Текст книги "Bespelled"

Автор книги: Laura Thalassa

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CHAPTER 33

Selene. Selene.

Selene!

Damn all the gods… Roxilana, answer me, my love!

I sigh out a breath, a pinch of pain blooming at the action, and I blink.

Memnon? I say, my brows coming together.

Thank the fucking stars. Are you hurt? I’m coming for you. Just keep speaking to me.

I blink again, staring at the cloudy night sky above me, which still appears to spin. Am I hurt? There’s something warm and wet at my back, and it’s hard to breathe…

I move a little, and holy mother goddess. Agony radiates from everywhere.

Yes, I gasp down our bond, choking back a sob that might further jostle my body. I’m hurt. I think…I think I fell.

It comes back to me then, the terrifying broom ride, the loss of magic, the fall.

I must’ve blacked out on impact, but now, unfortunately, I’m awake—as is my pain. White-hot sparks of it radiate from my legs. One leg in particular feels exposed, as though if the wind picked up, even its light caress would send shooting pains through me.

I have old memories of open wounds. I know the sensation of my insides kissing the air.

Assess yourself, est amage. Tell me what is injured.

I lift my head and glance down the line of my body. It takes several extra seconds to stop my surroundings from spinning. In the dim light, I can make out a white bone sticking out from the mess of my left leg. I bite back a whimper.

It’s hard to tell in the darkness, but my right leg looks twisted at all the wrong angles. And my back…

I pinch my eyes shut and swallow down my rising sickness.

Legs are broken. One is…it’s a compound fracture—I can see my bone.

Between the pain and the knowledge, I nearly retch, and the only thing that stops me is the sinking awareness that I cannot move. I’m already lying in a pool of what I’m pretty sure is my own blood. I don’t want to add vomit to the mix.

Should’ve just gone with Kane, I think despairingly.

I don’t know what the fuck the shifter has to do with any of this, Memnon says darkly, but I will make sure to skin the dog alive and mount his pelt to my wall at the first chance I get.

This wasn’t…his fault…

Unless he spiked my drink of course, but I find that incredibly unlikely. That’s the sort of shady, cowardly shit alphas fight against.

Never mind about Kane, Memnon commands. I’m going to press my magic into you. Take what you need, and heal yourself as best you can. I’m tracking you right now. I’ll be there soon.

How are you tracking me? I ask dazedly.

Heal those wounds, he says gently. Then I’ll tell you.

Focusing inward, I reach out and try to grab hold of Memnon’s magic. Maybe it’s the pain, or maybe it’s something else, but even grasping it proves to be more difficult than usual. And when I try to shape his power into a spell, it doesn’t respond to my will the way it has in the past.

My breath is coming in faster and faster pants, which is setting my chest ablaze. Broken rib? Punctured lung? Internal bleeding?

I drag my attention away from the pain and focus on my own coiled power. It’s there, living inside me, but now, it’s as though I can no longer channel it.

I cry out in frustration and pain.

It’s not working.

What’s not working? Memnon demands.

My magic—and yours. I can’t use either of them to heal myself.

You…can’t use it? He sounds as though the thought is inconceivable.

Two thousand years ago, when supernaturals were not nearly so unified and our magic not so specialized, something like this was largely inconceivable.

Someone…drugged me…I think.

His fury breaks through our connection, that someone would dare do this to me.

I swear to you, est amage, once you are safe, I will find them, and they will pay.

I think of Olga, who gave me the drink. Olga, who I hadn’t suspected a thing from. I pinch my eyes shut to keep from crying. I wasn’t supposed to trust my coven sisters, but I did.

I was a fool, I admit. I trusted someone I shouldn’t have.

Somewhere in the distance, a car drives by. I’m near a road. That’s…that’s good, I guess.

Trusting people doesn’t make you a fool. Just an optimist. It’s one of the things I love most fiercely about who you are in this life. The world hasn’t broken your faith yet.

