But like the marionette he was, Arthur swung again.
Rory dove for the ground, skinning his hands and bruising his knees as he rolled away. He hit the side of one of the convertibles with a grunt of pain, and caught sight of his own hands in the gravel.
The Tempest Ring gleamed up at him.
As Rory stared at it, the breeze kicked up around him, blowing his hair off his forehead, making the tiny rocks around his hands dance.
He heard footsteps approaching in the gravel. “Had enough?” Becker taunted, from somewhere behind him.
Rory closed his eyes. “Haveyou?”
And this time, when Rory reached for his magic, he fully opened the floodgates.
Magic rushed him like a burst dam, like a bolt of lightning up his arm from the ring, like electricity sparking from his heart. His eyes popped open, his limbs trembling under the onslaught of magic pouring into him.
Across the manor, there was a low rumble, like distant thunder.
Rory forced himself up to shaky feet and turned around to face Becker. “Get your magic out of Ace,” he said, “or I’m gonna get it out myself.”
The wind was picking up, like the start of a storm, leaves and debris scattering around them. The edges of the green fog that hung over the manor’s drive were being blown away. In the distance, something was getting louder.
“As if your magic could overpower mine,” Becker taunted. “I rule your sweetheart now. Just look at him.”
Just behind Becker was Arthur, standing statue-still, Ellis’s blood on his fists, his gaze on Rory. One of the lost guns was now in Arthur’s hands, ready at his side.
Rory’s anger rose, and the wind with it.
There was no high-pitched whistle this time. Instead, the distant rumble became a roar, like a freight train rushing toward them. The ground under Rory’s feet began to tremble.
In the moonlit sky above their heads, silvery clouds very slowly began to spin, like the hands of a clock.
“Oh Christ,” Rory heard Gwen say, somewhere down the drive. “Everyone, get down!”
Becker looked at the sky with alarm. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Calling the wind,” Rory said, as a gust whipped across the grounds. His clothes flapped as the clouds above his head turned faster, and then even faster. “And this time, it’s a twister.”
Arthur and all the other guards were suddenly still as Becker paled. “You can’t do that,” Becker said hoarsely. “You can’t possibly.”
Rory gritted his teeth as magic coursed through him like a current. “Can’t I?”
Another gust swept over the drive, powerful enough that Becker stumbled. A shingle blew off the roof. Then another off the dormer, the broken pieces not falling to the ground but caught like the air was a whirlpool. More shingles followed, the magical green fog sucked up to join the debris circling overhead as it came closer to the ground, spinning like water circling a drain.
Becker stared wide eyed at the mess whipping around them like a giant handcuff. “Shoot him!” Becker barked at Arthur. “He’s going to kill all of us. Shoot him, and then yourself—”
“No!”
Rory’s shout split the air as his magic leapt from him.
The night sky burst with a roar that shook the ground. Cars creaked and branches snapped as magic cracked through the air. It arced like a lightning bolt from Rory to Arthur, and he could smell it, taste it, like a summer thunderstorm opening in the heavens, like a twister touching down.
Arthur gasped.
His eyes went impossibly wide and the hand without the gun flew to his chest. His tuxedo jacket flapped as the enchanted tornado encircled them, but Rory knew in that moment that Arthur could have walked straight through the tornado and come out unharmed, because he was right, Rory’s magic would never hurt him.
The tornado roared louder as Arthur’s shout cut across the driveway. “Close your eyes, Teddy!”
Rory shut his eyes automatically, trusting but not understanding, as Arthur whirled away—
