Page 34 of Casting Butterflies

“Didn’t you say your version of elf magic was the only thing that could stop it?”

“It’s too dangerous. I forbid it.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha.” I laughed at his command. Like seriously, “You’re not the boss of me.”

“You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Nope, however, I am willing to try rather than keep running, wondering when it will next attack.” Speaking of which, it, the flying monster, had begun its dive.

I held out my hand and kept my wish simple. “Stop.” Only to realize as it kept coming that stop didn’t exactly explain what I wanted.

“Stop flying,” I repeated with a wave of my hand.

The wings immediately ceased flapping and down dropped the monster. It hit the ground, hard but immediately popped to its clawed feet and began running for me, mouth wide open, teeth still big and sharp, gaze as malevolent as before.

“Stop running!” I screeched, and the monster froze in place, one foot hovering, its body trembling. It then proceeded to walk.

For fuck’s sake.

“Die, foul creature.” Like duh.

Only the pernicae kept coming, leading Misha to mutter, “It’s not alive, hence it can’t die in a conventional sense.”

“I’m open to suggestions,” I yelled as I sought for a way to get rid of it permanently.

“Here’s one. Get back in the car.” Misha aimed his gun and fired.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The pernicae turned to smoke, and I whirled on my companion with annoyance.

“Why did you do that? It’s just going to come back.”

“It will, but by then, we should be across the channel in the Netherlands. Let’s go.”

I sighed as I clambered back into the tiny car. He’d probably done me a favor since I’d not had a clear idea how to get rid of the pernicae. Still, I’d always worked best when under pressure and on a tight deadline. The pernicae’s slow walk with intent to kill me would have fit the bill. Surely, I’d have figured something out like I did on the plane.

“What do you know about the monster?” I blurted out as Misha began driving.

“It’s a construct, which means it can’t be killed, merely temporarily disassembled.”

“If it was made by magic, then can’t magic get rid of it?”

“Yes, however, without Anivivi to strengthen us, even our strongest in the arts lack the power to do so.”

“You really should have let me try,” I grumbled.

“You did, and it didn’t work out.”

“I’d barely gotten started.”

“Probably a good thing. I’d rather not risk you killing me with your attempts.”

“I wouldn’t have aimed any death spell at you,” I huffed indignantly.

“Not on purpose perhaps. However, after having seen what you did with the plane, even you have to admit you’re not entirely in control of what happens.”

The lack of faith bummed. What was the point of being a witch—even if by fluke—if I couldn’t do anything?