“That’s the idea, maggot.”
The water churns, the little boat no match for the storm, for the magick. I spin us until I lose all sense of gravity, until my own stomach is threatening to revolt, until the imposter looks up at me with terror in his eyes and begs me to spare his life.
When I’ve finally had enough, I close my fists, cutting myself off from the magick. At once, the Princesses vanish, taking the tempest with them.
We crash back down to the surface, the wood splintering beneath us, back on rocky terrain once again.
The water is gone. Our boat no more than a pile of kindling.
And there on the edge, the body of the monster impersonating my friend lies broken, his blood seeping into the earth.
But he’s not dead.
I watch in horror as the vicious monster fades away, replaced again by my old friend.
“Luke?” I whisper.
His eyes flutter open, the skin around them turning black with bruises, as if he’s being beaten by an invisible assailant. By that same hand, an invisible blade carves a pentacle into his forehead, then slices off his hands and feet.
It’s the same torture he endured back in Tres Búhos. The same violence I saw in the police photos Cass shared with me while I was still in prison.
When he meets my gaze again, his eyes are glassy with emotion, so real it punches me right in the chest.
“Why did you let this happen?” he pleads. Tears stream down his face.
And then his eyes melt away, leaving two black pits.
Gone is the terrifying mage who possessed him, the monster who tried to kill me up on El Búho Grande this summer. Now there’s only Luke, confused and scared, mutilated, the pain of betrayal lacing his every word.
“We were supposed to look out for each other, Stevie,” he whispers. “I thought you were my friend.”
His anguish washes over me in heavy, icy waves, the guilt I’ve been trying to outrun for months finally catching up to me, barreling straight into my chest. For the second time in minutes, it hurts to breathe.
“I’m so sorry. I couldn’t help you. I tried, but…” I reach for him, but it’s already too late. White flames crawl up from the ground, consuming his flesh one torturous inch at a time.
“Luke!” I shout, useless. Hopeless. Worthless.
His screams hollow me out inside, but there’s nothing I can do but watch, bearing witness to this cruel death, again and again and again.
Five times. Ten. A hundred. Each time, the flesh reforms over the bones, and the flames return, terrorizing him endlessly.
Until all at once, it stops.
“Luke?” I whisper.
But Luke is never coming back.
From behind the burning corpse of my old friend, the dark druid emerges, triumphant and smug.
“Unworthy,” he taunts, banging the bottom of his staff on the ground. Luke’s corpse ignites once more, then burns to cinders.
I rise to my feet, glaring at him with every last bit of rage and hatred I can muster. “Luke wasn’t unworthy. He was innocent!”
“But you are not.”
“Then why did you kill him?”
“Ididn’t kill him.Youkilled him. That’s what happens, Starla Milan. The Unworthy taint all who enter their orbits, destroying everything wholesome and good in their path.” With that dreaded staff, he pushes at the white powdery ash of my friend’s corpse. “Is this what you want for your friends? Your lovers? Forthem?”
