?
NOW, MATE.
Ugh, “mate.”
EST AMAGE. TAKE IT.
“Stop yelling at me,” I moan, staggering away from the stairs and toward a carved wooden door ahead of me. I’ve only taken two steps when the blood seeping from my calf wound begins to bubble and boil against my skin.
I cry out from the fresh new pain.
Now why would my wound do that…?
The spell must’ve been a curse. A really shitty one.
I stumble the last few feet to the door and awkwardly grab the knob, nearly dropping the limp girl in my arms. I just manage to twist it open, and then me and the shifter fall through it. I barely have time to twist my body so I’m the one who hits the wet earth and not the girl.
We’re outside.
I let out an exhausted huff. That feels like a win all on its own.
I smell the forest around us, and when I look back toward the open doorway, I see the door itself has been carved into the trunk of a tree, though the interior of the tree appears to be far larger than its exterior.
Magic, man…
I still hear the distant sounds of witches fighting and screaming inside, but I doubt the lamassu will hold them all off for much longer.
I try to get up, but my entire body is protesting. I whimper at my various wounds. My magic and my adrenaline are wearing away. I don’t know how much more I have in me.
By the love of all our gods, little witch, Memnon says, please—I am begging you—take what I am offering!
What you’re offering? I feel it then, through that magical river that seems to flow right to my heart.
Power. Endless power. More than anyone has any business handling.
I don’t understand how he’s siphoning it to me, and I don’t bother to consider the repercussions of using this sorcerer’s magic. I reach for it.
I gasp as it pours into me. The pain from my various injuries grows dull, and my fatigue vanishes entirely.
I rise to my feet, picking up the unconscious girl once more.
And then I run.
Need to get to shifter territory. That’s all I can think as I sprint.
I sense the boundary line ahead of me, but it feels like it might as well be in a different country.
I stumble over roots, and twigs and rocks cut into the soft pads of my feet. I clench my teeth against the sensation of blood dripping down my calf.
Later. I’ll deal with it all later.
I can’t hear the witches behind me anymore, and I’m starting to gain confidence when the girl in my arms begins to gag.
I don’t want to stop running, not when bloodthirsty witches who practice the dark arts want to enslave this girl’s will to another.
But I also don’t want her to choke on her own vomit.
I stop and let her down. She’s not even conscious. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. I lay her on her side, focusing my attention on her.
Whatever they gave her, I’m afraid she’s been given too much.
She gags again, and it’s clear that the substance in her system needs to come out.
Gently, I press a hand to her stomach. “Purge,” I command, pressing my borrowed power into her flesh.
The sunrise-orange magic billows out from beneath my palm, then sinks into her skin.
She lunges forward and retches violently. I try not to make a face at what comes up, but I can smell the tainted magic lacing her vomit.
She throws up again. And again.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, combing her hair back, wincing as I feel a tug in my injured shoulder.
There must be more poison within her, poison that’s entered her bloodstream. It too needs to be removed from her system.
Placing a hand on her chest and another on her back, I grab Memnon’s power and coax it down my arms to my palms.
“Dissolve the poison within,” I command in Sarmatian.
Then I force my power into the girl.
Her back arches, and her eyes snap open. She begins to scream, and I have to grit my teeth and brace myself as magic battles magic within her.
I continue to force as much healing power into her as possible, overwhelming the toxin slipping through her veins. I sway a little, the sustained effort making me feel faint.
A branch cracks somewhere in the distance. Then I hear the crackle of crunching pine needles.
They’re still coming.
Beneath my hands, the girl is shaking, but her cries have tapered off to whimpers. She’s still not awake, not in any real sense. I swallow as worry engulfs me.
She’s defenseless like this.
I lean toward her and whisper an incantation under my breath, one that feels as old as the language I’m speaking in. “I offer you my protection. My magic will defend you. My blood will spill before yours does. This I vow.”
The oath feels like a memory, like déjà vu.
The footsteps draw near, no doubt because the witches heard the girl’s cries.
I can still sense the slick poison slipping through her, but I have to let her go and hope the magic I pressed into her will be enough.
I force myself up on shaky legs, turning to face the approaching witches.
In the darkness I can barely make them out. There aren’t as many of them now, maybe five or six. And the monster is still unaccounted for.
I pull magic up from the earth and draw it down from the dark moon, and I siphon still more from that magical river flowing into me. My power gathers and builds, forming just beneath my skin as I face the witches.
They’re no longer wearing masks, but unfortunately, the darkness hides their features.
“Attack,” I whisper, releasing my magic. It snaps out of me like serpents. The mental visual must be doing something because I see my magic pull back, then strike much the same way a snake would. Witches yelp and cry out.
A spell hits me, one that causes my attack to dissolve. Another follows, striking me square in the chest and knocking me back into the earth. This second spell locks up my muscles, and in mere seconds, I’m frozen; I can breathe but not much else. I can’t even move my eyes.
A third spell hits my hip as I lie there, this one a dirty crimson color. I know just by the look of it that this one is bad. And then I feel it.
If I could scream, I would.
It’s as though I’m being stabbed in twenty different places. Maybe I am. I’m choking on blood, or maybe my lungs are simply seizing up.
SELENE! STAY WITH ME. Memnon forces his magic into me, and I reach for it, letting it slip through me and fight off the curse that’s flaying me open.
DO YOU SEE YOUR ENEMIES? MARK THEM, EST AMAGE, THEY ARE NOW MY OWN.
“She’s hit,” one of the witches says.