Yet.

I think that’s the key word. Because every violent altercation whittles it away little by little.

That might be one of the kindest things you’ve ever said to me, I say.

Pain is dulling your memory, my love.

My heart pangs at the endearment. Don’t call me that.

Fine, he says. Then how about my fierce queen, my exquisite mate, mother of my future children.

I grimace. Definitely not that last one. Need to get my hands on some contraceptive potion to make it so.

You’re giving me so much ammunition to use against you the next time I’m teasing your pussy.

Memnon, I say, horrified. I know he’s saying this to distract me from the pain, but crap, it’s working a little too well. You wouldn’t dare use that against me.

I feel his amusement, though it’s tinged with worry. If only I were an honorable man…

Memnon!

In the distance, another engine rumbles on the road. It sounds like it’s moving slowly, and instead of zooming by the grassy hill I’m on, it slows, then idles.

I hear a door creak open, then the heavy tread of feet against the roadside gravel.

Is that you, Memnon?

I’m not there yet.

Fuck.

Someone is, I say.

And the odds of them being a good Samaritan are vanishingly small.

On the other end of the bond, I feel Memnon’s alarm. Then it’s gone, pulled back so quickly that the sorcerer must be deliberately shielding it from me.

Do you have any weapons on you? he asks. This is something he used to make sure Roxilana had on her.

No, I say softly.

He shields me from whatever reaction he has to that news.

Meanwhile, the stranger below me is climbing up the mountainous incline, wild grass crunching beneath their shoes.

Call on your magic again, Memnon orders me, sounding like the warlord he once was. While there’s no compulsion in his voice, I’m bending to the order without question.

I reach for my power, even as those footsteps draw near. It’s there, swirling beneath my skin, but I am utterly disconnected from it. And despite magic being semi-sentient, it’s showed no interest in healing me all on its own.

It’s still not working, I say to Memnon. I try to suppress my growing panic.

Hold fast, Empress. I’m coming.

There is nothing I can do but hold fast. I have no usable magic, no weapon, and no mobility.

Wait—

I wiggle my fingers and test my arms. They both feel pretty banged up, but my right arm can move okay if I hold the rest of my body very still.

Cautiously, I grope around for anything I might use to defend myself with. Even the slight movements of my arm tug at my side, and I have to bite my lower lip to smother a cry. But my fingers brush a rock partially embedded in the soil. I dig my nails into the earth to work it free.

The action causes the grass to rustle, and I have no magic to mask the sound. I almost give up then in favor of staying quiet and still.

If they’ve come this far for you, they’re going to find you, I remind myself.

So I yank on the rock until I pry it free. It’s no bigger than my palm, but it’s rough and has a sharp side to it.

Good enough.

Now the only thing to do is lie in wait.

Those ominous footsteps make their way over to where I lie on the coastal hillside, drawn to me like I’m a beacon. When I first catch sight of the figure, all I can make out is a dark, hooded shape.

It steps in closer, and I get a glimpse of a humanoid face and a pair of unseeing eyes.

I jolt in surprise.

I thought I had annihilated you back in the Everwoods.

The clay creature, the one I shattered apart with a spell only a few weeks ago, is whole once more, and now it’s returned for me.

OceanofPDF.com

CHAPTER 34

For several seconds, the creature stares down at me, and I’m curious what it’s thinking—if it even can think. That head of its was hollow when I crushed it beneath my foot.

Maybe it’ll do the same thing to me; stomp my face into oblivion now that our roles are reversed.

Eventually, it bends down, its hands reaching for my body.

I wait until it’s close enough, and then I lunge forward, swinging the stone in my hand, a pained cry ripping from my throat as the action makes my injuries scream. As soon as the stone connects with the monster’s cheek, I hear the sound of pottery breaking.

The creature rears back a little, but that’s the extent of its reaction. Then it’s reaching for me again.

