I hold my hand out and try to open a portal. My magic twitches. Sparks, flickers, but nothing happens. No portal. No tear in the air. Just... sparks.
“Huh?” I stare at my hands, confusion and fear warring inside me.
I let them drop and start walking toward the light instead, drawn to it despite the warning bells clanging in my mind.
Something is wrong.
I’m careful with my footsteps, especially being barefoot. The forest floor is uneven, roots jutting up through the dirt, small rocks pressing into my soles. I’m looking around, and something just feelsstrangeabout this whole situation. Off.
But I can feel it. It’s the Witching Glen.
Did they figure out how to get out?
I walk for a while, moving through the trees, following the light. My heart pounds harder with each step. Finally, I reach the edge of the Market, and sure enough. It’s the Witching Glen. The small cottage that sits next to the Market, sealed and silent.No one enters. No one leaves.
Except now it’s pulsing with bright golden light, the glow spilling out from the cracks around the door, the windows, seeping into the night.
A lion’s roar carries from the direction of the Academy.
“Mara?”
I groan, my heart clenching. What is she doing here? My head starts to turn back toward the sound when the door to the cottage opens.
Blinding light hits me. So bright I throw my arm up to shield my face, a startled cry escaping my lips.
I lower my hand. Two warlocks step out from where the air just folded open, hoods pulled low, dark cloaks dragging at their boots. The taller one’s hands hover at his sides—not raised, but ready, fingers half-curled. White hair spills from beneath his hood. The skin at his throat is thin enough that I can see the vein moving under it.
The other one is younger. His face is all angles. He spots me first.
They stiffen the moment they see me.
Both of them immediately fall into defense mode, magic sparking at their fingertips, blue and violet light crackling in the air around them.
I put my palms up in defense, fear crawling up me.
“What the fuck?” I say.
The white-haired one’s lip curls. “A Blackwood,” he snarls. His voice is rough, gravelly, filled with hatred. “Take him down!”
“Wait—“ I try to use my magic in defense, but nothing happens. Just strange sparks of blue-gold light that flicker and die against my palms. Desperation claws at me, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps. “This is bad fucking timing,” I mutter, frustration and fear flooding through me. “You want to act upnow?”
I brace myself, using my hands as a shield to my face when the warlocks start to attack. Magic flames shoot toward me, violet and blue fire streaking through the air, but when nothing happens, I slowly remove my arms, confusion overtaking my fear.
The flames pass right through me.
“What in the actual fuck?” I stare at my hands, then at the warlocks, my mind struggling to comprehend what’s happening.
The younger one rocks back. “A time traveler!” he shouts, lowering his hands. The flames die immediately.
They both stop using their magic.
“A time traveler?” I echo, looking down at my hands, horror dawning. “What?”
I get distracted from the warlocks when I hear the pounding steps—no, paw steps—of something coming out of the forest. Then amber eyes illuminate the darkness. My heart leaps into my throat, recognizing her immediately.
She emerges slowly from the trees.
Love and terror collide inside me, leaving me speechless.
