Page 40 of Spirit Storm

The tunnel branches right and then straightens, and the map shows a long corridor with a series of marks along its length. “If I’m right, we’ve joined back up to this bit here.”

I study the map and yeah, that’s what it looks like. “All right. Let’s still be careful, though. If we’re right, we’re clear. If we’ve miscalculated, we’re still in the thick of traps.”

Wylder nods. “Then we don’t relax just yet. If anyone feels anything, hears anything, call it out. We still treat all of it as a potential trigger."

A general ripple of agreement rolls through the group.

Single file, we move into what we believe to be the final corridor. Orion and Rowan take the lead, as they have all morning. Freya is ahead of me, keeping an eye on the map. Asher and Wylder are right behind me. And Henrik takes up the rear.

This corridor is narrower than the last stretch and longer, and though the light from Freya's headlamp pushes the dark back for an impressive distance, it still doesn't reach the far end.

I watch the floor.

I watch the ceiling.

I watch the walls where they meet the floor and ceiling.

Nothing looks suspect. No seams, no symbols, no variation in the stone. I take that as a good sign and hope it means we really have finished with the traps.

We make it twenty feet without incident, then thirty, and then fifty. The air doesn't change. The stone doesn't shift. Rowan's shadows don't flag anything. Orion doesn’t sense anything.

I let myself breathe a fraction more easily and⁠—

The hit comes hard and fast.

One moment I'm deciding where to place my foot. The next Asher’s arms wrap across my sternum, and we pivot fast. He presses me hard against the wall, and my cheek hits cool stone.

At the same time, a snapping sound cracks through the air with a lash of sickly violet-white light. The bolt of magical energy tears out of the wall at chest height and pierces straight through Wylder.

I think I scream, but my hearing is blocked out by the rush of blood now thundering in my ears.

Wylder’s eyes blow wide, then he drops…

CHAPTER TEN

"Wylder!"

I'm beside him before he hits the ground. He's on one knee, one hand braced against the wall, his head bowed.

That he’s not unconscious is a good sign, right?

I reach for him, and then stop. The back of his jacket is torn through and blackened at the edges. Okay, so he definitely took damage from that thing.

I shift the fabric to see how bad it is. A burn mark runs diagonally across his back, and the skin is already raised and blistering. Shades of red and angry pink radiate from the point of impact, shifting to something darker and more charred.

The smell of burned flesh singes my nostrils, and I wince. “What kind of magic hit him? What’s that smell?”

Henrik crouches on his other side, his hands hovering, reading the wound. "It's a lash of some sort.”

“What’s a lash?”

“It’s a type of attack that burns beyond thermal. It uses magic to keep an active component in the tissue that continues to attack."

Asher crouches beside me, his expression growing serious in the immediate way it does when things stop being funny. "How bad is it?"

Henrik doesn't answer immediately. He meets my gaze, and my stomach sinks.

No, no, no...