My torso is on fire, but I pull my arm back and swing a second time, aiming for the being’s wrist.

The appendage snaps off a split second before the creature’s other arm comes around me and drags up.

Seven hells, the pain!

It’s everywhere—my ribs, my legs, my back and neck. Clouding my vision and ripping me open anew.

The monster grips me the best it can, crushing my torso to its and heightening my agony. Then it begins to walk.

A ragged scream bubbles up as my broken legs drag against the ground, the agony overwhelming. The darkness at the edges of my vision now swarms in and blessedly, I black out.

Selene! Memnon bellows down our bond. Selene! Answer me, please, my queen! Thick, coagulated fear presses in with his words.

I barely have time to register it when the agony returns.

I can feel your pain! Memnon continues. What’s happening?

Abducted…there’s a creature…

Bile rises faster than I can stop it, and I just have time to turn my head away from the creature dragging me to retch.

The monster doesn’t slow, and my broken, bloody legs trail over the hillside, the wild grass we pass sticking to my open wounds, the sensation making me vomit again.

Hold on, my fierce queen.

I don’t think I get a fucking choice about that. I have to endure this, whether I like it or not.

I think I’m sobbing, writhing. I feel like the pain is consuming me. And maybe it is because the night darkens once more…and then it swallows me up entirely.

PAIN!

I wake to it. I am engulfed in it. Perhaps I’m dead. Perhaps I’ve gone to hell and I’m bathing in its fiery halls.

I force my heavy eyelids to open. I’m swaying, spinning, slipping as the world moves.

Am I still flying?

But no, there’s a drop ceiling above me and something cupping my back and thighs.

A chair, I realize.

I try to move my arms, but they’re restrained at my back, the angle of it pinching my shoulder blades.

My mangled legs droop from the chair, and the position I’m now in places so much pressure on them, the pain is relentless.

Think I’m going to retch again…Even my thoughts come sluggishly.

Selene!

My eyes flutter closed to stop the room from spinning, and I swallow down my rising sickness.

Memnon? I say dazedly.

I’m right here, he says. Stay with me.

“Look who I’ve found,” says a feminine voice in front of me, drawing my attention away from my mate. “A broken little witch lost in the woods.”

That voice sounds vaguely familiar.

I’m about to open my eyes when something presses into my wounded leg.

I scream, then I do lean over and vomit as the fiery agony consumes me.

Down my bond I can hear Memnon bellowing my name.

“Look at me,” the voice commands, and there’s magic woven into the order.

My face is forced back to the woman speaking. She has rich brown hair and soft, Bambi eyes that give her face an air of innocence. The woman is lovely—lovely and familiar, and maybe I could place her if my body weren’t bathed in agony and whatever drug I’ve been given.

“Do you remember me?” she asks, echoing my thoughts. “Because I remember you.”

My leg makes a wet sucking noise as she removes her finger, the digit now bloody.

I shriek from both pain and horror.

SELENE! Memnon’s voice booms in my head. Whatever is happening, stay with me, he pleads.

Can’t…talk…

“Towel,” she orders, reaching out a hand.

From the shadows, the humanoid creature steps forward, its face and hands whole once more. In one of those hands, it holds a white cloth, which it gives to the woman.

She takes it without looking at the monster, meticulously wiping the blood from her finger before tossing it aside.

It’s all so practiced. The readied towel, the chair, the bindings, her steady, sure, familiar presence.

I notice now what I didn’t before: she commands the creature, just as the high priestess commanded the creature the night of the spell circle. That’s who this is. The high priestess.

My eyes snap back to the woman too fast, and the room spins.

“Did you think you’d never see me again?” she asks.

I try to sharpen my mind, because this is important, but the pain and the blood loss and whatever I’ve been drugged with disorient everything.

This must be what the high priestess gave the shifter girl, Cara, before she tried to bond her. It must affect our magic.

“Ever since that night, I’ve been looking for you,” she says.

