Page 93 of Too Hexed to Handle

Damian finally lets Eira go, and my nail gently scratches the surface of Astin’s arm. That tiny contact is all it takes for something akin to liquid daylight to flood my veins, more powerful than the fear from that girl in the maze, or Damian’s rage.

‘What are you doing?’ a sharp voice cuts across the room, but I don’t pay any attention.

The ropes around our wrists snap.

I press harder. I can’t get enough. Sugar. Everything is sugar and honey and roses. In my limited Souleater experience, I can safely say Astin’s the best thing I’ve tasted. Damian might be able to make emeralds, but I’m convinced I can make gold.

The bindings around our ankles come apart next.

The voice comes again. ‘Stop that!’

Footsteps.

A wraith takes form in front of me, but this one doesn’t belong to Eira. It’s mine. And it’s not made of shadows, but golden, blinding light, its human form solid as a statue, legs thick as tree trunks firmly planted on the floor. Wings burst from its shoulders, shielding us from view, and for once I don’t shrink back, even when they flap a warning beat.

With a start, I realise it looks like the statue in the maze. The fact that Ozias modelled it on a wraith like this makes me think I must be doing something right.

The shouts get louder, and my wraith shakes as though something’s tried and failed to pummel its middle. I cling to Astin. More. I need more. My chest heaves as I channel and channel and channel everything I can, and my heart is swelling, like there’s too much love in me now, and I’m panting, and Astin is slumping at my side – no.

I pull back. No, no, no.

‘Do something!’ Damian’s voice rings out. My wraith’s wings swell, increasing the shield before us. ‘Fight her!’

Eira’s response is high-pitched and shrill, but I don’t care about the pair of them right now. Astin’s eyes have fluttered closed, but there’s a smile playing on the corner of his mouth, and there’s no grey tinge to his skin. In fact, he looks positively euphoric.

‘Did you get enough?’ he murmurs.

I sigh in relief that I haven’t withered him into nothing, which is the only respite I get before a familiar shriek fills the room. For fuck’s sake. The other benefit of my golden wraith is that it has the decency to remain quiet.

‘I have enough.’ I press a kiss to the top of his head, and stand, stepping to the side of my wraith to find Eira has conjured three of her own. They’re smaller than mine, all wispy ink and shadow, like whatever terrible emotions she channelled to power her magic are no match for the unbreakable force of Astin’s gift. I conjure two more to match hers, while Damian cowers at the side of the room.

I cannot believe we are having this fight because of a man we could both obliterate in a heartbeat. ‘It doesn’t have to be this way, Eira. We don’t have to do this.’

A shadow wraith shoots forward, a blast of black air that stinks of putrid mud, cloaking one of my wraiths in darkness. It glows from within, and the shadows vibrate, burning from the inside out. Eira trembles with the effort of holding it in place. Her gaze darts over to Damian as though she’s standing in that park in Shiverholde once more, waiting for permission to stop. It never comes. Tears fill her eyes, but she only pushes harder, forcing her shadows to swell, and swell, and swell around my wraith.

I feel those shadows as though they’re trying to absorb my own body, darkness crawling and climbing over me, suffocating me, smothering my mouth, pushing me to the ground, but there’s so much magic inside me now, bursting at the seams, and I allow it to explode. Light blazes. Shrieks fill the room. Eira’s wraith erupts in a cloud of darkness, one that sends shadows briefly spearing into every corner of the room before they fade to nothing.

When my vision clears, it’s to find us both gasping for air. Eira’s remaining wraiths waver at her side. Mine stand firm. Her chin wobbles, and a second wraith glides forward, this one coming straight for me. With a flick of my wrist, one of mine charges into it, battering it back. It flies over the collapsed wall and into the open air, where it spirals in the wind like a bird caught in a storm.

One left.

She looks across at Damian again, unsure.

‘Finish her,’ he orders.

‘Why are you talking orders from him?’ I say. ‘You’re the one with the power. You can stop this. He can’t. He can’t do anything without you. Has he ever told you that? Has he ever made you feel special at all?’

‘I’m not special,’ she says instantly. ‘I keep failing the experiments. Once I get them right, he can finally love me.’

‘If you ever get it right, he’s going to take that knowledge for himself. You’re an experiment, Eira. That’s all you were to him. If I wasn’t a Souleater, he would’ve forced you to finish the potion instead, without caring for the consequences. You have to believe me.’

Her final wraith splits apart, and a black arrow shoots straight for me. I twist, and it smacks into the wall.

Eira clutches her head. ‘Stop talking. Stop it.’

‘No.’ I approach her carefully, a golden wraith guarding my side. ‘No, I won’t stop it. You shouldn’t have to get things right for him to love you. He should do it anyway.’

For a moment, there’s silence. Just heavy breathing and loaded tension, along with a prickle of irritation from Damian’s corner of the room. Eira’s shoulders rise and fall to the rhythm of the wingbeats at my side.