“Isla,” she calls, waving the girl to my side. “All three of us are water blessed. Isla’s magick wasn’t enough on its own, but if we can combine our power, we might stand a chance.”
Nodding, Isla and I offer our palms, allowing Professor Maddox to make a clean slice on each. She does the same to herself, then orders us to join hands.
“The River,” I say. “It’s our best shot. We need to induce it to help us.”
“But it’s so far away,” Isla says. “I’m not sure I’m strong enough for something like this.”
Magick tingles between us, already gearing up for the fight.
“For our friends, Isla.” I smile and send a calm, steady pulse of energy her way. On my other side, Professor Maddox squeezes my hand.
“I know we can do this,” I say. “Together on three, okay?”
Isla finally nods, and with nothing left to lose, I close my eyes, count down, and call on my water magick, pushing myself to the absolute limits.
River of Sorrow, River of Blood
Come to us now, by rain or by flood
Quench the flames that burn up the night
Lend us your power to snuff out this light
Isla and Professor Maddox join in, all of us chanting the verse three times. By the end, both women are trembling, and it takes all my mental focus to remain upright. Stars flicker behind my eyelids, and my knees threaten to buckle.
I’m nearly drained, nearly ready to give up when I finally hear Professor Maddox gasp.
“It’s working!”
I open my eyes, peer into the heat and flame. Blood-red water seeps up from the ground, sizzling into clouds of steam.
But she’s right; it’s working. Inch by inch, the river is tamping down the fire.
With renewed hope, we resume our chant, four times, five, six, not daring to stop until the silvery flames shrink from a raging inferno to something more akin to a careless campfire.
“Ani!” Nat calls, and I peer through the heat at the ginger-haired Arcana mage on the other side. Smoke roils around him in massive gray clouds, blocking our view of Janelle and Casey. For all I know, they’re passed out on the ground, or they’re no more than fuel for the fire.
But it doesn’t matter. Right now, there’s only Ani. Relief hits me so hard, I nearly lose all composure.
But within seconds, it’s abundantly clear that even with the fire under control and the guns no longer pointed at his head, Ani is far from safe.
“What’s wrong with him?” Isla whispers at my side. “It’s like he’s in a trance or something.”
She’s right. His hands are raised, his lips murmuring a spell, his eyes wild with power. Even as the water beats it back, the remaining silver-blue flames continue to sway and dance at Ani’s command. It would be beautiful to watch if it wasn’t so horrifying.
I’ve never seen him so intensely focused. So captivated.
He’snot just controlling the fire’s movements. He’scastingit, conjuring it from somewhere deep inside himself, giving it life and bending it to his will.
Ansel McCauley, what have you gotten yourself into?
I blink away the sting of sweat and smoke and take another look, still doubting my own eyes.
But there’s no other explanation. This is ancient, powerful,highlyadvanced pyromancy, totally forbidden, and I have no idea where he could’ve learned it.
We don’t teach it at the Academy—not even at the highest levels of study. Because this level of spontaneous conjuration requires a mage to delve so deeply, so completely into his inner darkness that most who attempt it never return.
Not whole, anyway.