She wants you, one of the witches who attacked Nero had warned me.

Who? I’d asked.

Lia.

I stare at the high priestess, putting a name to her face. Lia. More than surprise, I feel…dread.

She’s bonded at least one witch—Lauren, the instructor Memnon questioned—and she nearly bonded Cara. And then those witches who attacked Nero, perhaps some—if not all—of them were bonded to this woman. Probably against their will.

And now I’m here, drugged and injured and restrained and very, very vulnerable.

“You cost me more than just a single girl,” Lia says. “You cost me six. And all for what, your naive belief in honor? Justice? Where was your moral superiority when you killed my girls? The ones who lay dead in the woods. Did you know they were as innocent as the shifter you saved?”

My stomach turns on itself as she stares me down.

Lia leans forward, placing her hands on my thighs. I lock my jaw against the pain, tears pricking my eyes. “Do you feel superior now?” When I don’t respond, she digs in her fingers and shakes one of my broken legs, and my vision darkens. “Answer me.”

Selene! Memnon’s voice is alarmed. Whatever is happening, I am here. I am always here, with you.

I cannot respond to my mate’s sentiment. Not when I’m sucking air through my nose, trying not to scream or retch.

Once I think I can answer Lia, I whisper, “No.”

The woman stares at me, her face pitiless. She must see something that placates her, because her expression smooths out.

“First things first,” Lia says. “Let’s deal with these wounds.”

I clench my jaw and steel myself for whatever she intends.

“Bones reseal, flesh be stitched. Sinew mend, and wounds be fixed.”

Thick, plum-colored magic flows out of her and pours over me in waves. It sinks into my skin, warming my body as it begins repairing injuries. Whatever I expected, it wasn’t a healing spell.

Not that the spell is particularly kind.

My legs jerk sharply, Lia’s power resetting them roughly. I lean over the side of the chair and heave, sweat and a couple of rogue tears dripping from my face. Her magic jostles my ribs, and it’s so much pain, too much⁠—

A wail escapes my throat. But the pain crests for only moments. Then it recedes into something more manageable as her magic fixes the worst of my injuries.

I sit there panting, sweaty strands of my hair sticking to my face. I want to ask Lia why she’s healing me, but I have a horrible feeling I’m going to find out soon enough.

As the pain lifts, so too does some of my disorientation. I’m still bone-weary, but the room no longer spins, and I can truly focus on the woman in front of me.

Once my body is all put back together, her magic dissipates from the room.

“You have been betrayed by your friends, Selene Bowers,” Lia says. “Just as you will soon betray others on my behalf. You won’t get a choice. None of you do.” She pushes away from me and stands. “Most of the time, I don’t give a shit about the lives of my witches,” Lia says, backing up. “But you? You’ve pissed me off. So I’m going to enjoy using you.”

She turns from me, toward the monster.

“Creature, round up six witches or mages.” Her attention returns to me when she adds, “One for every person Selene has cost me.”

The monster mechanically walks to a door behind Lia, then exits the room.

Lia reaches for her side and unsheathes a small blade. I stare at the gleaming steel, aware of what she intends to do next.

Memnon, I hate to be the damsel in distress, but I could really use you right now.

From the other end of our bond, I feel Memnon’s impotent rage. I’m sorry, sweet mate. I’m coming. Until then, mark our enemies. I vow to you their deaths will be slow.

By the time he reaches me, it might be too late.

“Normally, I like to do this at the coven with my bonded witches,” Lia says, tapping the blade against her palm. “There’s food and drinks and a small celebration. It’s civilized and fun.” She saunters toward my chair. “This will not be fun. I can’t even say how civilized it will be. You will hate me, that I’ll make sure of, but by then, you will be committed to me entirely,” Lia says.

A chill slides down my back at her words and the certainty in her eyes. I’d been too drugged and hurt earlier to feel real fear. But now it drips into my system.

