Merrick’s voice echoes, the memory coming to life in shimmering clarity.
…for a talented witch with clear intentions, imp energy can absolutely be channeled into more dangerous spells.
“That’s enoughbreathing, witch,” says Limpdick. “Cast the fucking spell.”
If I had time, I’d hit the pause button on the magic show just so I could double-nut-punch him, but instead, I offer a nod, smoothing my face into a look of defeat. Of complacency.
The crowd falls silent. I focus on the sounds of my sisters’ frantic breaths, the tick of a heating system somewhere in the house. The remembered touch of Merrick’s hand on my shoulder, the glimmer in his honey-brown eyes.
“Say thewords,” Brendan grinds out.
“The ritual has no words. Only intent. An intent you keep interrupting.” I open my eyes and glare at him. “One wrong thought, and a Transference Spell becomes a giant, dick-eating tarantula spell.”
The cum stain turns the color of—well—a cum stain, and finally backs off.
I refocus my energy. Pour all of my intent into my desire.
A gasp in the crowd. A whisper turning into a murmur.
I search their faces, find the light in the dim. Three imps have already materialized among them, formless and bright. Eager. Nothing but pure potential, waiting for my orders.
It’s working!
I call forth another. A dozen, two dozen, innumerable formless orbs flashing to life among the hunters. I don’t bother binding them—there’s no time. Besides, I have no intention of leashing these demons. No intention of sending them back to Hell.
They have a job to do.
As if she can read my thoughts, Calista appears beside me, her tattered dress in flames. She reaches out and touches myshoulder, and I cover her ghost-hand with mine, making a silent vow.
Then, calling upon all the pain, the torment, the fear that the Wielders of the Righteous Flame have inflicted upon my bloodline and countless others, I bolt to my feet.
“This is for Calista Bonnivarde!” I shout. “Burn in Hell!”
Finally, I release the dam of my emotions, channeling my dark intent into a single purpose.
One by one, my wild, unbound imps ignite.
There’s a scream from the back of the room, then another. Their fear begins to spread, slowly at first, couched in confusion.
But fire devours even more quickly than Ozikai’s spiders, and soon the room is a symphony of pain.
The heavy velvet drapes catch, flames chasing each other from the floor to the ceiling, then spreading. The artwork on the walls, the carpeting, the robes. Chandeliers explode in a rain of glass.
“What did you do?” Brendan shouts, blade held in a trembling hand. Taking advantage of his bewilderment, I lunge for him. Snatch away the weapon just as an imp explodes into fire behind him. Brenden dives off the stage and I dart to my sisters, quickly slicing through the rest of their ropes and gags.
“Go!” I shout. “Run!”
“We’re not leaving you!” Rachel cries.
Another chandelier explodes. The fire surges around us. Smoke fills the room. From the corner of my eye, I catch a blur of white and flame?—
“Get down!” I shout, and the three of us hit the stage floor just as Ozikai surges past, barreling through my fire imps as if they’re nothing but a nuisance.
As if they’re fuel.
Shit. Shit! He’s not quashing them, he’s absorbing them, growing larger with every impact, his eyes bright, his spiders in a frenzy, tearing at his flesh and burrowing inside, seeking escape.
“Get out of here!” I shout again.
