Relief hit me so hard my knees nearly gave out.
We curled together on the sofa beneath my aunt’s crocheted afghan, his arm firm around my shoulders, my cheek over his heart.The house creaked softly around us.Willow hopped down and curled near our feet.
Sleep came quietly this time.
A scraping sound tore me from sleep.
Scrape.Scrape.Scrape.
I bolted upright.Owen was already moving, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
“That’s not the Red Queen,” he said.
Cold fear slid through my veins.“I heard that before.”
He was up the stairs before I could stop him reaching for the attic ladder.I hurried after him.
“Wait.”I grabbed his arm.“It was… fire.Light.Power.It vanished.”
“Then we’ll find out why.”
Willow appeared silently, staring upward, tail lashing once.
Owen pulled down the ladder and climbed first.I followed, heart pounding.
The attic was dark—until Owen lifted his hand, light crackling into existence in his palm like trapped lightning.
The sound came again.
From the trunk.
The lid launched toward us.
We ducked as yellow-orange light exploded upward, washing the attic in an unnatural glow.A shadow form surged out—thin, clawed, its eyes burning red.
It went straight for me.
I screamed.
Owen hurled the lightning, ripping through the specter—but it reformed, shrieking.
Wind roared suddenly as Owen raised both hands, forcing the thing back toward the trunk.
“Get the lid!”
I moved on instinct, hauling it across the attic floor—
And froze.
Something else came out.
This one was solid.
Scaled.Horned.Fanged.Holding a sword.
And it charged Owen.
Lightning struck again.Once.Twice.The blade flew from its grasp.
