Page 79 of Too Hexed to Handle

I have to do this. I have got to find out what Eira knows. Stopping her comes later; saving the captives comes later. I don’t need Damian for either of those things.

He doesn’t matter. He doesn’t matter.

I feel sick, but I don’t let go. My vision is cloudy with tears. This is for Astin.

Astin, who’d hate me if I hurt another person for his benefit. I’d hate me, if I did this. Killing Damian would make me everything I’ve tried not to be.

My grip loosens. Damian sucks in a loud, wet breath.

He doesn’t matter.

And yet, somehow, he does.

Everyone matters. It’s the one thing he doesn’t understand.

I let go with a gasp, and he staggers back, rubbing his chest, inhaling great lungfuls of air. His voice is scratchy when he says, ‘You don’t have it in you, do you?’

Then he stumbles, frowning, forced to use the chair for support. I don’t think he’s registered I stole more than a few breaths from him. Probably best, given his opinion on Souleaters. Magic tingles at my fingertips.

‘Let me go,’ I say.

‘Give me the potion, and I’ll consider it.’

I can’t give it up, but without hurting him again, there’s no escape.

My hesitation is my downfall.

He moves faster than I anticipate – faster than he should be able to, given what I’ve done to him – and my head slams against the wall. Stars flash across my vision. I raise my hand, attempting to call on my magic, but I’m thrown to the floor before I can try, before I can think –

‘It’s a pity it came to this,’ he murmurs. His face swims in my vision. Any light left in his eyes has guttered out, his expression fully dark as he drops to my side to retrieve the vial from where it’s rolled beneath a chair.

I attempt to move one final time, but my body won’t cooperate, the same way it’s too dazed to blast out any magic. We both shudder as Damian palms the cure, but, I suspect, for different reasons. He’s about to get everything he wants. I’m about to lose it.

Eira’s going to die before I can interrogate her on how to save Astin. I’ve failed him. I’ll never know what his hex means. Never learn how to wield magic like the witches.

The last thing I think before everything goes black, is that I wish I’d been brave enough to kiss him goodbye in the temple.

25

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The steady drop of water plopping into a puddle on the floor is a torment I could do without. That consistent sound is the flap of Michael’s wings, or the beating of a healthy heart.

With my chin resting against my collarbone, my lolling head feels no less fuzzy than when I first blacked out. There’s an ache in both my arms, which appear to be hanging above my head, and when I move them, something threatens to slice into my wrists. If I was more lucid, this might be cause for panic.

Opening my eyes is a struggle, but when I finally force them to obey, I raise my head to find I’m in a small wine cellar, and the dripping water isn’t water at all, but wine leaking from one of the barrels stacked to the ceiling. Crimson pools over the floor.

This is far from ideal, but better than a cell in the basement.

A faint, dull stab of alarm jabs at me. The basement. The captives. Damian told me once Eira was dead, he’d help them, give them the money they need for a fresh start, but I have no idea if he’ll honour that promise, or whether he said it to get me to the temple.

Another stab. This one a lot more painful. I can’t think about the temple. Or about how I’ve lost everything – the cure, the chance of the reward, of speaking to Eira about a way to save Astin. Which means he’s –

A choked gasp escapes my mouth.The binds on my wrists may as well be wrapping around my chest, because I can’t think, can’t breathe, as I finally admit this might be the one time everything is not fine. The weight of loss is a boulder compressing me until all I want to do is curl up in a ball.

What is the point in escaping when there’s nothing to escape for?

I force myself to inhale. Wallowing will get me nowhere. If nothing else, there’s still a chance I can help the captives. I can’t let Damian cast them into the world, hexed and alone. So what if I strangled him a little? I delivered what he wanted. He owes me a favour.