I frantically reach for my magic again as she closes in on me. I can grab onto a few sluggish tendrils of it, but when I try to push it out, I sense only a thin stream leaving my hand, melting into the air mere seconds after I release it.

Fuck.

My legs aren’t tied to the chair, probably because they were twisted up too badly earlier. Her mistake. As soon as Lia’s within reach, I pull a leg back and kick her hard in the thigh.

She stumbles, nearly dropping her blade.

“Bitch.” Her magic swarms me, wrapping around my throat and choking me while magically binding my ankles to the chair. “I’m going to make you do awful things,” she vows. “Things you’ll abhor. Things that will make you want to crawl from your very skin.”

Terror congeals in my blood.

I reach for my magic again, but it’s useless.

Take my power, Memnon says, pushing his own through.

It hasn’t been working, I say despondently.

Try again anyway, he commands, a desperate edge to his voice.

When I coax his magic toward my center, it moves into me readily enough. The comfort of having this part of Memnon with me, inside me, takes the edge off my fear.

His magic swirls around my own power, mixing the two together, and when I direct Memnon’s magic down my arms, it goes where I call it, as though eager to please me. It even manages to drag my own magic along with it. But both of them stall at my palms. Not even a wisp leaves me this time.

Nothing still, I tell Memnon.

I only sense the barest breath of the sorcerer’s fear before he locks the emotion away. In its place is more power. He funnels it down our bond as though it might make up for the magical blockages.

Can you move? Memnon asks. Can you get ahold of a weapon?

My attention is ripped from him when the door behind Lia opens, and six individuals enter, followed by the clay creature.

Something’s happening, I say. I can’t talk.

I pull away from the bond as I study the newcomers. None of them wear masks like the last spell circle Lia presided over, and most of them are men with hard, unforgiving faces. I don’t recognize the two women in the group. They look older than most of the witches I go to school with.

There’s a flatness to all these supernaturals’ eyes, and intuitively, I know none of them will rescue me as I did Cara.

“I’m going to perform a binding,” Lia announces.

The group of six don’t speak, but they begin to remove their shoes and socks, setting them to the side of the room. Once they’re barefoot, they form a circle around me, with Lia at its head. The seven of them grasp hands, and then Lia begins to incant in Latin.

“I call on old magic and the darkness from deep beneath our feet. Lend us your power for tonight’s spellcasting. Our circle calls forth your magic.”

The hairs along my arms rise as I feel the spell circle form and the magical current rush around me from one arm to the next.

Only once the circle has been formed, does Lia join me in the middle of the circle. Dagger still in hand, she raises her arms and her blade above her head.

“I call on the darkness and the old, hungry gods who will bear witness to my deeds,” she incants in Latin.

The words are the same ones she used at the last spell circle. Only now, I sense those old, hungry gods somewhere deep beneath my feet in a way I didn’t a month ago. Their eyes are focused on Lia and me.

We will watch, they seem to whisper.

Lia lowers her arms, then presses the tip of her dagger to the tan skin of her forearm. Slowly, she drags the blade down, a line of blood welling as she goes. “You remember this part from the spell circle, don’t you?” she says to me as she works.

Around us, the other supernaturals are silent.

I do remember this part of the ritual, only when she did it last, the wound she made was on her sternum.

Memnon, I say uncertainly, reaching down our bond once more. My gaze is fixed to that line of blood.

What do you need from me, Empress?

I need for him to be here, but I cannot will him to come any faster than he already is, so I stay silent.

Lia moves around to the back of my chair and cuts away my bindings.

Before I can take a swing at her, her magic is there, restraining my arms. She grabs one of my hands and pries it free of her magical restraints.

Lia extends my arm out and slices her blade down my skin, parting the delicate flesh.

Memnon! I cry out now. Memnon!

“With blood I bind, with bone I break⁠—”

No, no, no!

She grabs my cut forearm and presses her own bloody one to mine, her expression determined.

