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“Cecelia.”
“Your magic overpowered us,” she whispers. “We couldn’t hold it. We burned out.”
I rock backward on my heels. My magic is diminished, that’s true. But no more than it normally is… A glance back at Kian reminds me of his earlier words. That I gave him a dose of my power through the mate bond, and he used it to heal me.
How?
Why didn’t you tell me I had this sort of power, Mom?
My mother is not here to answer my questions.
But there’s one more thing Cecelia can do.
I yank the stake out of her leg.
She shrieks at the burst of pain and falls backward. I toss it away and lean over her. I cup her cheek, brushing away the tears. I make soothing noises under my breath until she stops focusing on the pain and starts focusing on me.
“I need you to do one more thing for me,” I tell her.
Her eyes are wide, but she nods anyway. Her breath comes in sharp pants.
“Find me a blood witch.”
Someone makes an alarmed noise. One of the witches beside us, who overheard my request. The flames jump brighter around the edge of the yard. Above us, a bulb shatters.
Power returning to the coven?
Kian lunges forward. He shifts, his body almost blurring as it contorts and changes. He lands as the white wolf, shaking out his fur. Screams rise all around us. Their energy spikes, the fear and adrenaline so strong, even I can almost smell it.
“The Winter Wolf,” Cecelia whispers. “Oh gods. We didn’t know you’re bound to him. We’re all going to die.”
“Yes,” I agree.
And I’m going to be part of it.
“How could you? After—”
I press my thumb into the wound in her thigh, and her shout of pain cuts off her words. The white wolf’s head swings around, his gaze lingering on me. Then my bloody hand.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he approves of it. But I don’t want the wolf’s approval, so I keep my gaze pinned on Cecelia.
“I need the address of a blood witch. Right. Now.” I press harder.
She’s openly sobbing, trying to get away from me.
“Fine,” she cries. “Godsdamn you, Astra. I only know of one—she lives in California. Outside of LA.”
“I’m going to need you to confirm that.”
“Get your thumb out of my thigh and I’ll tell you,” she gasps.
I do as she asks.
She rolls onto her side and throws up into the dirt. Her eyelids flutter, and her chest heaves. Finally, she goes still. Her lips move, mouthing inaudible words, and a quiet chill surrounds us.
Her eyes open wide, fixed on something over my shoulder. Listening to her aunt, maybe, or another spirit come to do her bidding.
Then she sags. “14398 Willoughby Street in Hesperia.”
