The pulse kicks like a tiny heartbeat, light and perfect.
The droplet flies from my finger, and I watch it morph mid-air into something deadlier. A tiny crimson dart—like a ruby needle—catches the torchlight as it zips toward Chad.
“There you go,” he says, practically gloating.
Gods, that smirk. I twitch my hand just slightly, redirecting myaim. Screw his shoulder and the subclavian. The brachial artery runs right down his arm—way easier target.
“Think fast, asshole,” I hiss.
Chad's eyes widen as he realizes I've changed trajectory. He yanks his arm back just in time. “Whoa!”
“Oops. My bad. Are we done now?”
“You were going for my brachial artery.” He narrows his eyes at me.
“Maybe.”
A frown of assessment forms on his face. “Fairly smart… Ever used the Gaudian Pulse?”
“The Gaudian Pulse? Seriously? That's like bringing a bazooka to a knife fight,” I say.
“You do have grave dirt handy though. Right?” He raises an eyebrow like he's caught me unprepared.
I snort. “Duh. What kind of amateur do you think I am?” I fish out my monogrammed leather pouch—the one with the little skull charm Mom got me for Winter Solstice. “But that spell sucks the life out of me. Cast it once, I'm wrecked. Twice? I'm basically comatose.”
“Meaning what exactly?”
“Meaning I'll be puking my guts out, barely able to stand, and basically a walking target for any clearblood with half a brain cell.”
Chad nods like the know-it-all he is. “So, last resort only. Got it.”
“Yeah, and it hurts like hell before you release it. Like your bones are being crushed from the inside.”
“You've really cast one before?”
“Once.” I make a face. “Wasn't a fan.”
His smile widens too much. “Who'd you try to hit?”
“Missed her by a couple inches,” I mutter, looking away.
“Your sister,” Chad cackles, and I seriously contemplate sending a blood dart straight through his smug eyeball. “They had you sparring before you went all bookworm, right?”
“Right.”
“Well, consider this your redemption arc. Cast a Gaudian Pulse. Now.”
My jaw drops. “Are you insane? You want to be paralyzed for fun?”
“Hit me, and we’ll cut tonight’s training short. You’ll be free to go. I won't chase you—can't chase you if I'm temporarily a human statue. It's perfect for escaping or delivering that final blow up close. Risky in combat, but effective if you don't screw it up.”
“You had me at 'free to go,'” I say, already sprinkling grave dirt into my palm. Anything to end a torture session.
“I can’t promise I’ll stay put this time,” Chad warns, eyes boring into me.
“I can’t promise I’ll miss, either.” I grit out the words, pressing the knife’s tip through the soil until it bites deep into my palm, drawing blood. I murmur the spell, the iron tang sharp in my nostrils.
The dirt and blood mingle instantly. A cold shiver snakes down my spine as the cemetery’s whispers swirl around me. Darkbirch’s graveyard is a ghost buffet—death’s scent seeps from every tomb. Even after Grandma Esther’s dragon debacle drained our reserves, I still conjure enough spiritual juice for a Pulse. Luckily I don’t need much for it. One whiff of decay, and I’m set.