WHAT IS HAPPENING?

I struggle against Lia. She’s placing a binding spell on me! I cry.

The other end of our bond goes still as death.

Then Memnon’s magic is flooding my system—an ocean of it pouring into me. Normally I have to reach for it to pull it through the bond, but it’s as though the sorcerer himself is shoving it all out.

With his magic comes warmth, devotion, love. I’m tired and weak, but I grasp what I can of his power and my own, and I funnel every bit of it down my arms and out my hands. A sluggish plume of orange and indigo magic releases, though it does nothing more than push Lia back a little. It’s not even enough to break her hold on me. I can still feel her blood mingling with mine.

Maiden, Mother, and Crone, this cannot be happening.

“Only through death shall I at last forsake.”

I scream as a new, intrusive bond forces its way through me, the magic slicing into my body.

“What I command, you shall obey. Your will is mine till your dying day.”

The pain of this bond is searing, but maybe that’s because, unlike the others, this one isn’t consensual.

It lodges itself behind my sternum, and its roots seem to burrow into my bones. My cheeks are wet, and I realize I’m still screaming. My throat is ragged from the sound.

For a moment, I feel Memnon right there, as close as he can be through the bond.

It’s quiet on his end, but from that silence comes…

Rage. Apoplectic rage.

So much rage. Enough to kill an army ten times over.

Beneath my sorrow and horror, I can sense the same determination that helped him fell kingdoms.

I am coming, he says again, but his voice is entirely different. Cold. Wrathful. They’ll pay.

“Leave us.” Lia says, dismissing the group of supernaturals without tearing her eyes from me.

The six individuals release their hands and wordlessly file out of the room. There’s not a single sound except for my ragged sobs, and I think I might hate these supernaturals as much as I do Lia. They cannot all be as evil as she is, yet they participated in such an act.

Maybe they’re bonded just as I am.

The thought draws another ragged cry out of me.

Once the door clicks shut behind them, Lia’s magical hold on me loosens. Without it pinning me in place, I sink off the chair and onto the cold concrete floor.

My cries trail off, but I’m now heaving in breaths as I bow my head.

Lia steps up to me. I can see the pointed tips of her heels.

“My, my, you are a powerful witch. No one warned me about that. They all said you were weak, forgetful. An easy target but a poor asset.” She taps the toe of one of her shoes against the bare floor. “And what is this?” She looks at me, but her eyes are unfocused. She tilts her head. “Another bond?” She frowns. “Two bonds?”

The fact that she can sense any bonds besides hers is horrifying.

She takes me by the jaw and tilts my head up. “I cannot allow them to exist.” There’s a gleeful gleam in her eyes. “That would complicate things. Your first true task once I release you tonight will be to sever each of those bonds the first chance you get.”

I press a hand to my sternum as her malevolent power digs in, and I begin to heave, over and over, as it forces its intentions upon me.

Memnon could survive such an assault, but sweet, cranky Nero, who’s waiting for me even now…

I heave again.

No, no, no.

Plum-colored magic spills from Lia, giving her an ominous backdrop. “Let’s go over the basics. You will never harm me,” she commands, the order slipping straight down the bond and into me. “You will do everything in your power to protect and serve me.”

My fingers dig into the skin over my sternum. I can feel Lia in me just as I can Memnon. But where Memnon’s magical presence is familiar and comforting, Lia’s magical imprint feels like a violation.

She comes over to me then and places a hand on my head. I want to knock it away, but one of her commands activates and stops me.

I grind my teeth together, my body bowed beneath her touch.

Her deep purple magic trickles over me, then into me, and I’m powerless to stop it. But as it slips down my throat and into my body, I feel it driving out the effects of the drug in my system. I can feel my own magic swarm me again, and my control over it sharpens.

“I imagine that feels better, doesn’t it?” she asks from above me.

I press my lips together.

“Answer me.”

