“Baz! Kirin!” A voice calls out across the chaos. It’s Professor Broome, frantically waving us on toward the huddled students. When we reach her, she says, “We need to do a spell. Set up a protective boundary. Hurry!”
Stopping a few yards in front of the alcove, Baz and I slice our palms and draw a line of blood on the ground.
“Listen up, everyone,” Broome says. “I need you all to take a deep breath, ground and center, and focus all your energy on envisioning a protective bubble rising up around us. It doesn’t matter what your elemental affinity is, or how much practice you’ve had. Just trust yourselves and one another. Okay?”
Chariot is closing in fast. Close enough I can see sheen of sweat on her brow, the froth of the horses’ mouths, the hatred burning in her eyes.
“Now!” Broome shouts to the students. Then, clasping our hands, she shouts her spell.
Power of earth, power of air
Power of many and all
Make me a shield against the dark mares
Make an unbreakable wall
Baz and I take up the chant, driving all of our power into the words.
“Don’t stop!” Broome shouts. “She’s nearly on us!”
We repeat the chant again, so loud and forceful my throat burns.
Chariot’s here. Ten seconds to impact. Five. Three.
The air shimmers before us like a gossamer curtain, and the horses stop short, rearing up hard as if the magick burns them. The chariot flips and rolls, dragging the horses back with the force, tangling them in the reins.
“Hold it!” Broome orders. “Don’t let her in!”
Seconds later, the broken, bloodied woman emerges from the wreckage, wounded but refusing to stay down. With a sword in one hand, she charges right for us.
She hits the magick boundary with a crash, her eyes wild and furious. The curtain warbles like a heat wave, but doesn’t break. She throws herself at it again and again, tries from another angle, darts to the other side, charges at us with her sword drawn.
But we’ve truly created an unbreakable boundary.
She can’t touch us. Can’t touch the students behind us.
Choking on her own rage, the Chariot cuts her horses loose from the ruined apparatus, then mounts the larger horse. It rears up under her weight, screaming into the air like a beast of hell.
Then—finally—she and her war horses retreat, no doubt heading for some other target.
We hold the magickal barrier for a few more minutes, scanning the surroundings. It seems like it’s only been minutes, yet half the campus already lies in ruins. Bodies litter the pathways—our own witches and mages, Eastman’s mages, undead soldiers in various states of decomposition. Magick both good and evil sizzles through the air. At every turn, witches and mages are fighting. Screaming. Holding back death and mayhem as best they can. Smoke and ash choke out the sun.
“Professor Maddox?” I ask, and Broome nods.
“Kelly’s in the admin building with Carly. Isla went with your sister and Agent Quintana to look for Nat. Last I knew, everyone was still…”
She trails off without saying the word.
Alive.
Nodding, I cling to it anyway. Of course they’re alive. They have to be.
I peer through the smoke, trying to decide on our next move. I can’t see Stevie or Cass. Can’t see the Princesses, though Stevie assured us they were with her. I’ve lost sight of the Chariot too, but I can still hear the cries of her war horses.
The rift in the sky has finally closed, but the campus is crawling with the Dark Magician’s undead forces.
From his perch on the Tarot fountain, the Black Sun still reigns supreme, bringing them back to life with his evil spells. With the corrupted Wand.
