Page 113 of The Filigree Key

The tabby tomcat leapt onto the back of the nearby sheepdog and leap-frogged from one faelight beast to another en route to Arthur, and through our bond, I felt his magic building. I donated a trickle from my magic oak tree, careful not to overwhelm him, and concentrated the rest.

Wreathed in opalescent magic, I shoved my hands into the vicious sourdough starter. It had absorbed Ossian from the base of his antlers down to the heels of his shiny black boots. He thrashed, each movement sluggish like he was swimming through a pool of molasses. His magic attacks fared no better—muted in sound and light like underwater detonations.

“Ack, not me, Bruno,” I cried as the dough tried to suck me inside it. Bracing my foot against the armrest, I strained to push through the elastic dough and find that key on Ossian’s chest. “I just— Ah!”

Shane had my foot in his fist.

The Brother had crawled over to me while the rest still squirmed on the ground, only the faelight giving him the wherewithal to suppress the pain in his gut and the agony that infested his flesh. A dozen pustules popped as his fingers tightened and gave my ankle a vicious yank.

Now even though I was a Hawthorne who had participated in daily physical training since I was eight, I wasn’t particularly flexible. The tendons of my inner thighs screamed as I was suddenly forced into a sideways split.

Bruno, however, would not give up his second dinner so easily.

The sourdough starter swallowed my arms up to my elbows and would’ve dragged both of us into its belly were it not for my foot braced against the armrest.

“Let. Go!”

It was a command for both of them, and the blue flames in the fireplace that had historically ignored my summons leapt to obey. No longer could it play ignorant, obeying only Ossian. I knew its true nature, and my purpose was clear.

A fiery whip stung the sourdough starter, and the dough immediately released me with a startled, yeasty hiss. Another lashed Shane across his tender hands. The magic hunter jerked back onto his knees, cradling his weeping hands to his chest. A third fiery whip—just for good measure—walloped him again, sending him careening into the bodies of his miserable Brothers.

“Meadow!” Daphne trumpeted.

The white mare was cornered, all four of our friends piled onto her back. Flora darted this way and that, using one of Shari’s longer quills she’d obviously plucked out of her friend to stab in the eye anything that approached. Emmett, the little hoarder raccoon that he was, had his arms full of cutlery and plates and offloaded it all piece by piece to his best friend. Cody hurled each fork and cup and platter with the accuracy of a major-league pitcher, craning his empty hand back every time with a shouted, “Reload!”

And Shari, clever quiet crafter that she was, had used her crochet chain stitch to lasso two dogs together, one at either end of the chain. The more they fought to get away from each other, the more they tightened the noose around their necks, and the more they panicked. That panic was doing wonders clotheslining any animal the two crazed beasts encountered, but there were still so many.

Slamming my hands against the table, I summoned the essence of water.

Every ounce of beer, wine, and water leapt from the pitchers, from where it had spilled on the table, where it had dripped onto the floor. Even the moisture in the food answered my call, succulent roasts shriveling to lumps like coal, pastry flattening into wafers, mashed potatoes drying out into ash.

The Tree of Life doubled the water in the air and sent it like a wrecking ball through the faelight beasts, clearing a path to the double doors.

“Go! Don’t wait for me.”

Without waiting to see if they obeyed, I turned back to the voracious sourdough starter.

Bruno was finally weakening.

Oh, that’s not good.

With a slash of my hand, I sent an air crescent to slice through the dough. My hand plunged into the gap, seeking and flailing and—

I felt it.

The metal was alive, the same minute vibrations thrumming through it like purrs through a cat.

My hand tightened around the filigree key, and I plucked it free of the dough.

Ossian’s arm chased after it, fingers clawing through the open air and missing the end of the chain by mere inches. With a yelp, I stumbled away from the chair and right back into Shane’s grip.

This time a good deal of kicking and stomping on fingers got him to back off, and I high-stepped it onto the trestle table. The chain went over my neck immediately after, and I wedged the key into my cleavage. There was a gurgled cry half a second later, then the Stag Man ripped the dough away from his face. Bits of white clung to his cheeks and dangled from his curls, and his eyes . . ..

There was Death in those jewel-like eyes.

And before me on the floor, empty vials littered the space around the Brotherhood—healing elixirs. Alec grabbed a chair and forced himself onto his knees, his expression wholly unhinged.

It was definitely time to go.