“Yes,” I hiss out.

Her hand slides from my head. “Why don’t we have a demonstration of what it means to be bonded to me?”

I hear the click of her heels as she moves away from me.

“Bow to me.”

It’s not even a choice. Her power forces my body to obey. I bend forward at the waist, my arms stretching out in front of me. I press my palms into the cold concrete.

“Now crawl over and kiss my feet.”

This is a nightmare, I think as I move across the ground to her.

Finally I understand her motives for healing me. If I were still injured, I would be incapable of doing these degrading acts. Lia obviously knows there’s more than one way to hurt someone.

I press a kiss to the top of her foot, every fiber of me rejecting this moment. Lia yanks her leg back, out of my reach, and kicks my face, sending me sprawling backward.

I taste blood in my mouth as my head cracks against the concrete.

“Thank me for hurting you.”

I can hear the glee in her voice. This evil motherfucker.

“Thank you for hurting me.” The words are pried from my throat.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lia smile, her eyes narrowed. “Get up.”

My legs position themselves under me, and I rise.

“That’s better,” she says, assessing me.

I try to lunge at her, but that same insidious magic moves through me, seizing up my muscles before I can do more than lean forward. She doesn’t even notice.

She glances to the corner of the room, where the clay monster waits in the shadows.

“Creature, come here.”

I tense as I watch it approach. On its forehead, that same archaic word I saw the night of the spell circle. I couldn’t remember it’s name or meaning then, because I thought it was Aramaic. But it’s not. There’s another language that shares the same alphabet as Aramaic—Hebrew.

The Hebrew word I’m looking at is emet.

Truth.

It was one of a few hundred words I learned of Hebrew before my first life was cut short. The sight of it now pricks my skin. This is ancient magic at play.

When the creature gets to her, Lia reaches out and touches its cheek tenderly. “Though I have many bonds,” she says, “I don’t have a familiar. My creature here is the closest thing that comes to one.”

It’s literally a glorified pot.

She continues to creepily stroke its skin. “Selene, you are not to defend yourself against it.”

I’m not to—what? My gaze sharpens, moving between the two figures.

“Creature, hurt her.”

The fuck?

The massive monster strides toward me, and I stumble back, calling on my magic.

To my shock, it comes to me. But the moment I try to direct it at the monster, my magic halts, bound by Lia’s command.

Shit.

The creature grabs me by the throat and throws me across the room. I crash into a stack of cardboard boxes shoved near one of the walls, and I grunt at the impact, the boxes rattling as whatever’s inside them is shaken.

I can’t defend myself, I think as I scramble off the boxes as the monster heads toward me once more. That was the command. But it’s not immutable. There are always workarounds. I should know—I spent years figuring out my own when it came to functioning with memory loss.

Lia’s orders have holes I can exploit. She commanded me not to defend myself, but leading an attack isn’t the same thing.

I gather my magic in my palms.

I might only have one chance at this. I better make it count. I level my gaze on the approaching monster.

“Annihilate.” I shove my power out at the creature.

It hits it square in the chest⁠—

BOOM!

The spell shatters the monster and launches sharp sherds in every direction. I barely have time to throw up a hasty ward before bits of the creature blow back at me.

Across from me, Lia shrieks as hundreds of the sharpened fragments drive themselves into her with unnatural force.

This is my opening.

I dash for the exit.

“Stop!” she shouts.

My feet pause midstride, and I want to shriek in frustration. The door out is mere feet from me.

“I forbid you from using your magic again tonight,” Lia says hoarsely.

My power dries up, receding back into my body.

“Creature,” Lia continues as she heals her various wounds, “repair yourself, then attack the witch.”

My stomach hollows out, and I try not to panic as I stand there immobilized. I blew the monster into a thousand pieces. Surely it can’t come back and hurt me?

But even as I think it, I hear broken bits of pottery scrape across the ground behind me. They clatter as they fit themselves together.