A hacking cough breaks into my thoughts, scattering them. I fly around to Rook, who’s got a fist pressed to his chest, his eyes squeezed shut in obvious pain.
“Rook?” I ask. “You okay?”
Head still bowed, he sucks in a deep breath, almost like he can’t get enough air. But after a beat, it passes, and he stretches out his wings and meets my gaze once more, sharp-eyed and alert behind the glasses.
“Still feeling that library smoke in your lungs?” I ask. Every time I take a deep breath, I can taste it. The char. The ash.
But Rook shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good. Just anxious to get our witch.”
“Any minute now,” I say. “As soon as we feel that ripple, we’re—”
“You have no claim on me, monster!” Westlyn cries out from somewhere inside the cathedral, her voice dark and powerful, and a burst of cold, otherworldly magic tears through the night, a great shattering of stained glass and metal and wood that rumbles up from the foundations and radiates into the air above, nearly knocking us both out of the sky.
When we stop spiraling and get our bearings again, the air is charged with electricity, my head ringing from the blast, and two things become abundantly clear.
The magical barrier has been obliterated.
And so has half the fucking cathedral.
Chapter Ten
WESTLYN
Dark power surges inside, eradicating the lingering effects of the mage drugs and whatever spells Verrick cast on my body. The magic imprisoning me inside the altar space falls away, and I get to my feet.
The demon legions watch closely, silent and obedient. Awaiting orders.
“Rise,” I command, the voice not truly mine. Thethoughtnot even mine. It’s as though I’ve been possessed too, right along with the mages.
But one look at Verrick, at his proud smile, at his silver eyes, and I know without a doubt that itismine. All of it.
My voice, my thoughts, my demons.
My power.
My legacy.
Finally free, I step down from the altar, and the hooded masses rise at my approach, heads bowed low, the hems of their black robes whispering against the floor. They don’t speak through those horrifying stitched mouths, but I hear their collective voice in my head, scraping inside the walls of my skull like a thousand dull knives.
We are yours, Moon Blessed. Witch-queen of the forgotten realms. Yours to control. Yours to command.
Desire flickers inside me like a black flame, and dozens of runes appear on my arms, glowing as bright as the moon.
Mine to control. Mine to command…
As humans, the shadow mages were fiendish and vile. But as vessels for demons? They’re straight out of the land of nightmares.
I can feel their evil, their darkest instincts brought to life bymyblood.
Not Zorakkov’s. Not Eloise’s. Not the great Archmage of Manhattan’s.
But mine.
Mine to control. Mine to command…
Desire licks a hot path up my spine. Alarm bells ring in my head, but I tune them all out.
What do you demand of us, Moon Blessed?The scrape of that multi-layered voice fills my mind once more, calling my magic to life. It crackles in my palms, hot and eager.
