Opal twitched her long fingers and Belchamber’s eyes flew open. He shot at the boy across the street, breaking branches of the jacaranda tree, where Eliot, the raven, perched and croaked. Belchamber smacked Rupert to the concrete. The boy yelped as the spirit wrestled the knife from his grip. ‘Oi!’ shouted Archie. ‘Stop that!’ The old man whacked at Belchamber. Lio leaped up but before he could cast a portal, Rupert yelled and Belchamber ripped the knife away, soaring back to the roof opposite.
‘Ta,’ said Opal sweetly, taking the knife from the spirit. Then she called to the boy down in the street, ‘Thank you, darling Rupert.’
And Opal dove at Dot.
‘No,’ hissed Theodora, flying at Opal. They collided mid-air and fell against the slanted roof. Lio hurtled to their side, holding Opal down by the shoulders.
‘Oh, what raucous fun,’ cackled Opal, her back now pinned to the rooftop by Lio and Theodora. ‘Is this not adreamfor both of you? Lio? T? How much have you missed me?’
‘Are you drunk?’ cried Lio.
‘This is Opal now,’ said Theodora, bitter. ‘Just an addled girl, slipping into madness.’
Opal snorted. Her iridescent eyes gleamed with hatred. ‘You always were a liar. Trust you to paint me with so convenient a brush.’
She lunged with the knife and caught Lio in the arm. He cried out. Opal kicked him away. Down the steep edge of the tiles he slid. Theodora, momentarily distracted, did not see Belchamber looming. The spirit seized her, and he sent a shock of lightning up Theodora’s arms. She yelped and grabbed at him and tumbled down the roof, crashing into Lio – all of them cascaded over the edge.
That left Dot alone with Opal.
Dot scrambled backward. She seized her chalk from her trouser pocket, scribbling runes against the rooftiles. She trembled as her magic failed. The scent of woodsmoke, incense, gunpowder and blackberry wafted over as Opal drew near.
‘I was going to bring you straight to Salamander,’ said Opal. ‘But as soon as little Rupert brought out my bread knife, I came up with a better idea. I’ll spare your life, Dottie, even though I do not need to. You see, I’m not the monster your Theodora makes me out to be.’
And then, several things happened at once.
Theodora reappeared, slinging a burst of magic at Opal.
Lio stepped out of a portal, firing his own spell; Belchamber was in his arms, limp.
Dot scrambled backward across the tiles and, as she did, Opal deftly dodged the magic cast at her. She flew forward and seized Dot’s unafflicted hand and she whispered, lovingly, in Dot’s ear, ‘Just a pinch.’
And with the bread knife, she cut Dot’s middle finger clean off.
Dot screamed, the animal sound ripping from her chest.
She fell against the roof.
Receding into the cold wind was the sound of Lio bellowing at Opal, of Theodora shouting at Opal, of Opal justifying, laughing, faltering, roving around the rooftop, dodging magic again, but Dot paid her no mind because she felt, simply, the bizarre and faraway breath of loss. Wetness. Cold wind pinching the space where bone and flesh should have been. A gentle villainous ache, duller and more deliberate than any pain she had ever felt before. Dot held up her right hand and gawked at it as oil-thick blood rushed down her wrist.
Her finger was gone.
Dot stared at her unafflicted skin. She fought the perverse and sudden inclination to giggle. How odd, to look at her right hand, her human fingers and bitten nails, and see absence.
Then, arms were around her. Three tiny golden daggers were swinging before her eyes.No,Dot thought.Don’t let the blood stain Theodora’s blouse.
Opal leaped up to the chimney, the bread knife in one hand, Dot’s nail-bitten finger in the other. She raised the severed finger up to the sky and yelled an incantation. Dot felt the immediate lurch of icy magic within her – it was yanked out of her body. It coursed toward the deranged woman on the chimney.
Opal was casting a spell with Dot’s magic.
Cold oceanic light shot up into the storm clouds and in one violent torrent, thick rain attacked the city and Dot began to scream.
Thunderous magic was torn from her. Pain seared at her arm. Her scales were growing, already rising over her elbow. Each one cut in, scalpel sharp, and it was all she could do not to faint from the sudden horror of it all. Her finger gone. Her humanity, scale by scale, ripped away.
‘Balance it, Dorothy!’ shouted Theodora. ‘The human magic, reach for it!’
Dimly, she heard the witch’s voice.
The scales were halfway up her bicep now.
